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I shake my head. “I just wouldn’t have expected that.”
“What did you expect?” he asks sweetly.
I smile back at him and answer honestly. “With you, Orson, I’m beginning to expect the unexpected.”
“Well, I hope that doesn’t continue to be the case. I’d prefer to be reliable.”
“Oh, you’ll be reliable,” mutters Braxton. “Or you’ll be pulling that orange jumpsuit out of the closet again.”
“Actually, an inmate only wears orange during intake. Once they’re classified, they receive a usually tan outfit with a white undershirt.” He scarfs his last bite. “And I don’t have a closet. Just the bag and computer.” He laughs. “And actually neither of those, either. Everything’s on loan from the Enforcers.”
“You should be grateful,” Braxton mumbles under his breath.
“Braxton,” Max chides, followed by a sigh.
He rubs at his chest, a shadow of pain making his skin paler. I reach out and almost place my hand on his chest. Our eyes lock, and I pull away confused and embarrassed by my actions.
But also upset at myself because I hadn't thought about what he went through as much as I should have.
He was the one attacked by my brother and injured. I was the one who slept while he handled everything. Max is… something else.
A pang of guilt rings through my heart.
“No, it’s true,” says Orson, after a moment of silence. “You plucked me out of hell and gave me a new shot at life. I am very grateful.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Max says, a little flustered, and he's rarely flustered.
“Regardless, you’re as much a target of my gratitude as the faceless high command.”
I pull my focus and guilt from Max, and concentrate on the new man. This conversation is simpler, and the feelings around it far less charged. This, I can do.
“And they brought you on because you’re… good with computers?” I clarify.
He slurps from his coffee, then settles the mug back down on the table. “Yep.”
Time to just say it. “How will that help the team?”
To my surprise, he winks. “You’ll see. What about you? Forgive me, but you’re not like any of the Enforcers I’ve met. An admittedly limited pool.”
I frown “Because I’m a woman?”
He furrows his brow and shakes his head. “Because you’ve got spunk. And wit. And something gleams in your eye. I’m not sure what it is, hope, optimism, life, but it’s missing from everyone else.”
“You’re saying I don’t have a gleam, Orson?” Max asks wryly.
Orson smiles. “Not like her. Every Enforcer I’ve come across seems, well, frankly, a little dead inside.”
Braxton glares at him, but Max laughs dryly. “You’re not wrong,” says Max.
Orson leans over the table and stares directly into my eyes. I’m mesmerized by his two-tone gaze as he asks, “So, what special skill do you offer the Enforcers?”
I fight against the impulse to open myself up to him, which is a strange and uncomfortable impulse. Opening myself up to people is usually something I avoid like the plague, but as I search myself, I sense a possible explanation for the unexpected desire. My wolf likes this stranger, and her feelings are weaving in with my own confusing me.That’s something I’m going to have to figure out.
Severing eye contact, I lower my gaze to the empty plate before me. “I’m simply good at catching targets.”
“Members of the Blood Pack,” he clarifies.
“That’s right,” I confirm in a low voice.
