Page 3 of Flint's Arrow
Arrow. Even thinking the name made his chest ache.
Flint yanked a weed from between the strawberry rows with enough force that dirt scattered across his green gingham overalls. He should’ve been happy. The strawberries were thriving - fat, red berries hung from nearly every plant. Storm hadn’t managed to sneak in and steal any yet, which was practically a miracle. The temperature in the greenhouse was perfect, the humidity just right. Everything should’ve been fine.
Instead, he felt like someone had reached into his chest and squeezed.
“Pretty boy with the cock-sucker lips.”
Arrow’s voice from that job two weeks before echoed in his head. Flint had been working out the best place for his shot, keeping one eye on his mark and the other on the exits, trying to find a way to the roof, when the wolf had sauntered over. Big. Confident. Smelling of expensive cologne that did nothingto undermine the musk of wolf and pine. A scent that had made Flint’s snake sit up and take notice immediately.
Mate!Every cell in Flint’s body immediately wanted to bury themselves under Arrow’s shirt. His cock hardened, and his brain was suddenly flooded with visions of what he and the arrogant wolf shifter could be doing…when he’d finished his job. Flint recognized the discreet pin Arrow had barely hidden with his jacket. He was in the agency, too. They would be perfect together…
And then Arrow had opened his mouth.
“What are you doing, wandering around like you’re looking for someone’s dick to suck? You know who you are to me. You should be at home, in my kitchen, your ass bare as you cook my meals instead of wandering around like an invitation.”
Flint’s hands shook as he picked up the watering can. Water sloshed over the edge, soaking into the knees of his overalls. He didn’t care. The memory kept playing, unstoppable as a freight train.
Arrow slapping his ass, pointing to his sizeable bulge, all the while making it plain that Flint’s only job going forward would be to service Arrow’s dick - alongside cooking, cleaning, and basically tending to Arrow’s every need.
It’s not like I didn’t try to tell him I was on a job.But Arrow, for whatever reason, didn’t believe him.Maybe his cock’s that big, all the blood drained from his brain.
Feeling belittled, heartbroken, and more than a little sick, Flint managed to get away, telling Arrow he could find him through the agency. He found a door to the roof, and ten minutes later made his shot and left. Two bullets, not his typical one, but Flint blamed the poor air quality. It couldn’t be because of the tears in his eyes.
A sob caught in Flint’s throat. He pressed his fist against his mouth, biting down on his knuckles. He wouldnotcry over this again. Arrow was an asshole. A big-mouthed, elitist, disrespectful asshole who saw Flint as nothing more than a convenient fuck.
The mating bond didn’t care. It pulled at him constantly now - a low ache in his belly, and a restlessness in his bones. His snake wanted to find Arrow, wanted to rub against him, wanted to claim and be claimed. The animal didn’t understand why they were hiding in a greenhouse instead of tracking down their mate.
Because our mate thinks we’re worthless,Flint thought bitterly.Because he took one look at us and decided we weren’t assassin enough, weren’t alpha enough, weren’t enough. Full fucking stop.
Another tear rolled down his cheek. Flint let it fall.
He’d been so careful, staying in his house or the greenhouse in the alley. He avoided Cyrus’s workshop and the bakery because he knew that was the only point of contact the agency would give Arrow if he was looking. He’d sent that blank piece of paper through Cyrus because he genuinely had nothing to say.
What was he supposed to tell Arrow?Hey, I know you think I’m just a pretty face who should be on my knees, but actually, I’m really good at what I do, and I deserve respect?
Arrow would probably laugh. Or worse, he’d think Flint was beingcutebefore he went on about his needs, his wants, and his...
The greenhouse door creaked open. Flint spun around, panicked. It was becoming a point of honor for him not to talk about Arrow with his friends. He grabbed the edge of his floppy yellow sun hat and tugged it lower, hoping it would hide hisblotchy face. His hands found the hose, giving him something to do, something to focus on that wasn’t the mortification of being caught crying like a child.
“Flint?”
It was Pax, and he sounded concerned.
Shit.
“Hey, Pax.” Flint kept his back turned, aiming the hose at a row of plants that definitely didn’t need more water. “I’m just finishing up here. Did Storm send you to check on the strawberries? Yes, they’re ripe, but I’ll pick them when I’m ready.”
“Storm’s napping.” Footsteps crunched on the gravel path between the raised beds. “Flint, are you - oh mygod, you’re crying.”
“I’m not.” Flint adjusted the hat again. “I must have something in my eye.”
“Uh-huh. And I’m the queen of England.” Pax materialized at Flint’s elbow, his dark eyes sharp with concern. “What happened? Did someone hurt you? I’ll fucking end them.”
Despite everything, Flint’s lips twitched. Pax was maybe five-foot-nothing and weighed about as much as a bag of potting soil, but his protective instincts rivaled Storm’s crocodile. “Nobody hurt me.”
“Liar.” Pax plucked the hose from Flint’s hands and turned off the water. “You’re flooding the strawberries, and you love these plants more than you love most people. So either you’re having a breakdown or something’s really wrong. Which is it?”
Both, probably.Flint sank down onto the wooden bench at the edge of the greenhouse, his overalls squelching. He pulled off his sun hat and twisted it between his hands. “It’s stupid.”
