Page 79 of Fuse

Because the place is still being used as a Consortium recruiting station?

“Holy. Fuck.” One good repetition deserves another, right? Except when a guy has to focus on ionization containment and the words burst from a gut that’s grinding and roaring, powered by rockets with bile as their fuel.

In the haze in my periphery, there’s mindful movement. “Richards.” I’ve suddenly never been more thankful for Foley and his ability to play Spec Ops Buddha when I need him the most. “Talk to me, man.”

His posture is more tense than usual, as if he’s dropped into mental starting blocks and is simply waiting for me to fire the race gun. I hate thinking about how accurate that comparison might be.

“The fuckers never left the place,” I finally grate. “They just pretended to close it all up. Covered the furniture and kept the lawn up, probably so the HOA wouldn’t hound them, and have continued using it with someone else’s name on the deed.”

“Guy’s name is Roman Engrid.” The information comes courtesy of Alex, who’s tapping efficiently on another smart pad. “He’s the middle son of the Engrid Seafood dynasty.”

Foley licks his lips. “I love their cod bites.”

Fershan, the team’s adamant vegetarian, mumbles, “I shall tick your word for it.”

Foley cocks his head. “You can take my word too, if you want.”

“No.” Fersh waves a hand. “You can keep it.”

Ignoring them both, Alex goes on. “Engrid was a small local outfit in Norway, until Roman had aspirations of taking the brand global. He did so by signing on with Meta Seafood Packaging…”

“A known Scorpio cartel conglomerate,” Foley finishes for him, frowning.

“Fuck,” I spit again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” My fingertips crackle with blue and gold sparks, which intensify as I yank open the storage closet under the stairs. Inside are at least three sets of mission leathers. I waste no time dropping my sweats and switching them out for the thickest black fighting pants I own.

With one-two-three efficiency, Foley’s got his hoodie shucked without releasing his expectant stare on me. “So we are riding the same wavelength here, yeah?” he prompts, pulling out the leathers I had customized for him.

“Depends.” I knife one arm and then the other into my jacket. “What’s on your wavelength?”

“The fact that Angie looked a little strange during our drive back here yesterday, especially when we hit the area near RPV,” he asserts. “Maybe she was zoning out because the mental woo-woo stick was connecting to that pin”—he jogs a nod back at the phone as I return it to Lydia’s grip—“and that the feeling got worse as soon as Faline tried to hook up the link to you…”

“And now Angie’s coerced Wade and Em to go back there with her.”

“Probably selling them tickets for the ‘Retribution on Faline’ bandwagon.”

As Foley zips his jacket to his neck, his jaw turns into a blade of tension. “Which may or may not be the truth.”

“Does it really fucking matter?”

He dips a terse nod. “Damn good point.”

Why doesn’t that make anything feel better?

As a matter of fact, why does it only rev the rocket blasts in my gut, melting everything from my waist down, including the ice cubes of my knees? Why did I think I could even get out the damn door before yearning to plummet to those knees and vomit from the most violent craving to kill I’ve ever known? And why is it now stacked on top of the most dreading fear I’ve ever endured?

But why do I remain on my feet, picking up my pace out the front door and making my way to the Range Rover with wider, faster strides? Why do I hike myself into the passenger’s seat, knowing that if Foley drives, I can think more clearly about what has to happen once we get to that bitch’s mansion? And why do I already start narrowing down the list of possibilities, despite how that tops off the bile fuel tanks in my gut?

My bold, brave, selfless, dauntless woman actually thinks the princess can save the prince now by slaying the fucking dragon.

But killing the dragon isn’t the solution to the quest. There’s only one way to do that, and I’ve figured out that secret already.

Winning this quest means becoming the dragon.

Chapter Four

Emma

Why don’t the movies ever go over this part of secret missions?