Page 4 of Wrong Squad, Right Mess

Yun sat with the others, eating something Carter had located. We could easily go as long as needed without food, but she was different. From her time in here before, she’d explained that she’d never gotten sick from the corruption in anything, so we saw no reason to have her refrain.

“You don’t look so good.”

I turned to find Ingram leaning against the edge of the shed, his arms folded across his chest, his eyebrow cocked up. Normally I hated being snuck up on, but I could tolerate more from Ingram than I could from others.

“The mental blocks won’t be enough,” I explained.

“They’re as good as you can do, aren’t they? Then they’re enough.”

I shook my head. “They’ll slow him down, but they won’t stop him.”

“This isn’t just on you. You know that, right?”

I said nothing.

Ingram cursed, the word low and angry. “Fucking hell, Shear, why do you think this is all your job? We’re all in this together. You don’t have to beat him on your own just because you’re a mentalist, too.”

“You don’t understand. A mentalist fights on a plane you can’t do anything about. They fight in a way all your skills can’t defend against.”

“Pretty sure a blade to the throat takes out a corrupted, mentalist or not.” Ingram took out one as though to prove the point. He didn’t have his blades, of course. Instead, he had a couple pocketknives he’d pilfered during his search with Carter. He rolled one over his knuckles, suggesting he’d already gotten used to the weight and balance of it.

He might understand that knife, but he clearly did not understand my point. “A mentalist can ensure you never get to use that blade. I’m the only one who can do anything about that. I have to do something about it.” I ran my fingers through my hair, pushing the strands that had fallen forward away from my face.

“Fuck this.” Ingram caught my shoulder and shoved, the action quick enough I couldn’t even consider a reaction. When I blinked again, he’d pinned me against the shed, the metal hard and cold against my back, his gaze staring down the short distance between our heights.

“Are you trying to prove to me that you can handle a mentalist? That you’re strong enough and fast enough to take one out?”

“Fuck, you really think I’m about to play that game with you? I know damn well what you could do to me if you wanted.”

“Then what is this?”

“This is me helping you. You’re going to run yourself fucking ragged if you don’t knock this shit off. If you don’t take a load off, you’re going to break before we ever even deal with that fucker.”

“I can handle myself,” I snapped, knowing my lack of composure sure didn’t make it seem that way.

“Sure,” he said, his voice dropping an octave before he dropped down—to his knees.

I might have been the mentalist, but even I could admire his skills in being able to scramble my brain. Something about the way he looked there, staring up at me, the way his tattoos stood out in the dim light, the purple from the sky reflecting off the plugs in his ears, it made him look almost…ethereal?

Damn it, I almost could have said the bastard looked pretty.

Clearly, I’d lost my mind.

“So this is all it takes to get you to shut up,” he said in a whisper, as though it was more to himself than me, as he undid the button of my jeans. They were loose on me, which meant the moment he got that open, the fabric all but slid down my legs. I had no underwear, and already my cock was hard.

He chuckled, the reaction enough to make my cheeks burn.

“You complain but look at you, already leaking. Fuck, Shear, maybe you should have asked me to do this sooner.”

“Like I would have.”

“Why not? You’ve done it for me enough times.”

“That’s different.”

“How?” He dragged his tongue up the bottom of my cock in a single slow, rough motion like that were the punctuation for our little back and forth conversation.

“It’s different because you need that. I did it because you needed it. It was like…a physical.”