“They freak me out,” Wren comments, picking up her wine glass to take the last sip of red liquid in the bottom. Ryker drops himself into the vacant seats opposite us.
“I’ve ordered men to follow them to the airport, make sure they actually leave.”
I nod my agreement, “Good, I want them gone before whatever shit goes down with the Syndicate.”
“Do you trust them?” Wren suddenly asks.
“The Heart’s?”
“Mm,” she nods.
“Isobel is a bit of funny one,” Ryker comments.
“They’ve kept their word,” I say, “There’s no reason for them to stay. I trust they’ll leave, whether they come back…that’s a different matter.”
It’s late, Wren and the city sleep but energy flows through my system making it impossible for me to rest. Too many variables and not enough intel keeps me on edge. With no idea where the Syndicate are or how many players they have keeps me awake. I trust my plan will be enough, an organization like that, with as many people as they have won’t take a threat like this lightly.
The only problem, I didn’t know how to find them and the waiting game was killing me. They would come, of course they would butwhen?
My fist flies into the leather bag, forcing it to swing violently against the impact and then I hit it again, trying to burn some of the excess energy.
“Lex,” Wren’s voice forces me to pause.
I grip the bag, stopping its swing and look at her from over my shoulder. My eyebrows rise at her attire, a pair of tight black leggings and a sports bra, her copper hair pulled into a ponytail that swings like a pendulum as she walks towards me.
“Trouble sleeping?”
“Something like that,” I comment, eyes roaming down her frame, taking in the curves and mischievous grin pulling at her mouth. She is so much healthier now, her weight back to normal, the injuries healed or almost there.
“Spar with me,” she says, taking a position on the mat, “burn some of that energy.”
“I don’t want to hurt you, little bird.”
She laughs, “you won’t hurt me.”
She drops into a fighting position and raises a brow in challenge, “are you scared?”
“Oh, little bird,” I laugh, joining her on the mat, “do you like a challenge?”
“Always,” she grins and lunges for me, jumping so her legs wrap around my waist and then she throws herself back, bringing me with her. I suddenly fall forward with the momentum, hitting the mat on my knees but her body doesn’t join me. She somehow manages to remove herself, leaping away and landing in a crouch in front of me, a smirk on her mouth.
I get back to my feet and crack my neck before I charge her, grabbing her around the waist to slam her down onto the mat, my hand cradling the back of her head to save it from the thump.
She doesn’t lay there and take it, thrusting her hips up hard enough to wind me and then she flips me, straddling my hips with her hands around my throat.
“Too soft,” she mocks on a whisper, “I’ll win every time.”
“Little bird,” I rasp, my throat working under her palms.
“Yes,mytwisted king?” She licks my bottom lip, “I’ll accept a surrender if that is what you wish.”
“Never,” I growl, my fingers wrapping around her wrists.
And so we spar. We spar until we’re too tired to go anymore, too exhausted to think of anything more than just sleep.
And I forget everything until the morning sun wakes me and the trouble truly begins.