Page 42 of Flint's Arrow
“Yeah, I did.” Jack’s voice softened. “You’re my friend, Arrow. And from what little you’ve told me, it sounds like you’re actually happy for the first time since I’ve known you. I’m not going to let Patterson fuck that up if I can help it.”
Something warm uncurled in Arrow’s chest. “I am happy. Happier than I’ve ever been.”
“Then that’s all that matters.” Jack cleared his throat like he was uncomfortable with the sentiment. “I’ve got to go. Patterson just walked past my desk. Call me if you need anything, yeah?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Jack.”
The line went dead.
Arrow stood there for a long moment, phone still pressed to his ear, trying to process what he’d just heard. Patterson was actively trying to cause problems. The agency - his former employer, and Flint’s actual employer - might actually show up here looking for answers.
Fuck.
“Is everything okay?”
Arrow spun around. Flint stood a few feet away in his running clothes - shorts that showed off his legs and a tank top clinging to his sweat-dampened skin. His blond hair stuck up in several directions, and his cheeks were flushed from exertion.
Beautiful. Even worried and windblown, Flint was still the most beautiful thing Arrow had ever seen.
“Flint.” Arrow pocketed his phone. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to hear you tell someone I’m your mate and that you’re happy.” Flint walked closer, his huge eyes searching Arrow’s face. “Also long enough to know something’s wrong. Who was that?”
“It was Jack, my old partner from cybercrimes.” Arrow reached out, unable to help himself, and tucked a strand of hair behind Flint’s ear. “He called to warn me that Patterson’s causing trouble.”
Flint’s expression hardened. “What kind of trouble? You don’t work for him anymore.”
“The kind where he filed a complaint with upper management claiming I was abducted and coerced into staying here.” Arrow’s jaw clenched. “He’s convinced himself you’re blackmailing me or some shit.”
“Me?” Flint’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. “I’m blackmailing you?”
“Apparently. Because no wolf in his right mind would choose a ‘twink assassin’ over a promising career in cybercrimes.”
Flint flinched at the slur, and Arrow immediately regretted repeating it.
“Those are Patterson’s words,” Arrow said quickly, cupping Flint’s face and wiping a bead of sweat off with his thumb. “Not mine. Never mine. We’re past that now.”
“I know.” Flint leaned into the touch. “But that’s what people think when they look at me, isn’t it? That I’m just some pretty little thing who couldn’t possibly be dangerous.”
“People are idiots.” Arrow kissed him softly. “And Patterson’s the biggest idiot of them all.”
Flint pulled back, his expression turning thoughtful. “We need to talk to Cyrus.”
“Why?”
“Because assassins don’t deal with the agency directly. Everything goes through our handler.” Flint grabbed Arrow’s hand, tugging him toward the path that led to Cyrus’s workshop. “If anyone in the agency shows up asking questions, Cyrus needs to know about it first. He’s the one who manages our contracts and our relationship with the agency.”
Arrow let himself be pulled along, his mind still churning. “I didn’t think about that. I’ve never worked with handlers before.”
“Most agents don’t.” Flint glanced back at him. “The field divisions operate differently from cybercrimes. We’re not technically agency employees - we’re independent contractors. Cyrus negotiates our jobs, handles the money, deals with all the bureaucratic bullshit so we don’t have to.”
They passed the grill pit where Storm and Devon were prepping for dinner, then cut through the trees toward Cyrus’s workshop. Arrow had walked the route dozens of times over the past three weeks, usually for shared meals or trips to the bakery, but never for… Arrow didn’t even know what he could call it. All he knew was that Patterson was trying to fuck up the best thing that had ever happened to him, and he wasn’t going to let that happen.
His wolf growled in agreement, teeth bared and hackles raised. Arrow had spent a decade playing by the agency’s rules, following orders, and building a reputation. And in three weeks of living in the Alley, he’d learned what actually mattered.
Patterson could file all the complaints he wanted, but Arrow wasn’t going anywhere.I fucking quit, damn it.
They emerged from the trees to find Cyrus’s workshop, the familiar building with its bay doors and hand-painted sign. Python’s Maserati was parked out front next to Cyrus’s truck.
