Page 39 of Compassion

Still.

I don’t enjoy having someone rub their triumph in my face.

Definitely not when Iwantthem rubbing something else in my face if you catch my drift. And yeah, I know I have no business fantasizing about that especially now that we’re going to be living together. Holy fuck, we’re going to be living together.

“No, Jaye,” I firmly state after a small chuckle. “We’re notordering in. You just dropped a shit ton of money on food. We’re gonna cook it.”

“But grocery shopping is so exhausting,” she continues to good naturedly whine while spinning on her heels to face me again. “It takes so. Much. Energy. I really don’t think I have any left for cooking, which is why havingDos Mamasdelivered is the only solution to that problem.”

“You mean it’s yourpreferredsolution.” Smirking mindlessly occurs. “Words matter, sweetheart.”

Snickers slip free as we arrive at her car.

“I said I would cook. And I’m going to cook. I swear it’ll be edible.”

She flashes me a playful pout at the same time the trunk pops open.

“If it’s not edible and youactuallyhate itthenwe can order in.”

“Dos Mamas.”

“Gonna guess that’s Mexican.”

“Yup.”

“You’re in the mood for Mexican?”

“I’m always in the mood for Mexican, especially if you add extra cheese.”

“Cheese enchiladas it is.”

Her eyes widen in newfound excitement. “Do wehavestuff for cheese enchiladas?!”

Lightly laughing can’t be helped. “You don’t even remember what we bought?”

Guilt briefly flashes itself prompting my laughter to get louder.

And deeper.

And livelier until a car at the opposite end of the lane fiddles with their lights creating rapid flashes, I’m unprepared for.

The stun grenade sends me plummeting to the hard ground like the enemy wants.

Expects.

Bullets wiz by forcing my frame to stay low while fighting through my disoriented senses to find my team.

Where the fuck is my team?! Where’s Hiltz?! Where’s St. Clair?! Were they hit?! Fuck, were they hit!? Answer me!

Harsh scrapes collect along my forearms while high pitched screams and barbaric last cries have me unsure of which way I should go for my next move.

Left? Right? And where are those women we saw earlier? Were they in on this? Were they innocent victims killed by a stray bullet?! Were they decoys? Are we decoys?! What about the child?!

“…Archer?”

Archer?

That’s my…that’s my first name.

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