And she wasn’t lying. Wyatt immediately fit in with the Los Angeles crowd, appearing vaguely recognizable and ambiguously famous in his ironed-out three-piece suit. His silk tie—a bright violet color— popped off the light pink-and-purple shirt he wore, small floral designs adding an extra layer of life to the shirt. He had on a pair of impenetrably dark Ray-Bans, which he lifted up and winked from underneath.
Roman couldn’t take it, not kissing him. He grabbed Wyatt’s elbows and pulled him in tight, his lips homing in like missiles, locking around Wyatt’s. He wrapped his arms around him, loving how it felt when they were tight around Wyatt. It was like he held the entire sun against him, infusing him with a heat strong enough to create life and destroy planets.
When they separated, Roman found himself smiling from ear to ear, the pre-job nerves he’d usually get nowhere to be found.
“Hey, question,” Wyatt asked while they waited for the others. “Why don’t you have a nickname? Everyone’s got one but you.”
Roman leaned against the wall, unable to stop eating up Wyatt with his eyes. The man could really pull off a suit, same as he could pull off wearing just a pair of glasses and some boxers. “I’ve never had one stick,” he answered with a shrug. Mustang and Mimic came out of the bathrooms to join them just then, Mimic in a casual pair of jeans and black spaghetti-strap tank and Mustang in a pair of shredded jean shorts and an Avengers T-shirt, sleeves rolled all the way up so the black mamba tattoo going up her left arm was in full view.
“Besides Mustang calling me ‘Assfuck,’ I’ve never had one that fit more than just Roman.”
“Nicknames?” Mustang asked, Wyatt nodding in response. “Oh yeah, this one’s only ever Roman or Assfuck, depending on how annoyed I am with him.”
“Roman’s a pretty badass name anyway,” Wyatt said. There was a twinkle in his gaze, and seeing it threw Roman right back to the day in the Miami Science Museum, when all this had just started. Wyatt had looked terrified back then but also pissed the fuck off. There wasn’t a light in his eyes back then, only swirling darkness, all of it directed at Roman.
There was none of that anymore. Wyatt looked up into Roman’s eyes with love pouring out of his. It’s what had made it so easy for Roman to say those three little words the night before. He’d had no fears that Wyatt wouldn’t say it back, because he’d already been saying it with his eyes, telling a story that Roman knew he’d never grow tired of reading.
The crew was complete when Bang Bang, Phantom, and Doc joined them, only Bang Bang having changed from his sweatpants into a pair of dark jeans and a white T-shirt, a leather jacket thrown over. Phantom and Doc would be holding things down in their hotel, so both had stayed wearing their comfortable travel clothes. With everyone assembled and ready, Roman led the Rainbow’s Seven out of the airport and to the parking lot, where a Mercedes van waited for them, the black paint shining under a cloudless LA afternoon.
They piled in, Roman taking the passenger seat and leaning back, looking at his assembled crew. He felt confident in them, even with the minuscule cracks that had formed from the Pride’s interference. There still wasn’t an answer to how they were obtaining their information, and that made Roman wary, but it didn’t make him distrustful. He couldn’t afford any distrust between them on a day like today.
“Rainbow’s Seven, you’re all good with the plan?”
Roman’s question was answered with a chorus of affirmations, Bang Bang’s fist pounding the ceiling being the loudest of them.
“Remember, without any interference and this should be the easiest part of the job, but I can’t guarantee that. Everyone needs to have their eyes and ears wide open. Second-guess everyone, double-check your surroundings, and never leave your back exposed. None of us are alone in this; we’ve got each other to count on, alright?”
More nods, more hoots and hollers. The adrenaline was beginning to spike, along with the volume inside the van. Tall palm trees whipped past the window as Mustang drove them down an empty residential street, the homes large and the cars expensive.
“And if I end up giving the signal to run and abort the plan, then you listen. No matter how close you think you are to the tome.” Roman glanced at his gold Rolex. Only twenty-five minutes left before they were set to rendezvous with Alecia.
Twenty-five minutes between them and limitless freedom, the tome and the key within it holding a chest full of their wildest dreams.
“Got it, Roman,” Mimic said, wearing a wig with brunette waves falling down her chest, making her nearly unrecognizable. “But I don’t think you’ve got to worry. I have a good feeling about today.”