Dagger leaned back in his chair, arms crossing. “Confident, are we?”
“Always.”
“Dangerous trait.”
“Only for the other man.”
Dagger arched a brow. “There’s always a first time.”
“I’m seldom wrong in my assessments,” Drake drawled. “Reaper may bite and growl, but he is extremely tolerant of our newest brother’s tongue.”
Dagger shrugged. “Twenty pounds it is.” He cast a brief glance at the bar. “Care to tell me why the back of my neck turns to ice whenever the two of you occupy the same space?”
“Maxen didn’t tell you that part?” Drake asked.
Dagger shook his head.
Good. “A minor disagreement, that’s all.”
“It’s never minor when it’s between brothers.”
“Don’t worry so much. This was infuriating, but still minor. Not even worth mentioning.”
Dagger’s brow lifted. “You ruined his boots again, didn’t you?”
“That was one bloody time.” Drake wanted to say more but the door of the tavern slammed inward with such force that he leaped to his feet, hand on the pistol in his waistband. Dagger followed suit, a blade appearing in his hand.
He scowled when Reaper shoved Deveraux aside and entered, faces bloodied, bruised, cursing at each other.
“You long-limbed, treacherous thoroughbred thief!” Reaper bellowed, blood streaking down his temple as he shoved Deveraux against the wall.
“I did not steal your damned horse,” Deveraux snapped, shoving back. “Your beast followed me.”
“He follows no one butme, you perfumed fraud!”
“You named him Reaping Wrath. Why in God’s name would I want any animal called that?”
“Youfedhim!”
“I gave him one apple,” Deveraux growled.
Reaper shoved him again. “He is loyal to the apple-giver! Everyone knows that!”
Bloody hell.
Drake tucked his pistol back in his trousers. Damn fools.
“That is not how horses work, you fool! And if you’re so worried, just give him a damn apple and get off my back!”
Reaper cursed something foul in French.
Dagger slowly turned his head toward Drake. “Do I collect the twenty pounds now?”
Drake didn’t bother replying. He was already moving, shoving himself between them, planting a hand on each chest and forcing them apart.
“Calm the hell down,” he snapped, a glare cutting between them. He was hiring a damn wet nurse tomorrow. “Reaper, he didn’t know to leave your damned horse alone. Count this the message received.” He gave Reaper a harder shove for emphasis.
He lost twenty pounds over a damn apple.
