Turncoat by Megan Derr (the false prince series txt) 📕

of it fit for polite company. Not that they were ever in polite company. "Ready for tonight?"

"I have been ready for tonight since we got to this stupid mountain of unending white death," Greg replied. "God, I hope we get this done quickly and without hassle and can go home. I'm going to bury myself under twenty blankets and never move again."

"You're something else," Dixie said.

Greg lowered his binoculars enough to shoot Dixie a quick grin. "How much longer until we get started?"

"Sundown is in…" Dixie drew back enough to pull out his phone. "Three hours. We go four hours after that. Seven hours, give or take. Hopefully House wore himself out last night with Janet, Cookie, and Lacey."

Greg snickered. "If they didn't wear him out, I'd be asking for a refund. Then again, that dude is a fucking creep; I hope they charged him quadruple."

Dixie reached out, not bothering to look, and gave him a gentle shove. "Do something useful if you ain't gonna keep an eye out with me."

"Yeah, yeah," Greg said. "Aren't they supposed to be coming to relieve us soon? Do you think they're too busy pretending they don't stare at each other when the other isn't looking?"

"I think that's some of it, yeah," Dixie said, rolling his eyes. "Leave'em alone, pussycat." Greg made a strangled sort of noise, and Dixie turned to look at him. "What in the hell has gotten into you?"

Greg glared, or tried, but mostly he just looked sad and frustrated. "Don't call me that. You only call me that when you're fucking me or thinking about fucking me, but it never seems to go further than fucking. No matter how much I wish otherwise. We both know when this job is over so are we, and I hate constantly getting my hopes up you might change your mind." His cheeks flushed and he dropped his gaze, staring at the floor, mouth twisted in a frown. "So just—stop."

It was exactly what Dixie deserved, and he shouldn't have needed to be told. Didn't stop the words from cutting like a knife and leaving him struggling to breathe. "Fair—fair enough. I'm sorry." He turned back to the cabin, lifted the binoculars once more, and tried to focus on the damned job.

At some point the little door at the back of their hole opened. They'd visited the mountains a few months ago, when the weather was nice, to set up everything they would need to get the Mason Chip, including the hole from which they watched the cabin, and a tunnel that led to the larger hole in the ground where they hid.

Dixie could hear Byron's voice, but couldn't focus on the words. Could barely focus on anything, unable to hear anything except Greg's words, the hurt in his voice. Part of him wanted to soothe. No, that wasn't true. All of him wanted to soothe Greg, but what was the damned point?

"You okay?" Byron asked a few minutes later.

"I'll live," Dixie said. "Did you need something?"

"A place to hide," Byron replied.

Dixie grimaced. "Well you came to the right place."

"Greg seemed sad."

"He'll be okay. Had every right to tell me off, and someone like that doesn't stay down for long." Dixie lowered the binoculars long enough to dredge up a sorry-assed smile. "He can do far better than me, especially since…" but he couldn't stomach saying the words and went back to the binoculars.

"I'm not going to let them kill or capture you, Dixie."

"You ain't gonna have a whole hell of a lot of choice, darling," Dixie said. "They've had plenty of time to muck with Daddy's system and rig it up to bring me down. I sure as fuck ain't going back to them, and once I'm back in the system, they ain't gonna let me out." He set the binoculars down, faced Byron dead on. "You and I have always known my story ends where it began: in the clutches of the G.O.D. and the damn system me and Daddy was built to run. We ain't getting what we need without me going in, and for me it's gonna be a one-way street."

"Doesn't mean you have to do it all alone or leave practically nothing behind," Byron replied.

Dixie made a soft, rough-edged noise. "What the hell good did it do Daddy, leaving something behind?"

Byron gave no reply, just stared at him sadly with eyes that had always seemed too pretty to be real. Eyes that were, apparently, too pretty to be human. "Dixie…"

"Drop it. What did you come out here for?"

"To tell you to take a break. I'm pretty sure House isn't flying in more hookers tonight, and Leland has earned a fucking badge or medal or something in making shitty camp food palatable, which even I can't do and I worked a long time to get the hang of food around here."

Dixie laughed. "Around here? You mean Earth, spaceman?"

Byron heaved a long sigh and turned away, kicking his shin. "Yes. Shut up. Come eat before you sulk yourself to death. And I strongly advise making up with Greg."

"Drop it." Packing up what little was around the place, Dixie slung the bag over his shoulder and followed Byron through the short, dark tunnel to their hole in the ground campsite. "I can't fucking wait to be somewhere warm again." He dropped the bag with a sigh and sat down in the folding chair he'd claimed as his own. "So you think it's a good bet we'll get to do this tonight?"

"Yep, and we'll even get a nice bonus snowstorm."

Greg groaned. "I always thought it would be bullets or torture that killed me, not fucking snow." He rolled his eyes, face turning red, as they all gave him looks. "I'm just saying, life is full of unpleasant surprises."

Dixie started to tease him, then shut his mouth and turned away, suddenly feeling like he had rocks in his throat, chest, and stomach. He bent to fuss with the small dufflebag he'd be carrying with him