Maddox answered a few seconds later, his voice raspy with the force of his panting. “Something wrong, Paris?”
William and Paris were on the edges of their seats, peering over at Strider with utter glee. He hadn’t seen either warrior that happy or relaxed in a long time, and he realized they had needed this vacation as much as he had.
Strider blew into the mouthpiece, then moaned as if he were buried deep inside a woman’s body. He tried not to grin.
“Paris?” Maddox asked, confused. “You there? You okay?”
Both warriors tried to cut off their laughs, smashing their knuckles into their mouths, but snorts managed to escape.
“You naked, big boy?” Strider asked in his best imitation of an aroused female. “Because I am.”
More snorting followed his words.
“Strider? And don’t try to deny it. I recognize your voice. What the hell are you doing with Paris’s phone? I thought you were in Rome. And furthermore, what the hell does it matter if I’m naked or not? You have exactly two seconds to explain or I’m going to reach through the line, rip your tongue out of your mouth and—”
There was a pause, static, a muttered, “Give me that,” by an indignant female. Then the normally quiet and reserved Ashlyn was demanding, “Did you just drunk dial my husband?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Strider said, and the other two finally burst into laughter, falling back in their chairs, their bodies shaking with the force of their mirth. “A guy’s gotta have some fun. Even if it’s the fun he puts in his own funeral. So is he? Naked, I mean.”
“No, for your information, he is not. He’s working out. I, uh, kind of incited him to rage so he’s beating the crap out of a brick wall.”
The laughter continued for several minutes, until even Ashlyn was chortling. “You boys are incorrigible. This isn’t funny! He’ll probably destroy the other wall when we hang up.”
“Good. He needed to get out of bed and finally do something besides—” Strider stopped himself before he said something else Maddox would rage over.
“Besides pleasuring me?” Ashlyn finished for him, anyway. “You’ll change your mind when you next see him. Lately, he’s a nervous wreck about the babies. He’s picking fights with everyone he meets and has even been arrested. Twice. We’re going to make our way back to the fortress in the next week or so. He needs you guys. Because, and please don’t laugh when I tell you this, if we’re alone much longer I’m going to murder him in his sleep.”
Strider chuckled. “Bet you’re wishing you hadn’t saved him from his death curse.” Once upon a time, Reyes had been forced to murder Maddox every night and Lucien had been forced to escort his soul to hell. Ashlyn managed to reverse the curse, sparing them all.
“A little peace and quiet isn’t too much to ask for, you know?” she said loudly. Then, in a softer tone, she added, “So everyone’s good?”
“Don’t be nice to them,” Maddox barked in the background. “You need your rest, and they interrupted.”
“Oh, hush,” she replied. “If you had your way, I’d be resting every minute of every day. And like I can really rest while we’re outside, in the middle of town, while you destroy another building. Besides, I miss them and want to talk to them.”
That shut Maddox up. He could deny his precious Ashlyn nothing.
“We’re great. Me, Willie and Paris are on vacation. Together,” Strider added. He relaxed against his lounge, his free hand anchored under his head, wondering if he’d ever have such an easy relationship with a woman. “You guys good? No trouble lately?”
“Besides Maddox’s temper? Not even a hint of it.”
He didn’t ask where they were or what, exactly, they were doing. Besides destroying public property. He didn’t want to know. Ignorance was bliss. Besides that, if Hunters ever managed to pull their heads out of their asses and capture him, he wouldn’t have any secrets to spill.
Secrets. Amun. Ex.
His jaw clenched. You weren’t going to think about them, remember? “How are Stride and Stridette?” Friend that he was, he’d taken the massive burden of picking names for the twins upon himself.
“He’s means Liam and Liama,” William called, but a shadow then passed over his features, his grin fading.
“Madd and Madder are kicking like professional soccer players,” she replied, her voice softening with love and affection. “I swear, we’re gonna have our hands full when they finally get here.”
“By the way, you’ve ruined a perfectly good prank call with all this baby talk, Ash,” William scolded her.
“Seriously,” Paris said with a nod.
She laughed with unvarnished delight. “No more than you deserve, boys.”
“Hang up the phone, woman,” Maddox suddenly said, grim. “Someone’s coming.”
“Uh-oh. I have to go now,” she said and hung up before anyone could reply.
Strider tossed the phone to Paris, who missed. “Think they’re in trouble?”
“Nah,” Paris said, plucking the device before William could. “The someone who’s coming is probably Maddox himself.”
“Yeah, he’s probably dragging her back to wherever they’re staying so he can make a prank call of his own,” William said, adding, “on her body.”
Before Defeat could throw in his own supposition, Strider changed the subject. “So now what are we going to do?” Out of habit, he scanned his surroundings.
The girls were watching them, he realized, confused by their amusement but clearly charmed by it. They were wearing dreamy expressions, as if they were already planning a triple wedding.
“I guess we could grab a female or two and head to our bedrooms.” Paris didn’t sound enthused by the prospect. At least he wasn’t going to deny himself his daily dose, though.
“Yeah,” William replied, and he actually sounded depressed.
Strider knew Paris’s problem. The woman he had desired above all others, the first woman he’d ever been able to have sex with more than once, had died in his arms, gunned down by her own people. Hunters. Like Ex.
This time, Strider didn’t even attempt to cut off his thoughts of her. Yet. Had she been among the shooters? Probably. There was no bitch more coldhearted. Literally. He’d never met anyone whose body was as cold as that girl’s—except those he’d sent to the morgue, of course. Like he’d once sent Ex.
Was she cold because she was still dead? Was she akin to the walking dead?
The possibility was worth considering. Later. Right now, he wanted to figure out William’s unusual somberness. A much safer topic. Was there someone the warrior wanted but couldn’t have? Someone he’d lost? Was that why he was so hands-off when he used to be a worse degenerate than Strider? Seriously, he hadn’t touched a single stripper. Not even to slap a rump.
“So am I the only one who sees the dead girl at Paris’s feet or what?” William asked conversationally.
Strider and Paris stiffened in unison. Dead girl?
Strider was the first to find his voice. “What do you mean?” He looked, hard, but saw no hint of a dead…anything.
“Is this a joke?” Paris demanded, and there was no denying the menace in his voice.
“No joke, I swear.” William held up his hands, all innocence. “She showed up a few minutes ago and just kinda threw herself on the ground beside your chair. Dude, she’s got her hands wrapped around your ankle.” His gaze remained in the same spot, as if he were studying her. “She’s got dark hair and dirt-smudged skin. Or maybe those are freckles. She’s wearing a ripped white robe and black wings are growing out of her back. Ohhh, she’s got nice hands. Look at those things. I bet she does all kinds of naughty things with them.”
Paris was on his feet a second later, wild gaze darting over the concrete surrounding his chair. “Where is she? Where, damn it?”
A frowning William pointed at the exact spot Paris was standing. “You’re on top of her. Hey, girl. Girl. I don’t think he can see you. Or feel you. I don’t think grabbing on to him like that is gonna help you.”