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“About?” I asked innocently.
“You know exactly what about.”
I shrugged, adopting an innocent expression, batting my lashes. “Sorry, no idea what you’re talking about, Bones.”
“Ava Jade,” Corvus called after me, but I was already gone, weaving through the crowd toward the bar, where I knew Rook would be having one of the three ounces of whiskey he was ‘allowed’ before a fight.
I kept a vigilant eye on every face in attendance, easily discerning the Saints from the Kings, and the bloodthirsty rich citizens of NorCal from the gang members.
Soft hands, clean fingernails, unlined faces—definitely the bankers, lawyers, and corrupt high ranking officers.
Unarmed with callused hands and taut jaws—the Kings.
Armed, ready, and wary—our people.
I saw the guy whose eye I took during the hunt trial sneering at me from across the room. I gave him an apologetic shrug, and he looked away as I caught up with Grey and Rook.
“So,” I said, glancing around to the other side of the ring and the drawn curtain set into the wall beyond it. “Where’s the other guy?”
I had to shout to be heard over the din of conversation and music, the smell of whiskey rolling off Rook much stronger than three ounces worth. I didn’t worry about him fighting wasted, but I did worry about the survival of the other guy.
“Not here yet,” he muttered.
I took the shot glass poised between his fingers and slung it back, grimacing as it burned a path down to my stomach.
Rook lifted a brow at me. “Sorry, I needed that.”
He turned to the little bar window cut out, tapping the shot glass on the polished cement bar top to signal he wanted another.
“How much have you had?”
He lifted his replacement to his mouth, but paused to shoot me a dark glare. “Not nearly enough,” he said before slamming it back and I made myself shut up about it.
The guys hadn’t had a call from Julia in weeks, and I was beginning to see just how much Rook needed them to stay sane. His darkness was so close to the surface that in the right light I could almost see it. Surrounding him like an inky aura with claws and teeth. Demanding to be sated.
This fight wasn’t a good idea tonight, but there was nothing I could do to stop it now. Rook would never back down, and I’d never expect him to.
The Kings might’ve been in for more of a show than they bargained for…
I stepped past Rook to slap my palm on the bar, getting the bartender’s attention. He was a slender guy with a shock of green hair in a black Sanctum t-shirt. I didn’t think I’d seen him here the last time. It had been one of the girls from upstairs bartending if I remembered correctly. His nametag read Johnny.
“A water,” I told him. “And a Guinness.”
“Who’s the Guinness for?” Grey asked as the bartender turned to get my order ready.
“Me.”
He looked at me askance, with a knot between his brows.
I took the frothy black gold from the bartender and pushed the water into Rook’s hand. “We were broke a lot,” I found myself telling him. “But Dad always kept a few Guinness stashed away from Mom in the kitchen. It’s filling and the taste isn’t half bad. It grew on me.”
Grey frowned, his brows drawing to cloak his eyes in shadow.
I hadn’t meant to trigger him.
I took a long swallow and passed it to him. “Want some?” I asked with the closest thing to a smile I could muster, trying to erase the sour mood I’d just brought on.
For as often as we didn’t have food, unlike Grey, I didn’t starve. Not much, anyway, and not often. We lived close enough to several stores with poor security, which meant that if it got bad enough, I could pretty easily lift a few Twinkies from the low shelves to keep us fed for a day or two.
