Chapter 8

EIGHT

Max

I’m staring at the bathroom door feeling so upset that I don’t know what to do. Suddenly, I feel something brush my hand, and I look down to see Trouble. He tries to push a green cloth into my hand, but I take a step away, confused by what he’s trying to do.

“He’s trying to comfort you with his favorite blankie.” Braxton sounds amused.

What? “I don’t need to be comforted.”

Braxton chuckles. “You sure? Because Trouble is rarely wrong.”

I don’t even know what to say to that. Then, my phone rings, and I glance between the bathroom door, where Asha is still showering, and my brother. I give him a look, and he salutes me as if to say he's got it. That he'll be keeping an eye out for her, and so, I answer my phone as I slip outside. "Hello."

"We're going to send another car if yours is still having issues. This lead is too damn important to lose over car trouble." He doesn't introduce himself. He doesn't have to. Carl is my direct supervisor. Someone I would almost call a friend after all our time together. Almost . Except for the fact that if push came to shove, he'd let me burn if it saved his own ass, because that's just how the Enforcers are. Still, I like him well enough. Even when he's irritated with me, like he is now.

"No worries with the other car, we got ours running," I lie. Car trouble was the only thing I could come up with to explain why we hadn't immediately taken off after our latest lead. Even though before Asha I never lied to Carl. I didn't want to think too much about why I'm sticking my neck out on the line for her.

"Fuck." Carl sounds relieved. "Good. Now, just get your ass in that car."

"Yes, sir!" But before he can hang up, I keep talking. "Any new information?"

"Unfortunately, yes." He sounds grim. "This new scheme by the Blood Mages is different from the others. Less pointless blood and gore and more clever criminal."

Huh? That hasn't been the case with past reports. Honestly, the Blood Mages’ behaviors seem like the actions of creatures who can't control their powers rather than carefully planned out criminal activity. Almost like if we had a supernatural who exploded when they got mad. They kill, destroy things, and generally create havoc, but there never seems to be a rhyme or reason as to why. Which almost makes me feel sorry for them. Actually, it does a little.

Not that my feelings on the matter are important.

"What's changed?"

Carl sighs. "Blood Mages, apparently, have the ability to 'mark' their victims with a symbol. If the mark isn't removed, the victim dies. So, one of them has been marking wealthy people in Fairmore, having them drain their accounts, taking the money, and then doing it all over again."

I stand a little taller. This, we can work with. Greed. Desperation. These are the kinds of criminals that make sense to me. "So, we could have video footage of the culprit? Descriptions?"

"I'll send you everything I've got. Including the details to speak to an informant. But, Max, you need to hurry. They've sent in Grim."

Fuck on a stick. Grim is another Enforcer. One who walks a very thin line between ruthlessly good at his job and an absolute psychopath. If his team reaches any of Asha's pack before we do, they're dead. Grim won't even try to talk to them, he'll paint the streets with their blood and call in a clean-up crew.

"And Max?"

Here we go...

"The rest of your team is almost ready." He says it in that tone, the one that tells me I sure as hell better not challenge him on this.

Not that I can help myself. "I already told you--"

"And I've already told you that if you can't learn to work with a team, you're not going to be a field agent any longer. This whole stick of being a lone gun and pushing away everyone we assign to work with you has gotten old."

I snort softly. "If the others were any good--"

"Max, I'm not kidding. I pulled a lot of strings to get your brother assigned with you, and with his record, it wasn't easy. The only reason I did it is because I'm hoping having a person you actually care about might be the thing to finally get you to be a team player."

I don't even know what to address first, but I'm troubled in more ways than one. "His record? I knew he was having trouble finding work, but I didn’t see anything in his file to indicate why."

"That information is classified," Carl says, and he doesn't sound happy. "At least for most people. All I'm saying is that if he doesn't work on your team, I doubt he'll be hired anywhere that he can use his skills from the military. And if you can't work with this team, your desk will end up right next to mine, and you can spend the rest of your life filing papers. And your brother? He’ll be gone."

"Understood," I say, but I really want to tell him to screw himself. I'm good. Good enough that I don't need a team. Asha and my brother are here right now, but it doesn't mean I need someone at my side all the time. It might sound like a cliche, but I work best alone.

"See it as an opportunity to grow your people skills. Because, Max, you're good at a lot of things, but people? Not so much."

What a fun call. "Thanks for the info."

"We'll talk soon when I know more, and I’ll send the name and contact details for the informant. He's expecting you to stop by and see him." He hangs up without a goodbye, and I take a deep breath, then head back into the hotel room.

Braxton has his stuff packed and is currently staring at a football game, leaning back on our bed, his dog beside him as Braxton slowly strokes the beast’s head. "What was that about?"

That's one thing about him that I've never understood. Even as a kid he had a way of seeming like he didn't give two shits. Our parents were honestly shocked when his teachers wanted him tested for the gifted program. I was that typical smart kid, rigid in all ways, meticulous, and organized. No one was surprised when I went into honors. But I'll always remember the day mom and dad came home and asked my brother if he realized he was grades ahead in math and reading. He shrugged, fell over a table, jumped to his feet, and screamed, "Nice!"

My brother. The casual. The smooth. The shockingly deep. Right now, he's not just watching football and making conversation, he knows something is up.

Not that I have a reason to hide anything about the call from him. "I let our superiors know that our car trouble has been handled and that we're heading to the correct location. I was also told that they're almost finished assembling our new team." I hesitate, then press on. "And I was told that with your record they had to pull a lot of strings to get you a position as an Enforcer."

I sense the tension that sings through his body. "Oh? Cool. I didn't realize I'd be working with a whole team."

Of course he doesn't address the bit about himself. "Any idea why your record might make it hard for you to get a job?"

His gaze is locked on the TV. "Dunno."

My teeth grit together. Hard . He absolutely knows. "You're my brother. And we're working together. Don't you think I deserve whatever info you're hiding?"

He looks at me, those pale blue eyes of his intense. "Is that how you want this to work? You don't want us to keep secrets from each other? Because I thought you enjoyed keeping your secrets just as much as I do."

Damn it. He's not wrong. "I'm your superior."

"Maybe," he says, then flashes me a grin before turning back to the TV.

A moment later, Asha steps out of the shower. Her pale hair looks darker now that it's wet. It's left loose, which is a rare look for her. She wears a white t-shirt and jeans with her familiar boots. The top of her shirt is a little wet, a little see-through, but not where it matters. And she hasn't put on any makeup. Not even the basic stuff she usually does. Which, for some reason, makes her look younger. More vulnerable. Beautiful in a different way, especially when combined with the bruises on her face, chest, and arms.

Unable to help myself, I inhale her scent. It's tinged with her bath products, flowery and feminine, but can do nothing to hide her more natural scent. The perfume that seems to follow me everywhere I go, even into my dreams. It makes a shudder roll through my body and my muscles flex, like I’m preparing to fight.

Or to fuck.

Neither of which I’m planning on doing, so I tell my body to calm the hell down.

"What's happening?" she says, and my gaze jerks to her face, where a light green bruise stains part of her cheek and around her eye.

I don't know why, but I sometimes wish I saw some recognition in her expression. Something that says she at least notices that I'm a man, and a decently attractive one, but Asha has this way about her. It's beyond supernatural. It's like she's not a living, breathing being any longer. Like she’s a beautiful painting. Or a robot, even if she tends to accuse me of being one. The only emotion she seems to be able to show is anger.

But I also understand that a mutual attraction would be even more dangerous. If I'm this distracted by her when she treats me like a really annoying fly, I can't imagine how bad it would be if I saw even a flicker of desire from her. Which I remind myself of as she goes to her bed and starts putting things into her bag. "As discussed, we're going to pack up and get out of here. Probably drive through the night and most of tomorrow to get to Fairmore, where we'll meet with an informant who actually saw a member of your pack getting into trouble."

"Someone saw a Blood Mage and lived to tell about it?" Braxton asks, smirking. “And here I thought they were so big and bad.”

"Well, you have." The anger in Asha's voice makes his head snap toward her.

I see it the moment he remembers that she's now been labeled a Blood Mage. "Uh, sorry, ma’am. I, uh..."

"I know." Her words are clipped. "It doesn't matter that we were normal people, taken prisoner, tortured, and infected to become these things. All that matters is what we are now, and that you all see us as dangerous."

"To be fair," he says, and I wish I could tell him to just shut up before he digs himself into an even bigger hole, "most of you are dangerous."

"And you aren't?" she asks him, lifting a brow. But rather than waiting for an answer, she jerks her bag closed and tosses it on her shoulder with a wince. "I'm ready to go."

I clear my throat and grab my bag as Braxton shuts off the TV and grabs his, Trouble at his side like a faithful sidekick.

She pauses at the door, then turns to look at me. "Did they give you a description of my pack member?"

"No. Why? Is there someone in particular you're trying to find?"

Something flashes in her eyes before she turns her back to me. "No, just anyone who might mean I didn't lose everyone I loved."

We follow her out the door, and Braxton gives me a look. I almost tell him a woman like Asha needs someone smooth and gentle. Basically, the complete opposite of us. But she's too close, so I just nod my head, and head for the car.

Whatever we're facing next, at least it might give us more answers than the curiosity that is Asha.