Starts with a Match

Ho, Ho, Ho and All That Jazz

"Oi, Kooper, put your sappy Christmas Hallmark shit away and get back over here and help."

Jim's already shouting a defense for me before I've even raised my head, glare prepped and landing right on Lou Stone.

He sends me a scowl and a scoff and lifts the gun they're loading into the truck bed with a grunt, resting the barrel on his shoulder. I shove the paper and pencil aside and jump into the bed, dead lifting that shit and pulling it into place.

Lou huffs, claps his hands out and cracks his neck, sending me a once over as he yanks back on his parka. Since he got scratched across the side of his head weeks ago, he got the sides shaved and just has a fluff of yellow hair hanging over his brow. Looks like a pissed off, torn up alley cat.

"Fucking 'roided up piece of shit. No wonder your blood's all weird, who knows what pills you're popping to get like that," he snips at me.

I hop down from the truck and step up in his space, and he steps right back with a wicked smirk, bumping my chest with his own. "Let's see it, Koop, I know you ain't got fight in you without your precious back up and guns."

"You don't know shit, Stone," I snarl.

He cranes his neck and raises his chin, eye to eye with me. His nostrils puff hot clouds of steam over my face.

What happened to you this last year, Lou?

You've been a dick since I met you on day one, but I've heard the sound of your whisper when you talk about your brothers and the love for your team. Seen the look on your face when me and my four friends come together, and you're standing in the back, thinking no one's paying attention. You got lackeys, man. I got comrades.

Ain't none of them gonna fight for you the way mine fight for me.

Maybe that's why you're an asshole. You know you're alone in this world.

I think I'm right. Cause there's that little flicker behind his eyes again. They dart a millimeter to the side, away from mine. Can't keep my stare.

"Lads, play nice," says Jim, coming up toward us. He claps a hand on either of our shoulders. Though I think his fingers dig more into Stone's skin than mine; Lou sends Jim a sneer and yanks out of his grip and stalks away.

He shoots us one more hissing scowl over his shoulder, mumbling down to Drew and Marco, and the three walk off to get in their own truck, heading for Elista.

"Sure love his spectacular attitude," grumbles Elijah, coming up with Hannah.

I roll my shoulders and straighten my spine, and look back to my team, particularly Hannah. She's shaking her head before I've even said a word, and I give an exasperated groan. "C'mon, Medrano, let one of us switch with you—"

"No, no. I said I'd be fine," she says, crossing her arms. She's the only one of us not wearing her jacket, got it wrapped around her waist. But she's also been sweating more than all of us combined since this morning, getting trucks loaded up with guns for the team up split.

"Plus, I'm paired with Taylors, and you know how chill he is. He's more red unit than green any day."

"Who's paired with Roz?" Jim asks.

"Jenkins," answers Elijah. Jim rolls his eyes with a groan. "Hey, Jenkins is so zoned out on weed most days that Roz can just like, drop him off in a blind, go do his shit, and get back and it's fine."

"I don't like that Roz has to do most of the work," Jim mutters, crossing his arms like Hannah. They could be twins; same height, same hazel-eyed scowl, if it wasn't for Jim's moonlight-pale skin. "At least I get to ride with him to the point."