Black List: Black Star Security by Cynthia Rayne

Author:Cynthia Rayne [Rayne, Cynthia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-07-29T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Storm woke up just before dawn.

As soon as the alarm went off he was full of nervous energy. He hadn’t gotten nearly enough rest, but his body was keyed up anyway. Storm had spent most of the night tossing and turning, formulating a plan.

After he crawled out of bed, he’d quietly knocked on Lucy’s door, but there was no answer. Apparently, she was still asleep. Lucy was probably exhausted after all she’d gone through. He decided to leave her alone.

It was probably for the best. They needed a little distance anyway.

He got dressed, grabbed a protein bar, and went to the gym to blow off some steam.

Storm found Thomas King and Quentin Zane doing another sit up challenge. They were both former Navy SEALs who had a competitive relationship, at least when it came to physical fitness.

Both of them were drenched in sweat, grunting through a series of sit-ups.

“Mornin’,” King huffed. He was six feet eight with reddish blond hair, and he sported a thick layer of stubble on his chin.

Storm mumbled in response as he stepped on the treadmill and started it up. He preferred to run sprints for exercise. Actually, he loved going for a hike, but he wanted to be around when Lucy woke up.

Zane gave Storm a speculative glance but didn’t comment. He was thirty-two, six feet tall, and he had steely blue eyes, medium brown hair, and a sinewy, well-developed frame. Everyone on the team was fit. When you’re chasing bad guys for a living, it literally paid to be in shape.

“What’s your deal?” King asked.

Unfortunately, King was always asking personal questions and sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. It’s like the guy had never heard of boundaries.

Storm had worked with both men. He’d provided the intelligence and interrogated targets, while they’d provided the muscle, snatching up tangos and foiling terrorist plots.

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

King snorted. “I’m not buyin’ it. You’re all fluffed up, like an old wet hen.”

Okay, that’s it.

“You know what? I hate Southern colloquialisms. I don’t find it charming. It’s annoying. Speak English.” Storm kicked the treadmill into high gear and started running.

“You’re right,” Zane said. “He’s madder than a bull chewin’ on bumblebees.”

Both of them were Southern and half the time Storm didn’t know what the fuck they were going on about. Storm had grown up on the West coast and his job had taken him all over the world. Living in Kentucky had been quite an adjustment, but he was slowly getting used to it. At the moment, he was crabby, and not in the mood to deal with their bullshit.

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here.”

“Then man up and tell us what’s stickin’ in your craw,” King said. “I ain’t got the time to play counselor.”

“I didn’t get enough sleep.” It was partially true.

Zane hmphed in response. “Such a lame excuse.”

“Hey, are you ready to call it quits?” King asked, puffing as he shakily did one more sit-up.

“I will, if you will, brother. Is it another draw?”

“God yes.

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