No Love for the Wicked Read Free

light hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail that emphasized her almond-shaped green eyes and sharp cheekbones. Add to that the military-style tank and cargo pants, and she exuded a rough persona. Just like she wanted to. “How long have you been an agent for the Network?”
    She flinched. She hadn’t expected me to be a mind reader as well as a kick-ass fighter. Slowly she drew the ice pack awayfrom her broken nose. The double black eyes were painful, but she wasn’t too upset. The injury was a war wound, proof of her toughness against a true supernatural threat. Maybe now she’d gain a little more respect with her male teammates. Not that I was holding my breath for a thank-you or anything. She leaned forward, curled her lip in a sneer. But before she could berate me with a series of well-thought-out quips about my deficiencies as a human, the guy leaning against the wall behind her cleared his throat. Luce’s hands curled into fists. She sat back and replaced the ice pack on her face.
    I cocked a brow at the guy. “You know, Darrel, I have some lozenges in my car. I could run out and grab them for you. Could really help with that throat thing you have going on.” I uncrossed my legs as if getting ready to stand.
    “You’re not going anywhere,” he snarled. I smiled. He was a lean guy, about six feet, with the creamy complexion of a mixed race. His hair was knotted in tight dreads, and his jaw was set. He was a tough one, controlled. But I’d got him to break their little code of silence. It was a petty victory, I know, but a victory nonetheless. And Darrel cursed himself for falling for it. I leaned back again, took another drink.
    “How’s the wrist doing, Tony?” I asked over my shoulder to the third guy sitting on the counter. He was younger than the others—just under twenty-four. And while his mind was sharp, he had the blond curls and golden tan of a West Coast surfer. I’d run into a lot of guys like him over the past months whenever I’d ventured out to a mall or passed through a college campus. I couldn’t take him seriously if I wanted to. “Sorry to shatter the bones like that. It’s just this thing I do whenever someone aims a gun at my head. I hope it doesn’t hinder your role in your current assignment.”
    He didn’t respond, of course, but his mind wasn’t quite as disciplined as his teammates’—I saw some of the details of theircurrent Network assignment. Like the name of their supernatural target. Weird, it wasn’t anyone from my family.
    Colin walked carefully back into the kitchen, tapping his cell phone against his forehead. Luce sat straighter in her seat. Tony continued to nurse his broken wrist but hopped off the counter at Colin’s nod. His now bullet-free Glock clanged against the counter when he moved. Colin blew out a breath and studied my face. He reminded me so much of Jon. Clean-cut, thirtysomething, oozing natural leadership. Hell, even his hair was gelled in a similar catalog-model style.
    Thinking of Jon immediately reminded me of Theo. I looked away and focused on my drink.
    Colin dropped his cell phone on the table. When I glanced up, he’d put on his serious interrogator face.
    “Magnolia. Like the flower. That’s what you said your name was, right? What, is that supposed to be some cool single name like Beyoncé or Ke$ha? Tell me again, cool flower girl, why are you here?”
    I ignored his lame attempt at intimidation and looked around the kitchen. The faded gold-and-brown wallpaper still peeled in the corners. Ugly wood paneling still covered the wall behind Darrel. There were still breaks in the wood from a little disagreement Jon and I had had last summer. I ran my hands over the oversize table. This was where Thirteen had asked me to teach his team how to kill someone with my powers. My chest ached remembering the hurt that request had caused me. The furnace kicked on and blew burned air through the vents in the ceiling. Over the sink, the yellow