Wyatt opened his mouth but couldn’t really find the words to respond. He’d gone on thinking that Roman never tried to get back with him, that he never even wanted to apologize for the shit he put Wyatt through. But that wasn’t entirely the case. Life appeared to have other plans, and the timing wasn’t exactly perfect, but Roman found his way back into Wyatt’s orbit, apology in hand.
“It worked out the way it was meant to,” Wyatt said, managing to let go of the bitter, cold grudge he held on to after all those years. Yes, there was shit in their past that he wished had never happened, but none of that mattered much anymore. They were back, together, and they had a job to finish. What happened after that was still up in the air, but Wyatt wasn’t so scared of it anymore. Being here felt right, as much as he resisted the idea initially.
Roman felt right.
“Don’t hurt me again, okay?”
“I won’t,” Roman answered, kissing Wyatt’s forehead before wrapping his arm around him a little tighter. Wyatt leaned over him and turned the bedside lamp off, plunging them into a room only lit by moonlight, pearlescent and dreamy. Wyatt settled in, the mattress forming a cloud underneath him, eyelids growing heavy.
“Promise?” Wyatt asked, his heart slightly settled but brain far from it.
“I swear it. I’ve got your back, Salt. No matter what happens, I’ve got you. And I’m never letting you go.”
Wyatt accepted that answer as fully fact, a smile forming on his lips, Roman’s body heat creating a deliciously warm cocoon around him. His eyelids became even heavier, matching the weight in his useless limbs. He wanted to ask another question, wanted to stay up until they had to board their plane to Paris the next morning. He wanted to keep re-exploring every inch of Roman’s body before the night was up.
It only took seventy-three seconds of silence for sleep to take them, the two men drifting into dreams featuring both as the main stars, an ocean of twinkling lights as the backdrop.
Chapter 17
Roman Ashford
The sun beat down on Roman as he lay back on the lawn chair, looking out at the Seine and drinking a cold beer. They were at the north bank of the river, famous for being turned into the Paris Plage for summer: Paris Beach. Blue beach umbrellas lined the bank, where Parisians and tourists alike came to drink and hang out, creating the perfect place to watch the sunset over one of the famous bridges or the Notre Dame, its facade being reconstructed but still offering a stunning view. Behind them was a sand volleyball court, where Bang Bang, Phantom, and Wyatt were playing against Mimic, Mustang, and Doc. Loud music from the nearby bars drifted over the general chatter and laughter of the gathered crowd.
It scared Roman how well things seemed to be going, especially after this morning when he woke up with a naked Wyatt wrapped in his arms and realizing none of it had been a dream. It was all real, and that’s what terrified him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was standing on a rug and it was slowly inching out from under him, ready to get yanked completely at any moment.
That sensation wasn’t helped at all by the fact that there could be a traitor in the midst. He hated to think about it but knew that his primary job as the leader of this crew was to keep everyone safe. If one of their own was working with the Pride, telegraphing their moves and helping them out… that would have to be handled.
But who? He trusted each of those six people with his own life, and all for different reasons. Yes, money talked, and if the Pride was offering some kind of ludicrous sum for information, he could see how some people might flip, but not anyone in his Rainbow’s Seven. Especially not with the job they were on. If they made it to the end, all seven of them would have over half a billion dollars in untraceable money.
This was their sunset job, the final one, where the reward would allow them each to sail off on their own private yachts and into their own personal paradise.
So maybe it wasn’t money. Maybe there was another link? Some other connection that was overriding the bond between the crew.
But what? And who?
Roman leaned back in the chair and looked up at the sky, tossing around impossible-sounding possibilities. Mimic—who’d had his back since they met on a hijacked bus in Brazil after a job went wrong—would never betray him, unless there was something he was missing. Maybe something to do with her mother? She lived off-grid near Pride territory, having been married to one of them, making Mimic a stepdaughter to the criminal organization hot on their tail.