Free Rise of the Fallen by Donya Lynne Page A

side,
taking a step forward like he was ready to throw down.
    "No. I know." Micah knew not many could take him
down. Even with his massive weight loss, he was bigger, stronger, and more
ruthless than most. Severin was a big-ass boy, though, with shoulders wide as a
Mack truck – wider than Micah's, even though Micah had him in the height
department. Still, Sev was young. But Micah had superior strength.
    With a last, lingering glower in Arion's direction, he
turned and walked out, leaving them behind so he could escape to the showers,
where he hoped to get some privacy. He stripped down and gave himself a hot, refreshing
suds and scrub then stood in the raining water for several blissful, quiet
minutes. After drying off, he flipped his long, black hair back and walked
unabashedly naked to his locker. He squirted a glop of straightener in his
hand, rubbed his palms together, then combed them briskly through his hair
repeatedly before letting it fall freely over the sides of his face. The damp
ends just brushed his shoulders.
    He took out the black military digs that always seemed to
find their way back to his locker clean, thanks to Josie and her helpers, and
pulled on the canvas pants and wool sweater that now looked and felt two sizes
too big.
    Ari was right. He had lost a fuckload of weight over the
past couple weeks. But thanks to the heavy duty eating of the past two nights,
along with taking Sam's blood the night she saved him, Micah had already gained
back six pounds. Nightly feedings for the next several days would also help.
    After yanking on his leather combat boots, he shrugged into
his leather bomber jacket.
    "Where do you think you're going?" Tristan entered
the locker room as Micah was checking the cartridge of his gun.
    He holstered the piece under his arm and slid three extra
clips in his pocket. "Out."
    "Like hell you are."
    "Stop me," Micah said with nonchalant
carelessness. He slipped a set of brass knuckles in another pocket, then sat
down and tucked his boot knife – the same one he had used to mutilate his arms
– inside the ankle of his right boot.
    "You son-of-a-bitch," Tristan said. "You've
been gone over two weeks. You look like the walking dead, and it's obvious
you've been suffering some major shit. Yeah, I saw your goddamn arms, you
asshole. And now you act like nothing's wrong?"
    Micah stood, his hair falling over his eyes. "I'll deal
with it."
    "Like fuck you will. And I thought I told you to get a
haircut."
    "That was an order?" Micah walked past him toward
the exit. "I thought it was just a suggestion."
    "Micah, I don't want you going out." Tristan's
voice held a warning that Micah knew he couldn't back up.
    "If you can stop me, I won't," Micah said, not
slowing down or turning back.
    Tristan followed him out, giving in with a frustrated sigh.
"I want you checking in every hour, asshole."
    With a wave over his shoulder, Micah dismissed the command.
"I'll be back before dawn."
    * * *
    Tristan shook his head as he watched Micah leave the
compound. He hated for his men to patrol alone, but Micah rarely allowed
Tristan to enforce protocol with him. The insubordination was tolerated with
Micah, though, because he was the most lethal of all the members of Tristan's
team, probably because Micah was the one who showed the least amount of
give-a-shit about his own life.
    "Trace, get your gear," Tristan said to the
dark-skinned enforcer as he came down the hall.
    Trace was the other quiet one in the bunch, but unlike
Micah, Trace took orders, even if his lack of discussion made you feel like at
any moment he was going to blow you off.
    "What's up?" Trace said. He had what Tristan
called a DJ voice. Deep and resonant, Trace had a way of enunciating that
charmed both men and women alike. Tristan imagined that Trace never had trouble
finding willing partners to feed from, or for anything else, but he kept his
private life just that, private. No one knew what he did or with whom.
    "Follow him." Tristan