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“Or at least trying to unalive them.”
“Who?” I frown.
“Axel and, you know, Justin.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She smirks. “Okay. Sure you don’t. Well, after you, Miss ‘friends with all the delinquents around here’.”
I open the door and immediately the room falls silent.
‘I hope you know what you’re doing,” Louise whispers to me. I really don’t, but it’s too late to back out now. Slowly, we make our way over to the bar and the silence in the room swallows our footsteps. I can feel so many eyes on me, their burning curiosity making the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
The interior bar is much nicer than the exterior, as I suspected it would be. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like being at Peony’s, it’s still very much a biker’s bar, but it’s not a dive.
“Hi, what can I get you ladies?” The bartender asks after a beat. He’s a huge, burly guy with a neatly trimmed light brown beard. He’s wearing a white T-shirt that looks about ready to shred if he flexes his muscles, and his arms are porn-worthy. The shit women fantasise about. There’s a nasty scar dissecting his right eyebrow and coming right down onto his cheek but it doesn’t detract from how good looking he is. Not at all.
“Umm, two…” I trail off, turning to Lou for guidance. What the fuck should we order to drink? I highly doubt they have a cocktail menu, and beer tastes like hog’s piss.
“Two beers please,” she replies in a shaky voice, and internally I groan at her selection. She seems too starstruck by the bartender to realise what she’s saying. And she teasesmeabout having it bad?
“You want bottled or drought?”
“What’s the drought?” Lou asks, cocking her head to the side. Is she…flirting?
“Hog’s Piss. It’s this month’s special,” the bartender replies with a smirk.
I grimace. “Bottled, please.”
“As you wish, princess,” he replies with a chuckle.
All around us people are still staring and whispering, but thankfully someone has turned the old jukebox in the corner on.
“Why are we here?” Lou whispers to me.
“I know someone.”
“Oh, aye?” The bartender interrupts, putting our bottles down on the bar. “And who might that be, then?”
“Saint. Is he here?” I ask hopefully.
The bartender laughs, drawing what little attention had grown tired of staring at us, right back onto us again.
“You know the Pres? Why on earth would he have business with two scrawny little children such as yourselves?”
I narrow my eyes in annoyance but bite my tongue. Leaning forward slightly, I pull down the front of my shirt just enough to give him a glimpse at the tattoo beneath it and smile when the material snaps back into place and the bartender gulps nervously.
“Bog, go get the boss,” he calls out to someone in the crowd. I don’t turn around to see whoBogis. I just sip my god-awful beer and pray that Saint is in a good mood and doesn’t kill me for coming to his bar uninvited.
Although he kinda did invite me. Sorta. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t serious, but I just needed somewhere to go where I couldbreathe.
And drink. And forget.
Even if it’s just for a few hours.
“Ajax, what’s going on? Bog says there’s two kids in here trying to get served.”
I turn around, relieved when I hear Saint’s voice, and when he sees me, his whole face breaks out into a bright smile. Maybe his beard is a little too grizzly for me, and he’s definitely a tad too scary, but he sure looks nice when he smiles.
