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“I’m always at the club,” he argued, but it was moot because they both knew what she meant and his struggling only helped to prove her point. He swore out loud and silently demanded another shot.
“Whether or not he feels bad about what he did—”
“He doesn’t.”
“—wouldn’t you like to be certain, sir?” she acted like he hadn’t spoken.
Had he been too lenient with her and her sister lately? If anyone else tried this shit with him, they’d be halfway to the infirmary by now.
“What difference would that make?” As far as he was concerned, nothing. He had the bullet scar to prove it. Whether Hunter wanted to shoot him or not, he’d lead Odin into that forest fully intending to end his life. Because of that, Odin had been forced to flee and had almost lost his hold on the Snow family branch of the Brumal entirely.
If his father’s followers hadn’t been so loyal, or if his underboss, Kyung, hadn’t done everything in his capabilities to hold steady against constant attacks from the Frost family, Odin’s legacy would have slipped away.
“Didn’t Megan Thorn die, sir?”
Odin’s fingers tightened on the small rim of the glass and the liquid within began to heat and bubble. Shouts had to disperse power frequently throughout the day to avoid being consumed by elemental energy, and the need to use only intensified with heightened emotions. It was a tell, and one he was typically very careful to keep concealed when he was with anyone other than those he was closest to.
“Rumor is Isa Frost murdered her shortly after her brother shot you in the woods,” Corbi added.
“You wouldn’t betray me if it meant saving your sister, would you, Corbi?” He’d meant it as another warning, a hint that she was taking this line of conversation too far.
Instead of getting afraid, however, she merely turned back to the crowd and stated matter-of-factly, “You wouldn’t want me to sacrifice my sister, sir.”
No, no he wouldn’t. Because Odin understood what it was like to love and care for family. Real family. Blood family. The truth was, when he’d heard about Meg’s murder, he’d been furious. It hadn’t taken a genius to put two and two together. But the fact that Hunter had been allowed to leave breathing…
It also didn’t take a genius to guess that Isa Frost had taken pity on him for one reason or another. He wouldn’t have allowed Hunter to live otherwise. Meaning either Hunter hadn’t cared for his sister as much as he wanted the world to believe, or he had run from the Frost family like he’d claimed.
Either way, neither scenario had a damn thing to do with how he’d felt that day when he’d pulled the trigger.
He didn’t want to do it? So what. Odin did things he didn’t want to do all the time.
Didn’t mean he lost sleep over them later, and Hunter probably hadn’t lost sleep over this either.
Another theory, admittedly his least favorite, was that Isa and Hunter had been messing around behind Odin’s back for a while. As far as he’d been aware, Isa hadn’t ever so much as glanced in the Huntsman’s direction. If that hadn’t all been a ploy, if he hadn’t been ignoring him on purpose, then how’d Isa even think of hiring Hunter for the job in the first place?
Assassinating a Shout? No easy task. Yet he’d entrusted the job to a low-ranking associate whom he’d never spoken to before?
Odin wasn’t buying it.
“I don’t like where this is going,” he told Corbi. “I don’t like that you’re questioning things you shouldn’t.” And he didn’t like that she’d seen through him when he’d been so careful to conceal his true thoughts.
Or, had he?
Even Wren had noticed that Odin was never around anymore. And according to him, whispers were already running rampant in the streets. That was dangerous on many levels. Was that why one of his guys had been attacked the other night?
Odin had been called away from Hunter—thankfully, because he’d been about to make a serious mistake in that bathroom—and he’d gone to see Vetle at another one of the clubs he owned down the street from Cherry. The Macintosh was a smaller bar/brothel that didn’t require a membership to partake in. Typically, it was visited by locals or the occasional tourist. The people he had working there mostly got off each night without being taken upstairs a single time.
Sunday had been different, and one of the guys, Hanson had been bought for the night.
The bodyguards working the bar had found him an hour later beaten so badly he was closer to death than Hunter had been when Odin had found him in the warehouse.
The perpetrator had gotten away, slipping out the damn window of all things. They were still trying to figure out how he’d managed to attack Hanson without anyone hearing anything. Details from the crowd who’d been there that night were also fuzzy. It was almost as if no one could recall what the man looked like, and when they pulled up security footage of the main floor, there were too many people to sort through.
After spending a couple of days trying to find any clue, speaking with Hanson personally even to ask about any enemies he might have, Odin had come to Club Cherry to be seen and to get drunk. If he’d also done it to avoid the temptation of going upstairs and visiting Hunter for the first time since their bathroom incident, that was something he planned on keeping to himself.
Yet here was Corbi, plucking at his last nerve in a way few could. This was why he still didn’t have many friends, why he didn’t allow too many to get close to him. Being known was dangerous. Risky.
He hadn’t built himself back from the ground up just to throw it all away on a poorly placed bet.
