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Quinn’s tongue slipped in to playfully caress Sebastian’s. The taste and feel of him, safe andhere, finally settled Quinn’s fraying nerves.
Arms circled him from behind, and he turned to give Will the same treatment, pulling soft sounds from his sweet mouth.
He rested his head against Will’s chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat as they kissed above him. It was more reassuring than anything else had been.
Sebastian was right. They were here. They were okay.
Everything else could wait.
JerichoRowlandswasaman that didn’t exist officially on paper. He hunted the monsters of the world and skirted the line of being one himself. He had no qualms about who he was: every piece of shit that he took out of the world made it that bit safer. Safe enough that he didn’t lose sleep over what he did to get results. He did what most weren’t willing to do, in order to keep the innocent safe. He could live with that.
“All right,” Six Webster said, turning the SUV off after he finished parking illegally out front of the building that Jericho had lived in as “Warren” for too many long months. “Ten minutes to see what this guy wants. Then we tell him you’re leaving town and suggest he do the same. Then we’re getting a burger, right? Because I’m fucking starving. Moira and Greer should be done with the bodies, so they might be able to join us?”
“You ate before we left,” Jericho said. Six had been chowing down at HQ when they’d gotten the call that Dane Howell and Errol Derrick—the two idiots that should not have been as hard to take down as they had been—were on the move and had armed themselves.
“That doesn’t change the fact that I’m hungry now,” Six said, rolling his eyes. “That was a century ago.”
“It was an hour ago,” Jericho disagreed. He leaned over and opened the glove box, sure there was something in there. He found a nut bar and a Snickers. He held them both up. “Pretty sure the Snickers is Greer’s. Eat at your own risk.”
Six plucked it out of his hand. “I’ll blow him later.” He’d already bitten half of it off by the time he’d circled around the car to stand beside Jericho.
Jericho fished a hair tie out of his pocket and put his hair up in a ponytail as they headed into the run-down apartment building, thebeep beepof the SUV lock sounding behind them.
Jericho whistled a tune and pushed up the long sleeves of his plain black top as he and Six stepped onto the elevator.
Six smirked at him as he pressed the third-floor button. “Is that ‘In the Hall of the Mountain King’?”
The elevator creaked and jolted, unbalancing them as it began its ascent. It had seen better days, and Jericho would not be surprised if it suddenly became their tomb.
“Was watchingThe Lost Boyslast night,” he replied. “It’s been stuck in my head all fuckin’ day.” It was driving him nuts. He’d play it on his piano later, and if that didn’t get rid of it, he was going to break something. His favourite movie didn’t have to do him dirty like that.
“How many times did Moira threaten to kill you?”
“Only three,” Jericho said as he fished out a twenty-cent coin from his jeans pocket and flipped it through his fingers. The fourth time didn’t count because she hadn’t even thrown anything sharp at him.
“You got lucky.”
Jericho hummed in agreement. Wasn’t that the truth. Moira was feisty.
They both froze the second they stepped out into the hallway. The man they were coming there to meet, George Brice, wasn’t there. He should have been waiting outside of “Warren’s” apartment. His car had been downstairs, so where was he?
Jericho pocketed the coin and pulled his Glock 22 from its holster, letting it hang loosely in his hand as they moved carefully towards apartment 3B.
“Fee-fi-fo-fum,” Jericho sang quietly.
His gut was screaming at him that something wasverywrong, and whatever was on the other side of the door, he wasn’t going to like it.
Someone had come out to play.
“Told you I shoulda brought Bianca,” Six muttered. He got his own Glock out and scowled at it like he was personally affronted by the sight of it.
Jericho snickered soundlessly. Six’s sword, Bianca, was gorgeous and flashy—much like Six himself—and was only allowed out during select operations. This wasn’t one of them. Despite the fact the rules had been in place for years, Six was still salty about it. It was impossible to explain to him that a sword was a hell of a lot fucking harder to conceal than a firearm or anormal-length combat knife.
“She’s quiet and fast.”
“So am I,” Jericho pointed out.
“Until you bump your head on a doorframe,” Six shot back.
