Page 13 of Dark Soul

She’d hesitated momentarily on the Mr, as if she’d been used to calling him something else. One more little hint that nobody here was who they pretended to be.

“Thank you, Carrie. I’ll be right down.”

He took a moment to get ready, more to give the woman time to escape than because he needed the time. Though maybe he also wanted to make Thorne sweat a bit.

You’ve signed the papers, Dark.

It’s too late now for second thoughts.

Dark strode into the conference room. Three men were sitting at the table, and two more standing by the window. One of these was Thorne, who peeled away from the other man and walked towards him.

“Ah, good of you to join us, Dark. Everyone, this is Luke Dark. He will be your team leader. Dark, meet West Danton, Griffin Williams, Slate Williams, and … Ash Gunner.”

Thorne was clearly daring him to say something, daring him to make a scene. But that wouldn’t help—not if they all had to work together.

Dark looked purposefully at the three men by the conference table. The first one to stand up was West Danton. Except for the fact that the stone-gray eyes behind the black-rimmed glasses were the same, it was hard to put this man together with the gaunt face in the file Dark had been given. Around six-foot-tall, with the broad shoulders and slim hips of a swimmer, this man looked to be the picture of health. He wore his hair long, tied in a knot at the back of his neck.

“Nobody calls me West,” he said. “Call me Rogue.”

“Rogue. Good to meet you,” Dark said.

He then shook hands with Griffin and Slate Williams. In person, the brothers looked even more alike. Two things set them apart: their eye color, since one of them had green eyes and the other one blue, and the fact that one was a couple inches taller and had fifty pounds of muscle on the other one.

“Slate,” the larger man said, showing white teeth.

The former Navy SEAL.

The second man followed his brother’s lead, but his look was more cautious.

“Griffin.”

Dark could see himself in the man’s cautious speech pattern and in the pallor of his skin.

He’s like me.

He just got out of prison.

“What should we call you?” Slate asked. “Boss? Leader?”

Dark shook his head. He’d been a captain once, but now … now he wasn’t anything.

“Dark is fine.”

“And what do we call you?” That question was addressed to Thorne.

“Mr. Thorne will do,” the man said, his voice clipped.

Rogue snorted. “Fair enough. That’s what I get for asking.”

And then it was impossible to ignore the elephant in the room—the man standing by the window. He was still a handsome asshole—a few years older than he’d been in the picture, his skin still tan but no longer as swarthy as before. But the main difference was the darkness swirling in his brown eyes.

The man strode towards Dark, his right hand stretched out. “Ash Gunner,” he said.

Dark ignored the hand.

He might have to work with the man, but he couldn’t make himself shake a rapist’s hand.

The man’s lips clamped together as he realized Dark knew about him. The hand retreated, going into the man’s pocket.