Splice’s heart gave a heavy, interested thud.
His train of thought derailed. He left the beer on the low table and scrubbed his hands on his thighs.
“Are they at one of our places?”
“The Devil’s Pour. I don’t like her going out without me, but what am I gonna do, tell her no? Nina knows I’m under her thumb.”
Splice snorted. Tomb didn’t give a shit who knew how much he adored his old lady.
Rising to his feet, he grabbed his jacket.
“Are you heading home already?”
“I’m worn out.” He didn’t outright lie. “Catch you later, bro.” He slapped the hand Tomb held out, then strode out into the colder night air toward his bike.
After a quiet ride, he let himself into the bar’s back entrance.
Should he blame his tired mind and body for bringing him here just because he’d heard Lisa was there? It was a decent enough excuse, and Splice didn’t delve deeper than that as he met his bar manager as he entered.
“Boss! Is something wrong? You were only here earlier.”
“Nah, pretend you didn’t see me. I’m not here to check up on you; relax. Gonna grab a booth.” He said, even as his eyes scanned the dimly lit bar. He spotted the ladies sitting at one booth along the perimeter.
Everything within The Devil’s Pour was to cater to the patrons, from the mood lighting to the music, which wasn’t at ear-splitting levels, so people could still chat. The food was top-notch. And the drink measures were generous, low-priced, and never watered down, so it brought people back through their doors.
Splice slid into the booth beside theirs, unnoticed, the high-backed seating shielding him from view. Minutes later, a server set a tumbler of scotch in front of him, likely tipped off by the fact that the boss was in-house.
What the hell was he doing? He had no game plan.
And if Nina saw him, he’d have a hard time explaining away his presence. She’d assume Tomb sent him, which would get his buddy into trouble.
All he could verify was that his wayward feet had brought him there.
And then he heard melodic laughter from a woman he’d never forgotten.
The sound of her musical laugh went through his guts and settled in a warm, low place, making his frame lean into the leather seat.
He decided he could stay for ten minutes. No harm in that. It was a minor detail that he arranged to be in the same place as her again, not making him a pervert.
“It sounds like you guys had a blast,” he heard.
The ten minutes passed quickly as Splice unashamedly listened in to the girl talk. Nina mostly discussed her second honeymoon. So, women actually dish about all the nitty-gritty sex stuff with each other.
And then, as he decided he’d played stalker long enough, he slid across the bucket seat when he caught Nina asking, “What about you, babe? Have you changed your mind about dating? Has anyone caught your eye lately? Give me the go-ahead, and I can set you up on a blind date.”
Splice settled back into the booth. Ears perked for those answers. He finally knew where the husband was; she was divorced, and he couldn’t help but feel smug.
If Lisa revealed being attracted to Primo, he’d ride to his apartment and firebomb it, with the club hacker inside.
He had no fucking chill.
Don’t ask him why; he wasn’t currently playing with a full sane deck.
“Same answer as the last time you asked me,” Lisa half-laughed. “What men are worth dating in this climate? I like my peace too much to let a man into my world.”
Had some motherfucker hurt her? Splice’s fingertips started drumming lightly on the table along with the beat of the music. A sliver of anger was burning low in his abdomen. He wasn’t above tracking a bastard down if he’d hurt Lisa. Call it a favor. A Christmas gift. A fucking Easter basket, he didn’t care.
“I’m gonna butt in, babe.” He heard Nina say.
