Then searing pain.
“Holy fuck.” I staggered as Waverly’s office came back into focus. “Holy fuck.”
“Jesus Christ, you’re white as a sheet.” She was in my face, nudging me until the back of my knees touched the chair I’d occupied earlier. “Sit down before you fall down.”
That sounded like a fantastic plan. I was numb from head to toe. I’d never been able to remember what happened after I pulled Sloane from the car. The doctors called it retrograde amnesia. The surgeon who operated on me must have assumed the bullet he pulled out of my chest was from a previous gunshot wound. And why wouldn’t he? I’d been involved in a car accident, not a shoot-out. Reading his report triggered a memory my mind had blocked out, for good reason it seemed.
“I was shot.”
“No shit, Duncan.”
“No, I mean I was shot at the scene of the accident.”
The look of shock on Waverly’s face matched what I was feeling inside. Her high heels slid across the floor as she moved to the chair next to mine, lowering onto it. She opened and closed her mouth a few times before actual words came out.
“You remembered something.”
Swallowing around the knot in my throat, I answered, “I did.”
“Tell me.”
My blood was boiling as the numbness wore off, replaced by a rage so thick it threatened to strangle me. Closing my eyes, I sucked in a breath, held it for three, then blew out any trace of anger. Having my emotions on lockdown, I recounted every second of my assassination attempt, as if I were a bystander instead of the intended target. Right down to the fact that whoever tried to kill me was smart enough to shoot through a piece of the car. Doing so broke off shards of metal, sending them through my chest along with the bullet. When I finished, my best friend was glaring at me like I was the one who pulled the trigger.
“Don’t do that, D.”
“Do what?”
“You’re allowed to be pissed. Someone tried to kill you, for fuck’s sake.”
“I’m fine.”
“Bullshit.” She stood, hiking her thumb toward the door. “Let’s go.”
Rather than argue, I followed her down the hall to the gym. I’d insisted on having it when we opened the office almost seven years ago, not just for training. With the kind of work we did and the depravity we saw, our team had to have a place to let loose, to decompress. It came in handy on more than one occasion.
“Get changed.”
Fifteen minutes later, I was in the middle of the boxing ring, facing off with Keaton. He was the first agent Waverly and I took under our wings, and he was the first to volunteer to help me work out my issues. The other three were waiting in the wings, eager to take his place. I’d spent countless hours teaching each one of them everything I knew about hand-to-hand combat. They were damn good, but I was better.
“You ready to rumble, old man?” he taunted, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“Bring it on, kid.”
Keaton struck first, pivoting on one leg while kicking out with the other. I blocked the hit, using his momentum to knock him off balance. After that, it was game on. We circled each other, exchanging a mixture of punches and kicks. Rightcross. Left jab. It was exactly the release I needed to clear my fucked-up head. He knew I was toying with him, waiting for the perfect opportunity to hand him his ass, but he countered every strike with confidence, pushing me harder. Then it happened. The door to the gymopened, distracting my opponent for a split second, just enough for me to sweep the back of his legs. Keaton landed flat on his back.
“Son of a bitch,” he groaned.
“Holy crap.”That voice.
Spinning around, the source of our interruption was unveiled. The girl gang had arrived and they’d recruited a new member. Sloane stood at the back of the room, arms linked with Henley and Jade. She looked radiant wearing black jeans and a maroon turtleneck sweater.
“That was hot.” Henley fanned herself.
“Watch yourself, Little Bird,” Keaton fired back, still lying on the mat.
My lips tipped up at the corners. “What are you doing here, Sunshine?”
“Oh shit,” Koen muttered. “Is he smiling?”