Page 12 of Fallen Hero

“I was imagining Mason scrunched into a tiny airplane seat, wondering if it’s true a long flight can cause a blood clot, hoping it does,” I partially lied.

“Vicious.” Fallon chuckled and stood. “I like it.”

At least someone appreciated my sense of humor.

Pete followed Fallon and took his feet. “Breakfast. Nine.”

I made the decision to allow Pete to get away with his grunted directive in the interest of getting the three hulking beasts out of my room.

“Sure,” I fibbed.

Mason’s eyes narrowed on me, but he kept his trap shut for once.

I told myself I wasn’t disappointed the sparring match was over as I watched them walk to the door.

What could I say, I was as good at lying to myself as I was to other people.

It was easier that way. Nothing good came from telling the truth.

Truth was like sex—the root of all evils. It was a weakness.

Sex had killed my sister.

The truth had stolen my family.

Now if I could just get Mason and his crew gone, I could get on with why I was in the UAE.

Vengeance.

It was mine.

Finally.

Chapter Four

“Are we going to discuss what happened down there or are we going to pretend the air conditioning wasn’t broken in Calista’s room.” Fallon stopped and snapped his fingers. “Wait, it wasn’t the AC, it was you and Calista and fire sizzling—”

“Do you hear yourself? Fire sizzling. Did you lose your balls somewhere? Grow a vagina? Hit your head?”

I was actually impressed Fallon waited until we’d taken the elevator up to the top floor and made it into our room before he started giving me shit. If heckling and shit talk was an Olympic sport, he’d be a gold medalist. But fire sizzling, that wasn’t his style. Normally he went straight for crude and obscene.

“Since you asked, my balls are in fine working order and have been used in the last decade, unlike some tight-assed . . . what’d she call you? Oh, right—dick.”

“I didn’t ask, and I don’t want to know what you’ve been using them for.”

I glanced over at Pete, who was already sitting down at the dining room table that was bigger than the one in my condo back in Imperial Beach. The eight white leather high-back chairs alone probably cost more than the cheap full set I’d bought from Ron’s Discount Furniture. The table looked suspiciously like African blackwood. Which meant the table cost more than my couch, big round chair—which the salesperson called a cuddler—my bed, and my dresser combined.

“Which one of you is taking first shift guarding Calista’s door?” Pete asked, not looking up from his laptop.

Thankfully, Pete had opted for work rather than participating in Fallon’s fuckery. If Fallon was a gold-medalist shit talker, Pete was a master at stirring the pot.

“Right. Got it. We’re pretending there wasn’t enough sexual tension between Mase and the hot chick with the gorgeous legs and sexy shoes to make a monk reconsider his vows.”

That hit way too close to home.

A dangerous growl slipped out of my throat before I could swallow it down.

My mistake was all Fallon needed to push his luck. “Bet that dress would look a fuckuva lot sexier on the floor next to my—”