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His mushy, sloppy sounds are driving me insane. He pauses, then slurps the noodles hanging from his mouth even louder.
“You pig,” I say. “Those chopsticks are the perfect shape to shove down your throat and stab your tonsils.”
He licks his soy sauce-covered lips and grins. “Promises, promises.”
“Why do we all have to go tonight, anyway?” I sigh, turning away to snub him. “I don’t need any help killing Trout. All Seb needs to do is bring him to me, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
“And give you time to escape?” Callen asks. “I don’t think so.”
Freddie ignores my question and indicates right, entering another road that backs onto the cemetery. We’re not using the main entrance to fly under the radar.
“We’re here,” Freddie says, parallel parking effortlessly.
I get out first, waiting impatiently while the others grab our bags. Surprisingly, Freddie doesn’t complain when he slings mine over his shoulder. His suit, shirt, and long coat are all black, making him look like a spy. Callen dons his trusty leather jacket and ripped jeans with a grey beanie to keep his long hair in check.
Freddie talks in hushed tones on his phone to inform Bram and Seb that we’ve arrived. We’re parked behind a row of houses with drawn curtains. Overhead, a red, blinking CCTV light mounted atop a lamp post draws my attention. Just as I look at it, the light goes out.Nice work, Bram.I see why Alaric wanted to recruit him. He’s good.
“Are you ready to go, princess?” Callen asks.
He takes what I assume is Torean’s kill kit and hooks the extra plastic food bag on his elbow, which swings while he walks. If he started whistling, he’d look like a badass version of one of the Seven Dwarves heading to work.
“Do we really need those?” I turn to see Freddie holding a bundle of blankets in his arms. “You know this isn’t a fucking picnic, right?”
“We’re taking them,” he insists.
“Fine.” I don’t offer to carry anything. “We wouldn’t want you to get chilly and your cock to shrivel up and fall off.”
Callen hoots with laughter, making Freddie’s frown lines deepen.
“Keep it down,” Freddie hisses. “We need to stay quiet. Come on.”
“He needs to lighten up,” I mumble under my breath.
Further down the street, we reach a seven-foot brick wall that stands in our way.
“Here we are.” Freddie stops in his tracks and glances down the street to make sure the coast is clear. He interlaces his fingers to give me a leg up. “Ivy, you’re first.”
“The kill bag goes first,” I say, pointing at Callen. “Throw it over.”
Callen and Freddie exchange a look that says there’s no way in hell they trust me to be in possession of it for even a few seconds.
“I’m not going over without weapons,” I say. They don’t need to know that I stashed scissors and a kitchen knife inside my coat while waiting for them to get ready to leave. “Bag first. Me second.”
“How about I go first?” Callen volunteers.
“What’s the matter? Don’t you trust me?” I narrow my eyes. “But fine! Go ahead! I’d rather you fall on your arse first.”
He does a running jump at the wall. His feet find natural holes in the bricks, and he scales it with no problem, even with the bulky bag on his back. He hauls himself over the top and drops down, followed by a rustling bush and a flow of swear words.
“Move a few meters to the right,” Callen complains from the other side. “Fucking brambles.”
I smirk. Well, I guess it wasn’t a bad thing to go after him.
“You’re next,” Freddie says, beckoning for me to follow and lacing his fingers together to give me a leg up.
I don’t want his help, but the wall is high and challenging to climb when you’re not a six-foot-plus muscled monster. Reluctantly, I put my foot into Freddie’s hands. He pushes up from beneath, launching me like a rocket over the top of the wall. I sling my arm over and haul myself up to sit on the top.
Callen waits with outstretched arms on the other side. “Come to Papa!”
