Page 150
“Let’s go in,” he says and, without waiting for a reply, starts climbing out of the bushes we’ve been hiding behind for hours.
Mary, mother of—
I latch onto his arm before he can take another step.
“That’s not the plan, numbnuts. I know Ford doesn’t let you outside without floaties and a babysitter, but in case you need a refresher, recon means eyes and ears only.”
He shakes me off with a grin that I just know keeps Ford and Evander up at night. “Yeah, but recon’s so boring. And something’s in there; I can smell it.”
“If you really think that, then we comm Dax for backup. We don’t go traipsing in like rookies. For Fate's sake, Silas, you know better. Going off script is exactly how you get hit with a flamethrower. Then—whoosh!” I throw my arms out, miming an explosion, then place my hands on Silas’s shoulder and, moderating my tone like I’m negotiating with a toddler who just mainlined red dye 40, ask, “Do you want to get hit with a flamethrower, Silas?”
He frowns in consideration—which is concerning in and of itself—for a full three seconds. Then, proving once and for all he has zero self-preservation, he shrugs and takes off.
Asshole’s halfway across the parking lot before I’m able to wrap my mind around what just happened. Cursing, I part the bushes and hiss his name.
“Silas!” He ignores me.
“Motherfucker,” I swear, double-tapping my comms to radio Dax.
It’d be nice if we could keep the comms on consistently without the wards frying the tech, but right now I’m grateful we can at least use it sporadically. Chasing a two-hundred-year-old child through an abandoned military compound while my pack has no idea what’s happening is totally not on my bingo card.
“The little shithead went off script,” I snap once we’re connected. “I’m going after him. I don't think there’s anyone here, but I’m letting you know, just in case.”
“Went off script how?”
“Well, he decided recon is boring and is now trying to break in.”
A loud BANG has me glancing up to find Silas trying to wrench the door open by its handle. Of course it’s locked, so all he’s doing is rattling the metal door against the metal frame, like a godsdamned dinner bell for every Severed in a thirty-mile radius.
Fuck. Me.
“Correction. He’s trying to break in poorly. I’ve got to go.”
I hang up and sprint across the concrete lot, skidding to a stop behind Silas and yanking him away from the door with enough force to send him flying.
“What the actual fuck do you think you’re doing?” I whisper-shout. “You’re loud as shit! Do you want to die?”
Silas pushes himself up on his elbows from where he’s sprawled on the ground and frowns. “No? I don’t want to die.”
“Do you want me to die?”
Standing, he swipes his hand through his hair to push it out of his eyes, and his frown deepens.
“You? Why would I want you to die?”
My only response is a heavy, confused blink.
”I need to get in there, Vae,” he reiterates, and reaches for the handle as he tries to shoulder past me. When I put out a hand to stop him, he has the audacity to look genuinely confused.
“What are you doing?” I ask, gathering up every ounce of patience I possess.
His gaze flicks between me and the door, full of an urgency I don’t understand. “I told you. I need to get—”
“Inside, yes. I understand that part.”
Apparently Silas has hit the bottom of his well of patience because he throws out his arms in exasperation and says, “Man, I don’t know what the problem is! Can you just tell me whatever point you’re trying to make?”
Gods above, it’s like we’re having two totally different conversations!
