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I try to look nonchalant, slowly turning away, when a loud voice from that direction says, “Miss Ortiz! What a surprise!”
I stiffen. The tavern suddenly goes dead quiet. There’s a creak of chairs as everyone shifts to look in my direction again. Not a word is spoken in the seconds that are full of tension. I can hear a fly zipping by.
The bartender clears his throat. The two dudes next to me are now gaping, and not in a friendly way.
I turn slowly to see the chubby man across from Raven slowly get up, and there’s a distinctive sound, so familiar from the past—the sound of several gun triggers cocked.
Raven slowly gets up too, glaring at me.
The chubby man is wearing a cowboy hat. A golden tooth sparkles when he smiles.At. Me.
Several guys at the nearby tables hold their hands on their holsters. Staring.At. Me.
“Miss. Katura. Ortiz,” the chubby man says exaggeratedly loudly with pauses like he’s in awe. A cigar hangs between his fingers. “Will you not come over to say hello?” He takes a lazy step toward me and fixes his belt buckle, then spreads his arms like he expects a hug. “The First Lady of Zion. What an honor.”
Shit.Only now do I understand Raven’s warning.
The man approaches slowly, his eyes locked with mine, a permanent smile on his face.
“Mister…?” I say quietly.
“I go by Butcher.” He presses his palm to his heart, bowing slightly. “These people, they really like nicknames.”
So this is the mayor of Port Mrei, the thug, the enemy, the guy who’s in charge of the less fortunates.
I quickly take in his gold watch, ironed clothes, cowboy boots, a strong smell of cologne, gem-studded rings on almost every finger, thick mustache, and inquisitive deeply-set eyes. Somehow, he looks friendly and approachable.
He walks toward me with his hand stretched out, palm up.
“Sir,” I say with a smile, putting my hand in his for a shake.
He grips it, not letting it go, brings it up to his lips, and kisses it for a second, two, three—way too freaking long to be appropriate—his eyes on me the whole time. When he finally lets it go, his eyes narrow just a tiny fraction in silent laughter.
Now that Butcher is closer and touched me, I realize he’s not chubby. He’s muscled, in fact probably very strong, but with a slight beer pooch over his studded buckle.
“Will you join us for a drink?” he asks with extreme politeness, pointing to the table.
But Raven is already stepping around it. “I’m afraid Mr. Crone gave clear instructions for us to be back by a certain time.”
I smile at Butcher as he knots his brows in fake disappointment.
“What a pity.” Everything about his voice is theatrical and slightly mocking. “How is our Chancellor?”
The intentional pity in the voice is meant to anger—I know what he’s doing.
“He’s alright, thank you,” I say softly.
“Mr. Crone is not afraid to let his beautiful lady roam around the island unprotected?” He accentuates the last word.
My phone rings in my pocket, but I don’t take my eyes off Butcher, whose lips twitch just slightly. “Won’t you pick it up?”
“It’s alright,” I say, “but we really do have to go.”
“Will you send my regards to Mr. Crone? And my condolences about his father.” He fakes sadness. “Our Chancellor is such a busy man. Never has a minute to visit our wonderful town. Perhaps, we could do dinner at Ayana?”
He’s playing. This guy has never been invited to Ayana. But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been there.
O’Shea’s words are so clear now.Every service employee, every kid that washes the dishes at a restaurant, every cleaning lady…
