anything.”
“Okay, this conversation is over.”
Raphael ignored the prickle of warning in the air. Typical. “Because you don’t like the questions,” he bit back.
“No, Raphael,” she said tightly and pointedly. “Because who I do or don’t have in my bed is none of your damned business.”
He stared at her, eyes narrowed, silent as the grave. Waiting for more. Waiting for her to cave.
“Christ.” Elyon spun on her heel and started away, from the water, safe house, and him. “I’m out of here. I have explosives to prep, and an asset to retrieve.”
“Be careful, Elyon,” Raphael called after her. “I’m here if you need me.”
Please. She didn’t need anyone. Not that she was going to turn around and tell him that because weapons prep was a helluva lot more interesting than standing around defending her capabilities or chitchatting about connection or who she was or wasn’t boning.
As she moved farther away from the border, and her overly concerned mentor, her cat snarled with caged frustration inside her chest.
CHAPTER 2
Brewing coffee.
Steaming garbage.
Sizzling meat.
New York City, baby . Elyon grinned as she moved down the street, her long legs eating up the stained pavement. It was just after seven o’clock. Darkness had fallen over the Lower East Side, but the lights from the various bars and restaurants spilled out onto the sidewalk.
Dressed in a black leather jacket that hit her at the waist, skintight spandex pants, and heavy shitkickers, Elyon ignored the lingering stares from both men and women. She was single-minded now, utterly focused. Turning into a narrow alleyway, and only pausing long enough to stuff her small backpack into a dumpster. A bag that contained a hotel key card and enough explosives to take out the nearby brick building.
She grinned. She was definitely a female who liked to be prepared.
And hey, if she couldn’t get her target? Same rules apply. She’d be forced to turn the place to rubble.
Not to mention, destroy anyone inside.
Once satisfied the bag was hidden beneath a layer of trash, she circled back to the front door and headed inside the restaurant. Instantly she was assaulted by the smell of meat, onions, and roasted beets. In the center of the dimly lit space there were a half dozen tables, all occupied by older men and women, large plates of stroganoff or bowls of borscht spread out before them. Immigrants who occasionally sought a taste of home? she wondered. Or paid shills who kept both an eye out and shit looking real.
She sniffed. Maybe a mixture of both.
She’d see soon enough, if anyone tried to stop her from…exploring further.
Her gaze searched the shabby interior, finally landing on a black curtain in the far back, opposite the kitchen. Feeling the eyes of the patrons clinging to her, she headed straight for it, ready to answer any questions with her fists, or her knees, or her foot. Her smile widened as she pushed past the curtain. The right one had been known to break multiple bones.
And the occasional boner.
But surprisingly, no one stopped her. Behind the black fabric, she found a narrow hallway, lit with the same god-awful florescent crap you’d find in an elementary school. Moving with a lazy grace, she crossed the cracked linoleum floor and turned right into another hallway that led to a narrow flight of stairs going up. The smells of food receded and were instantly replaced by the scents of a gym. Rubber mats, disinfectant, and sweat.
Bingo.
The lighting sucked the farther away from the restaurant she went. Only a bare lightbulb that did a piss-poor job of battling the thick shadows. Something that might have been dangerous if she didn’t have her cat senses. As it was, she could easily see the man approaching her through the gloom.
As if his heavy steps and rank stench of vodka hadn’t warned her first.
The stranger was a large beast. He had at least six inches on her, which was saying something,
“Okay, this conversation is over.”
Raphael ignored the prickle of warning in the air. Typical. “Because you don’t like the questions,” he bit back.
“No, Raphael,” she said tightly and pointedly. “Because who I do or don’t have in my bed is none of your damned business.”
He stared at her, eyes narrowed, silent as the grave. Waiting for more. Waiting for her to cave.
“Christ.” Elyon spun on her heel and started away, from the water, safe house, and him. “I’m out of here. I have explosives to prep, and an asset to retrieve.”
“Be careful, Elyon,” Raphael called after her. “I’m here if you need me.”
Please. She didn’t need anyone. Not that she was going to turn around and tell him that because weapons prep was a helluva lot more interesting than standing around defending her capabilities or chitchatting about connection or who she was or wasn’t boning.
As she moved farther away from the border, and her overly concerned mentor, her cat snarled with caged frustration inside her chest.
CHAPTER 2
Brewing coffee.
Steaming garbage.
Sizzling meat.
New York City, baby . Elyon grinned as she moved down the street, her long legs eating up the stained pavement. It was just after seven o’clock. Darkness had fallen over the Lower East Side, but the lights from the various bars and restaurants spilled out onto the sidewalk.
Dressed in a black leather jacket that hit her at the waist, skintight spandex pants, and heavy shitkickers, Elyon ignored the lingering stares from both men and women. She was single-minded now, utterly focused. Turning into a narrow alleyway, and only pausing long enough to stuff her small backpack into a dumpster. A bag that contained a hotel key card and enough explosives to take out the nearby brick building.
She grinned. She was definitely a female who liked to be prepared.
And hey, if she couldn’t get her target? Same rules apply. She’d be forced to turn the place to rubble.
Not to mention, destroy anyone inside.
Once satisfied the bag was hidden beneath a layer of trash, she circled back to the front door and headed inside the restaurant. Instantly she was assaulted by the smell of meat, onions, and roasted beets. In the center of the dimly lit space there were a half dozen tables, all occupied by older men and women, large plates of stroganoff or bowls of borscht spread out before them. Immigrants who occasionally sought a taste of home? she wondered. Or paid shills who kept both an eye out and shit looking real.
She sniffed. Maybe a mixture of both.
She’d see soon enough, if anyone tried to stop her from…exploring further.
Her gaze searched the shabby interior, finally landing on a black curtain in the far back, opposite the kitchen. Feeling the eyes of the patrons clinging to her, she headed straight for it, ready to answer any questions with her fists, or her knees, or her foot. Her smile widened as she pushed past the curtain. The right one had been known to break multiple bones.
And the occasional boner.
But surprisingly, no one stopped her. Behind the black fabric, she found a narrow hallway, lit with the same god-awful florescent crap you’d find in an elementary school. Moving with a lazy grace, she crossed the cracked linoleum floor and turned right into another hallway that led to a narrow flight of stairs going up. The smells of food receded and were instantly replaced by the scents of a gym. Rubber mats, disinfectant, and sweat.
Bingo.
The lighting sucked the farther away from the restaurant she went. Only a bare lightbulb that did a piss-poor job of battling the thick shadows. Something that might have been dangerous if she didn’t have her cat senses. As it was, she could easily see the man approaching her through the gloom.
As if his heavy steps and rank stench of vodka hadn’t warned her first.
The stranger was a large beast. He had at least six inches on her, which was saying something,
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