The Wild Charge (Dartmoor Book 9)

Fifty-One

Four Weeks Later

"Ow! Jesus!"

"Get your bloody hand up. It's still too low."

"I put it up!"

"Not high enough. Here."

Evan hissed as another hit landed inside his guard, on his left ear this time.

"You're abysmal," Tenny said happily.

"Well excuse me for not learning karate when I was, like, two."

"It's Krav Maga, not karate, you tit."

"Ow! Fuck."

"That was karate. Learn the difference."

From his place beside Reese on top of the picnic table, Gray leaned over and whispered, "Is he always like this?"

Reese, chest warm and full with affection, smiled and said, "Yes."

Gray fidgeted, fingers working together in a way that had become familiar, the past two months, a nervous tic that Reese had come to learn. Just as he'd learned that Gray's favorite food was mac 'n' cheese, and that he hummed quietly to himself when RJ's iPod, perpetually on shuffle in the clubhouse's radio dock, played Brooks & Dunn. His gaze tended to latch onto Mustangs on the road and he polished his everyday boots – a well-worn pair of Justin ropers – as judiciously as he polished the bar, when Ghost put him on bar duty.

Probably with the same attention he'd given his weapons, before. All of those had been confiscated from his person before they'd even left the Beaumont Building, and Ghost had decreed him not ready to have them back.

He'd been given a bike allowance, though. This morning, Reese, with Walsh and a roll of cash in tow, had taken him to look at a used '01 Fat Boy in a civilian's garage. "I love it, been working on it for four years," the guy had said, "but my wife's pregnant and she says it's gotta go."

Walsh had smirked with his eyes as he'd handed over the cash. "Shame."

Gray had touched the handlebars like they might burn him; had stared with naked awe and, when he looked up at Reese, a glaze of moisture in his eyes. "Really?" he'd asked, half-hope, half-disbelief.

Aidan had spent an hour going over it, writing up a list of what needed tweaking, what needed replacing, and then Reese had shown Gray the basics. He was a Hunter, and so of course he'd picked up riding straight off, a quick study and an eager student.

Reese wasn't sure Gray felt like his brother – then again, he'd never known he had a brother, so he wasn't sure what that felt like in the first place. But even when his hands were bound overhead, he'd felt the first stirrings of affection for the boy. Getting to know him better over the past few weeks had solidified his sentiments into something solid. He liked him.

Tenny, though...well, Tenny was less than charming, even when he was making an effort. Which he was, Reese could tell, just in his own, special, insult-slinging way.

A few minutes ago, as he'd cracked his knuckles and walked out to meet Evan on the mat, he'd pointed at Gray and said, "You're next, asshole."

Now, while Gray kept fidgeting, Reese murmured, "You have to ignore all the trash talk. He doesn't mean it."

"I heard that, dumbass," Tenny called, and dropped Evan flat on his back to another chorus of groans and curses.

"Hey, don't break him," a new voice interjected, and Reese glanced over to find Fox approaching, cigarette dangling off his lip and a piece of paper in one hand. "We're gonna need him." He lifted the paper and waved it.