Strength of an Assassin(36)

By: Stormy Glenn

I heard an outraged snarl just as we pushed through the swinging door out into the hallway. “Run, Bob.”

We needed to get to our mates.

I heard footsteps pounding behind us.

I ran faster.

Bob tripped and fell.

I spun around and hurried back to get him, but the cook caught up with us before Bob could get to his feet. Once again, I stepped between them, this time taking a punch to the jaw that more than likely would have shattered Bob’s jaw.

I hit the floor as pure agony flared up the side of my face. For a moment, I wondered if my jaw had been dislocated.

Sure felt like it.

“Shade!” Bob shouted at the top of his lungs.

Damn, that guy was loud. He’d probably bring every shifter in the entire mansion.

Now my ears were ringing.

The rush of shifters into the narrow corridor was actually quite impressive. I doubted everyone in the mansion was there, but it was close.

Samson hurried to my side. “What happened?”

“He fell,” the cook said quickly.

“You hit him!” Bob shouted.

In that single instant, the cook made his biggest mistake.

His eyes narrowed into little slits of anger. “I was trying to hit you, you little brat.”

Sinclair wheeled forward. “You were trying to hit a human with a punch strong enough to take a shifter down?”

The cook paled. “They destroyed my kitchen.”

“I threw flour at you because you were threatening Bob.”

When Shade growled, Stone and Stryker both quickly stepped in front of him. He was cradling Bob in his arms, but even I knew that could change in an instant.

“I just wanted to use the kitchen,” Bob said. “Henry was going to teach me how to make truffles.”

“Okay, so what’s the problem?” Sinclair asked.

“He said I couldn’t use the kitchen.” Bob pointed at the cook. “He said I wasn’t even allowed in there. It was his kitchen and he got to say who was in it and who wasn’t.”

Sinclair slowly panned to look at the cook. “Are you under the impression that any inch of this estate is yours?”

“No, of course not.” The cook twisted his hands together. “The mess…I needed to start preparations to make dinner. I didn’t want to have to clean up their mess.”

I called bullshit.

“Then you should have simply stated that instead of frightening Bob and crowding him up against the fridge. And we would have cleaned up any mess we made.”

The cook glared at me. “Now, look—”

“You’re fired,” Sinclair said.

The cook gasped. “You can’t fire me. I was appointed by the council.”

Sinclair raised an eyebrow. “It’s either fired or dead. Your choice.”

Samson, Stryker, Stone, and Shade all stepped forward. I was pretty sure what they were wishing for.

“The council will hear about this,” the cook shouted before turning and storming away.

I winced when I heard the front door slam shut a few minutes later.

“Shit.” Sinclair spun his chair around and started wheeling back down the hallway. “I’d better go call the council and warn them about that idiot.”

“Don’t forget to ask them to send another cook, babe,” Stone called out.

“I could do it.”

I snapped my lips closed when everyone turned to look at me.

“You could do it?” Sinclair asked.

I shrugged. “I was a caterer. It’s kind of what I did before moving here.”

“Is this something you’d really be interested in doing?” Sinclair asked. “Because if you are, the job’s yours. I’m tired of getting asshole cooks in here. First it was that jerk who worked for the council, and now this guy. It seems like we can’t keep good cooks in this place.”

I glanced at Samson to see his reaction.

The smile on his face was pure pride. “My baby can cook anything.”

Well, I couldn’t cook everything, but I could read a recipe.

“Great,” Sinclair replied as he swiveled his chair again. “The job’s yours.”

“He doesn’t start until tomorrow, so you might want to order pizza.”

Sinclair stopped wheeling down the hallway to look back over his shoulder. “Why tomorrow?”

Samson almost rolled his eyes. I could see he wanted to. “Apparently, the kitchen needs to be cleaned and we still have to take Dexter to the park.”

“Park?” Bob asked.

I grinned. “Samson got me a cat.”

He was the best damn mate an omega ever had.