Page 21 of Prey

The elevator opens to chaos.

“—told you not to use my good knife for that!” Raphael’s voice carries from the kitchen.

“It’s a knife. It cuts things.” That’s Damon, defensive.

“It’s a Henckels santoku, you barbarian. You don’t use it to open packages!”

I step into the common room. Theon’s sprawled across the couch, feet up on Ezra’s lap despite Ezra’s obvious annoyance. Marcus sits in the corner armchair with his eyes closed. Lucien’s cross-legged on the floor, rebuilding what looks like a carburetor.

“Nik’s back,” Darius announces from where he’s leaning against the kitchen doorway. “And he’s got that look.”

“What look?” I move toward the kitchen, needing water. My voice feels raw.

“TheI just did something I shouldn’t havelook,” Theon supplies, wiggling his toes against Ezra’s thigh until Ezra shoves his feet off entirely.

“Fuck off,” I mutter.

“See? Defensive.” Darius grins. “Twenty bucks says it’s about the woman downstairs.”

“We don’t bet on Nikolai’s personal life,” Raphael says primly, then adds, “Fifty says she’s brunette.”

“You’re both assholes.” I grab a glass from the cabinet.

“Technically, we’re all assholes,” Dominic corrects from somewhere behind me. “Professionally trained assholes, even.”

“Some more than others,” Ezra mutters, still glaring at Theon.

“Speaking of assholes,” Damon emerges from the pantry with an armful of chips, “who ate all the good salsa?”

“That was literally you,” Marcus says without opening his eyes. “At three AM. I heard you.”

“Snitch,” Damon hisses.

“Both of you shut up,” I snap, then catch myself. They’re all looking at me now. Even Lucien glances up from his carburetor.

“Okay, seriously.” Theon sits up. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me.”

“He’s sexually frustrated,” Darius diagnoses. “Look at the tension in his shoulders.”

“I’m not?—”

“When’s the last time you got laid?” Damon asks through a mouthful of chips. “And I don’t mean rubbing yourself up against a pretty acquisition before transport to Wisconsin. I mean actual?—”

“I know what you mean.” The glass creaks in my grip. I ease up before it shatters.

“Three months,” Ezra supplies. “March fifteenth. With that handler from?—”

“Why do you remember that?” I interrupt.

“I remember everything.” He shrugs. “It’s a curse.”

“I don’t know why you don’t just go and fuck her.” Damon sets down the chips, brushing crumbs off his hands. “The girl you brought in. Clearly you want her.”

The glass slips. Water splashes across the counter.

“And she’s getting special treatment,” he continues. “You didn’t run her through Wisconsin like the rest of the collection. You brought her into our home and put her two floors down, behind your own locks. That’s new.”