I scoff. Yeah, right, like I’m going to miss out on the asshole who betrayed my friendship getting what he deserves. “Not happening. If you’re planning something, I want to be there.”
“Me too,” Emilia tacks on. Mason sighs, but before he can protest, Emilia speaks up to argue her case. “He betrayed us both. He pretended to be our friend, then stabbed Hadley in the back.” I can see her getting worked up again as she clenches her fists and glares daggers into the couch cushion. A pained expression crosses her face. “I blamed you guys for doing something to her. When all along, it was him. Fucking duplicitous shitstain.”
Mason is silent for a moment. “I don’t blame you for thinking that. We were pretty horrible to Hadley when she first showed up, and no doubt we came across as suspicious when she disappeared. Hopefully you can understand now why we couldn’t tell you anything.”
“Yeah,” Emilia sighs heavily. “I get it.”
“We’re still not missing out on whatever you have planned for Michael, though.” I cock a brow at Mason, silently daring him to stop us from coming. He returns my look with a hard stare of his own, which lasts all of a few seconds before he gives up and rolls his eyes.
“Fine.”
***
“I want a go at Michael,” I state after dinner that evening. The six of us are gathered around the island, and the second the words leave my mouth, all eyes focus on me.
“No,” Hawk snaps, getting up to set his plate in the sink, as if somehow leaving the table ends the conversation.
“I wasn’t asking for permission, asshole. I’m telling you. I don’t want to just stand and watch you guys deal with him.”
Hawk spins round to glare at me. “You’re in no state to be beating the shit out of him.”
I scoff, highly offended at his weak impression of me. I mean, he might be right—but that is totally beside the point.
“Have you forgotten who I really am? You have no idea what I am capable of.”
Hawk’s deadpan stare holds me in place. “I’m sure you could obliterate him in ten different ways, but just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.”
“Babe,” Mason interjects softly. “That fucker isn’t going to be walking away from tonight. Just let us handle him for you and you can watch.” He stares deep into my eyes, before uttering the final words that leave me with no room to argue, “Please. All of us need to do this for you.”
I sigh, dropping my shoulders in defeat. “Fine,” I relent, “but I want to talk to him first.”
“Why?” Hawk sounds exasperated as he throws his hands up in the air.
“Because I’m the one he wronged,” I snap back, anger making me raise my voice. “I can count the number of friends I have ever had on one fucking hand, and he was supposed to be one of them. I—” My voice breaks as emotion clogs my throat. “I need to know why he did it.”
The room falls silent for a second, before Hawk reluctantly relents.
“Well, now that the subject’s been brought up, can we talk about the fact you’re a real-life fucking assassin?” Excitement colors Cam’s voice, and when I turn to look at him, the shock and horror I expected to see are nowhere to be found. In fact, he looks seriously impressed, like it’s somehow cool to be a trained killer.
“Cam,” Beck chastises.
I glance around at the others, confused. “You’re seriously not put off by, uh, what I am?”
“Baby!” Cam exclaims. “Didn’t you hear me? You’re a fucking badass. I have never been more turned on in my life than I am at the thought of you going all ninja on some douchebag's ass.”
“Fucking hell, Cam. I don’t need to hear that shit,” Hawk snarls, looking thoroughly disgusted.
Cam ignores him as he leans in to kiss my cheek, whispering in my ear, “Maybe you can get all dressed up in some tight leather pants for me and go all assassin on my ass.”
I gape speechlessly at him as he laughs and plants another quick kiss on my lips. I’m not even sure what the fuck that means.
Once I’ve gathered my wits again, I glance at Hawk, Mason, and West, and hesitantly ask, “What about you guys?”
“I’m with Cam, I think it’s hot.” Mason shrugs, not noticing, or deliberately ignoring the threatening look Hawk throws his way. He must see my unasked questions, as he explains. “I like knowing you can look out for yourself if one of us isn’t around. It made me feel better when I knew you could fight, but this is on a whole other level.”
“Same,” West agrees. Leaning in, he places his warm palm on top of mine. “It doesn’t matter to any of us. This wasn’t something you chose for yourself, and we know you’re nothing like those guards, or the kids they successfully turned into soldiers. Somehow, you were able to hold on to your humanity. You’ve learned to trust and let people in—”
“Yeah.” I scoff. “I let Michael slip right past me.”
“That’s not your fault,” Hawk insists in a tone sharpened with anger. “That’s all on him. He pretended to be your friend.”
“Don’t let one misjudgment undo all the hard work you’ve achieved,” West implores. “And don’t, for one second, think finding out about your past changes things for any of us.”
I smile fondly at him before Cam speaks up again, looking slightly hesitant, “Can we, uh, ask questions about the sorts of jobs you did, or what you can do?”
“Umm, yeah, sure,” I agree hesitantly, not entirely sure how much of my life at the compound and what I was made to do, I’m willing to share with all of them.
“Were they all jobs where you had to kill your mark?”
“For the most part, but sometimes we were sent to get information from people, or scare them.”
“How would you do that?” Hawk asks, his head slightly tilted to one side, looking genuinely curious about my answer.
“There’s lots of different ways. I’d usually start off with verbal threats, and showing them various tools I could use to hurt them. If that wasn’t enough, then I’d move to carving flesh wounds in their bodies, or breaking their fingers. You just keep escalating until they eventually give in…or they die.”
My words are met with a shocked silence before Cam asks, far too excitedly, “How many ways do you know how to kill a man?”
I begin to count them in my head, before realizing it’s way too many. “At least one for every day of the year.”
“Fuck, that’s hot,” he murmurs, shifting in his seat and reaching under the table to adjust himself in his pants.
“Fucking gross,” Hawk snarls at him. “If you can’t keep it in your pants, then this conversation is over.”