Page 2 of Act of Passion

“Probably,” returned Malik. “I really hate it when they try to lure us to our deaths. You’d think it would get old for them after awhile.”

“I’ve found the enemy often lacks originality,” said Garth, still looking the MTARover.

Rurik paused in his admiration of the crate of AK-47s. “Should wego?”

Malik shook his head. “And leave all this here to possibly end up on the streets and in the hands of drug dealers and criminals? Or to be used to help launch a war? No. We need to stay until a clean-up crewarrives.”

“And if it is a trap?” askedGarth.

Malik grunted. “Then we do what we always do—survive and kick the shit out ofthem.”

While Garth technically outranked Malik, they’d been friends far longer than they’d been with PSI. There was an unshakable level of trust between them. And Garth was nearly as old as Malik, which was saying something, considering Malik was old as dirt. The men had worked together too many times to count over the years and trusted one anotherfully.

The same could not be said for Garth’s former second-in-command, Gram Campbell. Gram was a stubborn Scotsman with a huge chip on his shoulder who fancied himself a cut above the rest of the shifters in PSI because he was part wolf-shifter and partFae.

He was also one hundred percentasshole.

Rurik wasn’t winning any personality competitions, but the man was far better to deal with than Gram had been. Malik was happy Gram had gone over to the Shadow Agents side of PSI nearly twenty years ago. It made being around Garth and his unit so much easier. Before Gram’s transfer, things always ended in a fight between Malik and the outspoken male. And it wasn’t as if Malik lacked patience with Scotsmen. He’d worked with Striker, who was as Scottish as they came, for over a century now and hadn’t wanted to actually kill him—yet.

Rurik pried open the crate nearest him with nothing more than his hand. He lifted a rocket launcher. “They aren’t playing around,” said the Russian bear-shifter, sounding like he was fresh out of the Kremlin. “I hate arms dealers. They always go for the easy money. They are probablyAmerican.”

Malik hid his laugh under acough.

Rurik had a lot in common with Malik’s teammate Duke Marlow. The two pretty much hated everything and everyone. Though, Duke was an all-American man. Born and bred in the States, the man bled red, white, and blue. Rurik still missed the Cold War and the “glory days” of the U.S.S.R, reminiscing about it often. Each still viewed the other as a possible threat, and neither would admit they were justalike.

Duke came up behind Malik holding a large rocket launcher of his own. A passing glance was all he gave Rurik. “Mine isbigger.”

Rurik’s lips pressed together in a white slash. “Americans. And for the record, yours is not bigger. You just think itis.”

Duke used his free hand to grab his belt. “One way to settlethis.”

Rurik faced Duke and began to undo his black cargo pants, still holding a launcher as well, a line of Russian falling free from him in the process. While Malik’s Russian was rusty, he was fairly sure the man had just called Duke a dickhead before insinuating that Duke’s dick was the size of apencil.

“I hear you talking there, Ivan Drago, but the proof is in the pants. There is nothing pencil-like about my wood,” returned Duke, undoing his belt fully while he still held the launcher over his rightshoulder.

Rurik appeared baffled. “My name is not IvanDrago.”

Miles “Boomer” Walsh came around a set of stacked crates. While he was technically dressed in ops gear, he somehow managed to look as if he was headed to a rave, not raiding a warehouse owned by a big-time arms dealer. “Dude, it’s from the movieRocky. Man, even Duke has seen it and he’s a damn Luddite. You should have seen how long it took me to teach him to use a DVDplayer.”

Confusion covered Rurik’sface.

Boomer shook his head, his long blue-black hair hanging to his mid-back. He narrowed his catlike violet eyes on Rurik. “We’ve had this talk, Romanov. You can’t understand pop culture references if you don’t bother to learn about pop culture. I sent you DVDs talking about the last few decades and popular references from each. Let me guess, you didn’t watchthem.”

“I hate DVD players,” returned Rurik, undoing his pants more. “They’re unnecessarily complicated. The last time I tried to watch one, strange voices played over the movie the entire time, telling me about thescene.”

Duke stiffened. “That happened to metoo.”

Boomer pressed a fist to his mouth. “Seriously? You two realize you were watching them with the director commentary turned on,right?”

Duke growled. “Fuck you. And no, I didn’t know that was what it was. I hate technology. Pointless. Plus, you’re a shitteacher.”

Boomer paused and glanced between the men. “Why are you guysundressing?”

Malik folded his arms over his chest. “They’re about to whip out their dicks. Apparently, there is some debate on which country produces the biggest one. And how much, if anything, Duke and a pencil have incommon.”

Pursing his lips, Boomer put his hands up and stepped back. “Sounds like they need a private moment here. I don’t want it coming out later that I was alone in a dark warehouse with a bunch of guys who had their dicks hangingout.”

“Asshole,” Rurik and Duke said together, both glaring atBoomer.

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