Paranoid. Idiot.
But if Oz, Jag, and their green-bearded pal hadn’t caught everyone back in the forest, perhaps the palais had a few unwanted visitors now. And even if they had contained all the French force members, nothing was stopping more Pura zealots from taking up the mission in Carris’s absence—with their eyes on one prize. No, two. Recovering Carris would only be their first stop. The asshole would never accept freedom without Jayd in tow. Not after all the defeats he’d been served in Paris.
Damn. With an imagination like this, he should’ve been submitting scripts to Hollyweird.
At least he hoped it was all fiction, even as he kept up his visual recon of the area.
Could he pry away this pillar for use as a battering ram? Negative. Likely holding up part of the ceiling.
Waist-high planter pot? Excellent. Check.
Small marble fountain and perimeter statues? Also excellent. Check.
Iron wall sconces? Doable in an extreme pinch. Check again.
Christ. Why did he think this was going to become an extreme pinch? And where was a main hall full of palace-type knick-knacks when he needed it?
No time for ruminating that answer.
Very much time for holding off these cheeky connards, here and now. With any luck, they’d be in the mood to rock the rafters in return. Lots of loud boom-booms felt like such a perfect plan right now.
“Halt in the name of His High Majesty King Evrest of Arcadia!”
At once, the newcomers paused their advance.
Paused.
Just as quickly, the footsteps restarted. Double the pace. Triple the purpose.
“Listen up, assholes. You’re trespassing, and there’ll be serious repercussions. Comprenez-vous that shit?”
He finished with a self-congratulatory grunt. Yeah, he still had it with the vocal dominance. Bronson and Johnson, peppered with a little Statham, did it every time.
The Arcadians’ newest guests didn’t agree. Their subtle snickers spoke that truth clearly enough.
“Oh, sweet honeysuckle. Oh pwwwease don’t inflict your wwwepercussions on us, Mr. Badass Soldier Man!”
“I’m not even weawwing my protective nut cup. What if he shoots off my family jewels?”
“Not the family jewels!”
Air rushed from Brick with speed he didn’t think possible. “Jesus in a donut.”
He exposed himself by rolling out along the pillar. He kept half his weight pinned against the stone, unsure if his suddenly flimsy knees would lend full support.
“Well, well, well. Speaking of rare jewels…”
He cut off the approaching man with a brutal snort. Part of him wanted to punch the pretty boy in his exquisitely carved kisser, but revenge like that was out when a guy wanted to bawl for joy of seeing a good friend.
“Ethan fucking Archer.” He slapped the man hard on the back during their gruff hug. “What the living—”
“Careful, Brickmeister. That’s a lot of nasty language in the house of—how’d you say it?—his oh-so-High Majesty?”
“Says the lord of everything nasty himself?” he retorted.
“Lord Nasty is good for a start.” Zeke Hayes folded his arms, definitely a musclebound monarch in the making. “But I’m so working my way up to being the High Majesty.”
Ethan stepped back, unable to hide the mischief in his blue-black eyes. “How about you stay happy with Psycho Zsycho for now?”
“And how about both of you telling me why the hell you’re here?” Brick broke in. “Especially because the last time we spoke, I remember you roger-dodgering me—from Seattle—about standing clear from this cluster.”
“Huh. Really?” The big dork had the nerve to mix of a puzzled frown with an innocent gaze. “All I remember is the part about saying your posse would always be there for you. I mentioned the same thing to Archer, and he agreed.”
Ethan nodded, adding his smooth take to Z’s audacity. “Leaving friends out in the wind isn’t our style, buddy. You’ve got to know that by now. Besides, my folks own a cute little place on Mykonos. Rayna and Ava were all over the idea of a Cyclades sojourn.”
They chuckled in tandem about that, though Brick couldn’t muster an answering laugh. It would take a while to bring his tense rockets off fire, especially after flying the stress galaxies for nearly a week now.
He leaned on his better leg, relishing the chance for a power pose with his hands on his hips. “To take shit down by a notch or ten, I couldn’t be happier to see you guys.”
Zeke snorted. “Can’t say the same, since I left Rayna in Hora with a credit card and an order to get whatever she wanted in lieu of our reservation at Kako Koritsi.”
“Ca-ca what?” Brick charged.
“Means bad girl in Greek,” the guy responded, shaking the shaggy black hair out of his eyes with a fast wink. “Take it from there or don’t take it anywhere.”
Before Brick could pick either option, Ethan was thankfully true to form, refocusing everyone on the more important subject at hand. “Can we assume, since you’re bellowing the monarch’s name and running around like Cowboy Loki, that the Arcadians have at least taken your side in this shit show?”
Zeke grunted. “Prison Loki is probably better dressed.”
“Shut up,” Brick snarled.
“It’s a solid point.” Ethan eyed him from head to toe. “Thank fuck Ava’s keeping her sister company in Hora, or you’d already be dragged off to whatever they’ve got here for a clothes store.”
Brick pushed out another weighted breath. “Well, then, thank God for Hora and the power of shopping sprees.” He spread his hands, struggling not to remember the last time they were splayed in this position. The moments before he’d reached and secured half of Jayd’s gorgeous ass with one of them. “If there is a shopping district in Sancti, not sure I’d be a welcome sight on those golden sidewalks.”
His buddies were practically synched on their perplexed frowns, though Z got the jump on first comeback. “You mean you haven’t gotten the grand tour already? What the hell’ve you been doing the better part of a week?”
Ethan cocked both brows. “Or perhaps who?”
“Shut. Up.” But there wasn’t time or energy for the extra viciousness. Diversion was his best option now. “You do remember the part about the uniforms at Bourget taking some target practice at me, yeah?”
“Fuck.” Just as quickly, Ethan dropped his forehead into a tight frown. “Z? You said he’d only been scratched.”
“Fortunately, that was the case with the dome.” Brick brushed a couple of fingers across the tiny stitches in his forehead. “Wasn’t so lucky with a couple of the drumsticks.” With the same hand, he tapped at his shoulder and thigh. “But their whitecoats know their embroidery. The scarring won’t be bad.”
“Boo to the yah,” Ethan commented. “That’s good to hear.”
“Pfttt.” Zeke grunted. “If I were you, I’d flaunt that fuckery, man. When you get Stateside again, the girls will be lining up for a spot on your dungeon dance card. Subbies go into heat over scars.”
Ethan flashed a skeptical side-eye. “And you’re the hot expert on subbie trends now?”