Page 8 of Tactically Acquired

“Yeah, I’ll head out there with him,” Jack added, hurrying to his feet. “Jason, you’ve got Isabelle.”

Jason rolled his eyes, huffing out a sigh. “Fucking pussies.”

4

SLIDER

The frying pan sizzled as I tossed in the peppers and onions. Olive oil popped and crackled in the pan and I turned down the heat, avoiding burning the shit out of my onions. I loved the caramelized taste, but not with this particular recipe. Wiping my hands on my apron, I got to work on the eggs, whipping them gently as I strolled over to the fridge.

Mornings like this were absolutely fucking perfect. There wasn’t a single fucking person bothering me and I was in my element, doing what I loved. Well, doing the other thing I loved. The guys loved to give me shit about my cooking, but they had no problem eating everything I put in front of them.

I bent over the stove, gently rolling the softly beaten eggs into the pan with a smile on my face. It was perfect. Absolutely fucking?—

The front door slammed and I sighed, slamming my bowl on the counter. Just one fucking morning, I’d like to make my breakfast without someone walking into my house like they owned the place.

“When the fuck are you gonna get some furniture?” Thumper shouted. “Some of us only have one good leg, ya know!”

I did my best to shut him out as I focused back on my breakfast. Everything came down to the eggs. Just one wrong move and the whole breakfast would be ruined. I preferred to think of eggs like a delicate client or a grenade. Just one wrong move and the whole breakfast was blown to shit. Kid gloves. That’s how I handled the love of my life.

“Ooh, what’s for breakfast this morning?” IRIS asked.

I heard the wood from my bar stool scratch against the floor, but shut out all noise as I gently folded the egg into the perfect omelet. Smiling, I plated it and wiped the edges clean. Damn, that was one fine-looking breakfast.

When I turned around, Thumper and IRIS were staring at my plate with wide eyes, practically salivating at the food in front of them. That was too damn bad. I didn’t cook for them. Pulling the drawer out beside me, I grabbed a fork and cut into the fluffy egg and took my first bite, closing my eyes as I transcended into heaven.

“Fuck, that’s good.”

I didn’t even hear them coming. I should have expected it. Hell, we’d been on the same team for years. I knew it was only a matter of time before they would jump me and take my food from me. I just hadn’t expected this kind of treachery in my own house.

The plate was snatched out of my hands as I was tackled to the floor. I choked on the only bite I was able to take, my throat clogging with egg and making it impossible to breathe.

“Fuck,” I gasped around the food lodged in my throat.

“Leave some for me!” Thumper shouted.

“We’ll split it in half,” IRIS shouted. “Tie him up!”

I gasped for air, but it wouldn’t come. Hell, I was choking and they were more concerned about getting my damn omelet. Not that I could blame them. It was fucking good.

My arms were wrenched behind my back as Thumper zip-tied me to the cabinet. Meanwhile, my face was turning fucking red from lack of oxygen. I could feel the panic creeping up inside me as I watched Thumper and IRIS fight over the food on my plate, arguing over who was going to get the last bite as the savages stole the very food I made for myself.

And here I was, on the brink of death with nothing to show for it. No woman, no fucking furniture, no life other than killing people and cooking for myself. And my own food was going to kill me.

I started slamming my back against the cabinet, trying to give myself some odd form of the Heimlich. I knew it wouldn’t work, but I couldn’t give in. Not yet. Not when I still had a chance to save myself. Savage gasping noises filled the air as I struggled to breathe, and yet, my own teammates still hadn’t noticed that I was about to bite the bullet.

Except, there were no bullets in sight.

This was a sad and pathetic way to go. Death by omelet. What would my epitaph read?

Here lies Slider.

The man who cooked one hell of an omelet.

And then choked on it.

No. I would not go down this way. I would not die in such a sad and pathetic way. I would live, goddamnit! I would live and then…fuck, I didn’t know what I would do. Probably kick their asses. And then I would make another omelet.

“Hey, I think he’s choking,” Thumper said, smacking IRIS on the arm.

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