8: Bolt Saga, Book 8 by Angel Payne

Author:Angel Payne
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781642630374
Publisher: Waterhouse Press

“Bienvenue.”

It’s not the first time I’ve heard Angelique murmur the word, but never have I gotten the chance to enjoy it without the addition of her subtle little sneer. When the woman isn’t trying to impress anyone, her voice is actually a lovely sound—and the recognition is such a surprise, I smile.

Wrong, wrong, wrong move.

Which now, I almost want to laugh at myself for. After all the other wrong moves I’d stressed about making with this one—asking for Angelique’s help in the first place, accepting her offer of this apartment as the “Ninja Lair,” agreeing she should stay in Paris in case we needed someone with strong local connections to assist with any fuckery that got thrown at us—a simple, instinctual smile wasn’t anywhere on the list.

But here I am, wishing like fuck for the chance to backtrack time by thirty seconds. No, by five minutes. Back to the moment on the sidewalk next to the Pont Neuf, when I should have extracted my brain out of my dick and prepared Emma for this instead of composing a fucking sonnet about lightning bolt blood and hearts catching fire.

A lot of good that mush is doing me now.

As if Emma cares about a syllable of it anymore.

As if she remembers it anymore.

But of course she does—I practically watch it all replaying in her head as she scans my face—and arrives at the same conclusion I’ve just ramrodded into myself as well.

“Bienvenue.” Her reiteration is closer to retaliation but hints enough at a sob that I instantly realize how much my paranoia for security has led to my stomp into a Clifford the Dog-sized shitpile.

At once, every cell in my blood bellows with remorse. Too damn little, too fucking late. Still, I turn and attempt to utter, “Emma—”

“Bienvenue. Isn’t that swell?” She bites it out this time, and there’s no concluding sob. There’s action. She sets her roller bag free with a brutal shove, letting it collide with a little table in the hallway adorned with a single daisy in a bud vase. Shockingly, the vase and flower jiggle but don’t fall or shatter. I take that as a good omen—and yeah, right now I’m desperate enough to grab at stupid symbolism like that. At every damn reinforcement I can get.

“Emma.” Including the dictator’s growl in my own voice. “This isn’t—”

“What it looks like?” Her retort cranks her bitterness nozzle higher, which reopens the spigot for my frustration too. “Hate to say this, buddy, but you’ve exhausted the quota on that one.”

At first, I don’t say or do a thing. After a few seconds of steadily studying her, I retrieve her bag from under the table. My attention doesn’t veer from her by an inch. “I was going to say this isn’t my first choice of a solution either. But Angelique has earned her place on Team Bolt, and if even I can see that, you owe it to me to do the same.”

I stop and wait again. I know my conclusion

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