Eve Silver - Push

I believe every word he’s saying. But I know there’s something he isn’t saying. He’s doing it again. Hiding things. “There’s the Jackson I know and love. Moody, bossy, cocky—”

“Asshole,” he finishes for me.

My chin comes up. I hold his gaze and inch even closer. We’re almost nose-to-nose. Tension thrums in the air between us.

“You. Are not. The boss. Of me,” I say, holding up my index finger and making a wavy line in the air, throwing as much attitude as I can into both the words and the action.

He stares at me. Blinks. Bares his white, white teeth. Not a nice smile; not warm, not friendly. Dark. Feral.

Appealing.

“Sometimes,” he says, very soft, “I think you’re the boss of me.”

My insides melt. How did Miki, the girl who would never in a million years fall for a boy like Jackson Tate, end up falling for a boy like Jackson Tate?

Maybe because there are no other boys like him. There’s just him.

“As if,” I say back, equally soft.

The sound of a muted cough makes me turn. Luka’s on the far side of the clearing, hands shoved in his pants pockets. I don’t know how long he’s been standing there. I don’t know how much he heard. And I don’t think I want to know.

Jackson flips his glasses down, covering his eyes.

Did Luka see them when he first arrived? I try to picture exactly how we were all standing, what his sight lines were. If he did notice anything, he isn’t saying.

“Seriously?” he asks as he saunters over. He’s wearing an outfit very similar to what Jackson and I have on. His paintball visor’s pushed up on top of his head. “Are we seriously doing this tonight? When I have not one but two attractive and slightly tipsy ladies sitting in my car right now?”

“Slightly tipsy?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Seems that Sarah’s brother supplied a few bottles of beer for her and Amy.”

I study his face, worried that he’s going into the game at a disadvantage. “Are you slightly tipsy?”

All humor fades from his expression. “I don’t drink and drive.”

I nod. “Sorry.”

He bumps me with his shoulder.

“We’re due for a mission,” Jackson says. “It’s been weeks since we’ve been pulled. Might as well be tonight.”

Or any other night. Or how about no night? Ever.

“Let’s get this done,” Luka says, looking first at Jackson, then me, before pulling off his paintball visor and hooking it to his vest. “Not the ideal getup for alien hunting.”

“Deal with it,” Jackson says, and tosses me a harness.

Tyrone shows up a few seconds later.

Jackson nods at him. “Hey,” he says.

Tyrone nods at Jackson. “’Sup,” he says.

“You good?” Jackson asks.

“Good.” Tyrone juts his chin in Jackson’s direction. “You?”

“Yeah.”

And that verbose conversation somehow leaves me with the impression that they’re happy to see each other. Gotta love guys.

But I remember Tyrone before Richelle was killed. She teased him about talking too much and slowing the team down.

He’s changed.

I guess we all have.

Tyrone takes a quick look around the lobby. “Before they get here, I need to give you the heads-up,” he says to Jackson. “We’ve got one, maybe two.”

“Two what?” I ask.

“Problem players,” Tyrone says.

I think about that. “Kendra’s pretty freaked out,” I agree. “She’s definitely scared. I don’t know if I’d say she’s a problem, though. She did her share the last couple of times.”

“More than her share,” Tyrone agrees.

So why do I feel like he’s saying something really horrible about her? Like whatever it is, he’ll trust Jackson with the information but not me?

“Tyrone, do you have a problem with me?”

His expression softens. “Never, Miki. Got nothing but respect. You kept a level head through some pretty rough shit. I’m just a little concerned about them.”

“Them being Kendra and Lien?” When he doesn’t saying anything more, I turn to Luka. “What about you? Are you worried about them?”

Luka shrugs. “Not worried. I actually think Lien’s interesting. But I’m not convinced I’d trust either of them with my life.”

“INCOMING,” JACKSON SAYS, HIS POSTURE WATCHFUL, VIGILANT. Makes sense. He doesn’t know the new team members yet, and he’s not exactly the type to trust anyone sight unseen. Especially not after Tyrone expressed his concerns.

Kendra shows up in red sneakers, denim shorts, yellow T-shirt, and red suspenders. Her blond hair’s been colored a bright orange, straightened, and pulled into a one-sided ponytail. Lien’s wearing jeans and blue sneakers, a black T-shirt, a blue bowling shirt with short white sleeves and a white collar, a red ball cap, and green fingerless gloves. There’s a black mesh bag hanging from her belt loop with a red-and-white ball banded in black inside.

“Awesome costumes. Misty and Ash?” I ask Lien.

“Pokémon rules.” She offers one of her rare smiles.

“We’re cosplayers,” Kendra adds. “We made these for Anime Expo last year.”

“You went together?”

“Uh-huh.”

That surprises me. Not that it’s impossible for people to know each other from outside the game—Jackson and Luka and I do. But I’m a little surprised that I’m only just figuring this out now about Lien and Kendra, on our third mission together.

My gaze collides with Kendra’s. She’s watching me watching them. I can’t quite read her expression.

“Did you meet in the game? Or did you know each other before and both get pulled?” I ask at the same time Luka says, “Pikachu, I choose you,” and winks at Lien as he mimes an overhand throw.

“Pikachu? I’m all about Charizard,” Lien says with a sniff, choosing to ignore my questions.

“Makes sense. Fire-breathing lizard with a bad attitude?” Luka lifts his brows. “Suits you to a T .”

Lien sends him a dark look.

And Luka looks back at her like he’s . . . interested. Wow. Obtuse much? He and I have to have a little talk.

“We’re really gonna have a conversation about Pokémon?” Tyrone asks, sounding disgusted.

“We’re not having any conversation,” Jackson says. “This isn’t social time. We aren’t here to make friends.”

“Have you practiced that speech?” I ask. “Because it sounds a lot like the one you gave me the first time I got pulled.”

“Who the hell are you?” Lien asks. From the expressions on her and Kendra’s faces, this is about to get interesting.

In typical Jackson fashion, he’s about as friendly as a post. “Jackson Tate,” he says by way of introduction.

“Lien. That’s Kendra.” She’s barely civil as she says it.

“I know.”

Luka’s brows shoot up. I’ll tell him later about the Committee dropping info into Jackson’s head. I’ve had enough of the whole we-don’t-talk-about-the-game-outside-the-game. I’m more certain than ever that knowledge is power, and the more we know, the better we’ll be able to do this job.

“Gear up,” Jackson says.

I wince at the militant expression on Lien’s face. This is not going to go well.

Kendra crosses her arms over her chest and cocks a hip out to the side. “What makes you—”

Jackson’s right in front of her and I barely even saw him move. Lien tries to get between them, but Jackson sidesteps her easily.

“My team. My rules,” he clips out. “This is not a democracy. You follow my lead. Do what I say when I say it and I will get you both out of this alive.”

Lien glances at the knife strapped to Jackson’s thigh. Her expression’s mutinous, but it’s Kendra who answers back.