“There’s an orgy?” the man in question asks as he trails behind.
“See?” Kit says as he points to the most charming man we have on the team. “He’d never get any work done.”
I look at Deacon as I lift the cup of black coffee to my lips, wondering if he’d consider a change for this class.
“Ignacio is a great instructor,” I say, praising our language expert. “What if there’s someone that speaks a different language?”
“All students in this current class speak English,” Deacon says. “And Alex has baseball practice on Thursday evenings.”
I can’t argue with Ignacio spending time with his son. Hell, a couple months ago, he didn’t even know he had a son. He’s spending as much time as he can with the thirteen-year-old kid to make up for all of that lost time.
“I know you don’t want to do this,” Deacon continues. “And that’s why you’re perfect for the job.”
I honestly feel like a sullen child not getting his way, but not only would throwing a tantrum not change anything, I’d never stoop so low.
“Jude is great with weapons as well,” I hedge, but great is probably an overstatement.
My best friend, Jude Morris, is Blackbridge’s in-house medic, science expert, and biological warfare expert. He could easily disarm a bomb, but I doubt he could hit a target from ten yards.
“If he shoots like he throws a baseball, then he’s more of a hindrance than helpful,” Brooks says with a wry grin.
I hold back the laugh at remembering the black eye he sported for a week last year after Jude smacked him in the face while playing ball at the park. He complained more about the bruising than I ever will about taking on this six-week class. The man is vain to the bone. Granted, the jobs he takes use his handsomeness as a weapon, but even when he’s not working, he doesn’t know how to turn it off.
“Jude isn’t comfortable in large groups,” Deacon says, making it sound like my friend is antisocial, when in fact, he really just doesn’t like people. It’s a completely relatable trait to have, in my opinion. “But the class isn’t until tomorrow, and we have work to do today. Quinten, let’s go over that case you just wrapped up.”
I snatch the list of names off the counter and follow my boss back to his office, tossing a middle finger over my shoulder when the guys start to laugh.
Chapter 2
Hayden
“What are you doing?”
I don’t startle at the sound of my best friend, Parker’s voice when she opens my front door. I saw her pull up in the driveway, and she has a key. I also don’t acknowledge her. This day has been coming for two weeks, and with each hour it drew closer, the more I hate the idea of it.
“You aren’t even ready,” she hisses. “We talked about this, Hayden.”
I continue to use the sponge I’ve cut to fit in the tracks of my windows, frowning when the stupid thing just pushes the dirt to the end rather than actually cleaning it.
“Hayden,” she groans. “Go get ready. We’re going to be late.”
“I decided I don’t want to go.”
“Do you realize how exclusive it is to get into this class?”
I do, actually, because she’s been more excited than me to go.
The class she’s referring to is a six-session course that teaches gun safety and shooting. I used to hate guns, and I’m only now considering the use of one for protection. Coming home to a kicked in door and a trashed house will make a person change their stance on a few things.
“It’s for your safety,” she urges. “Put the cleaning shit down and let’s go.”
Safe.
What a concept. I was never worried about my safety before. Like most women, I took precautions when they were needed. I don’t walk alone at night. I very seldomly go to bars or clubs, and when I do it’s always with a friend. I don’t leave drinks unattended or meet strangers off of dating apps.
A couple of weeks ago I was safe.
Then I fell victim to a burglary. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel completely safe again. It doesn’t matter that I changed the locks and situated my furniture where I would be alerted if someone tried to sneak in.
I still can’t sleep in total darkness. I still take quick showers in place of the long, relaxing ones I used to take because I’m terrified of getting caught off guard. Hell, I’ve been washing my hair in the kitchen sink because I’m terrified of getting caught completely naked with soap in my eyes. I peek out of my windows each time I hear a noise, wondering if today is going to be the day they come back and take more than my damn television.
My privacy was invaded, my sanctuary violated. My skin crawls just thinking about it, and I have to drop the sponge and rub at the goosebumps forming on my arms.