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I drop the rifles in the crate and straighten, turning back toward Ares. “Now you’re getting it,” I remark, patting him on the shoulder patronizingly.
He shrugs my hand off with a scowl. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”
“I don’t really give a fuck.” I pluck the remaining guns from his hands, checking them and depositing them in the crate with the others.
“Arch, back me up here,” Ares sighs exasperatedly, glancing to his brother.
Archer just shakes his head with a chuckle. “I’m staying out of this.”
“Smart man,” I quip, squatting down to grab ahold of the crate and hauling it up into my arms. “You guys good? I’ve gotta get back to the packhouse.”
Archer replies “yes” at the same time Ares says “no”, and I give him a pointed look that warns I’m not in the fucking mood.
Ares wisely backs off, stepping out of my way as I start toward the path back to the complex.
The kid needs to learn his place. He thinks he’s hot shit now that he’s a squad leader, seemingly forgetting where he falls in the pecking order. Should he challenge me again, especially on this, I’ll have no problem reminding him.
I carry the crate back to the squad complex and drop it off in the locker, still fuming over the little stunt Sloane pulled today. The trouble with knowing someone for your whole damn life is that they know exactly how to push your buttons. Apparently eight years of distance doesn’t change that, because Sloane hit every one of mine with that little act she put on at target practice. From showing up wearing my hat to grinding her ass into my cock, she knew exactly what to do to get me riled up, and I hate that it fucking worked.
Now I’m just pissed off and have a wicked case of blue balls; a real winning combination. And while I should be avoiding Sloane and going on with my life as if she’s not here, instead I’m obsessing over how to make her pay for fucking toying with me.
I arrive home at the packhouse with every intention of going straight upstairs and jacking off, but those plans are shot to hell when I walk in to find my parents sitting in the living room. It’s a familiar scene- my dad in the recliner with Mom draped in his lap, the two of them looking at one another so adoringly that it makes me wanna gag. They’re fated mates, a shining example of what a healthy, loving relationship should look like. Which is great and all, but I could do without the constant parental PDA.
“Oh good, you’re home,” Mom chirps when she sees me come in, flipping her long blonde hair over a shoulder and flashing me a wide smile.
“You here to check up on me?” I tease as I step into the living room to join them. I slip my keys into my pocket and take off my hat, carding my fingers through my hair.
“Something like that,” she muses. “So how are things going?”
Before I can answer, Avery strolls into the room, eyeing the white baseball cap in my grasp. “Nice hat,” she comments, the corners of her mouth lifting in a knowing smirk.
Such a little shit.
I chuck it at her, flopping down onto the couch and turning my attention back to my mom. “Things are good. The squad had their first training session with guns today. Target practice. Went pretty well.”
“Where’d you do it?” Dad questions, because even though he retired from his position as Alpha, he hates being out of the loop.
“Out in the woods where we do war games,” I reply. “Just used paper targets on the trees.”
He nods approvingly. “Everyone take to it pretty well?”
“Well enough, for their first time,” I say with a shrug. “We’re gonna hit it every day this week, try to get everyone comfortable before we get into more intensive training.”
“Moving targets?”
I nod. “Still figuring that one out. IT worked up some pretty cool VR simulators too, so people can work on honing their skills that way.”
“No substitute for the real thing, though,” Dad mumbles, running a hand over his chin in contemplation.
“That’s what I told Lo, but she insists that the tech is top-notch. Suppose I can’t argue with the metrics it pulls, too. It’ll help us track accuracy and improvement as we go.”
“She’s right, I tried it,” Avery cuts in, sinking down onto the couch across from me. “I actually felt a lot more comfortable handling a real gun today after playing with the simulator yesterday. The size and weight of the rifle is almost identical.”
“You be careful,” Dad warns, shooting Avery a stern look.
Mom rolls her eyes, throwing him a look of her own over her shoulder. “As if women can’t handle themselves just as well as men?”
“Of course they can,” he grumbles, pressing a kiss to her temple and stroking his thumb along her outer thigh. “Especially Kessler women.”
