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“I’m only supposed to give you water,” she said tensely after a second.
I ran my tongue over my teeth, sending Dies a glare.
Did hewantme to take the painkillers?
Because taking away the only thing dulling the aching in my leg would’ve made most people turn to the drugs as the only other viable option for fucking pain management. As it was, antibiotics were all I was allowed, though I doubted those would work if I drank too much, either.
“Make you a deal sweetheart,” I told her with a wicked smirk. “You give me two fingers of whiskey, neat, and I’ll drink all the water you put on this table.”
She grimaced, hesitating before pulling down that good Canadian rye whiskey I liked from the top shelf and pouring it into a short glass.
“Atta girl.”
“Thanks,” Drake muttered after the bartender dropped the drinks off at the table, including two brimming glasses of water next to my whiskey.
“If you haven’t heard from her at all by now…” He trailed off, pursing his lips.
“What?” Grey growled.
“Well, I mean, she’s probably gone for good then, yeah? Maybe this life wasn’t for her after all—”
Grey tensed, but it was me who acted, dragging Drake across the table by his jacket, making the zipper done all the way up to his throat come partially undone.
“You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about,” I seethed, seeing something in his blue eyes tighten, the fear I was used to seeing reflected back at me absent.
He gripped the hand knotted in his jacket and pried it off, keeping eye contact. “I’m not your enemy, man,” he said. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Just… if she still isn’t back, then where is she?”
Neither of us could answer that and instead of savoring my whiskey like I planned to, I downed it in one, baring my teeth at the glorious burn chasing the darkness back down my throat.
Behind Drake, Mav and Dies seemed to have begun the formal meeting, sitting opposite one another in the long table Dies had brought down and placed just next to the fighting ring. Pinkie sat next to Dies where Corvus would’ve been sitting if he’d made it back in time and three other seats sat empty on the right of the table.
Mav’s men sat next to him, one empty seat near the edge of the table remained, and I assumed it was meant for Drake. I hadn’t realized he was part of Mav’s main men.
“Here,” Drake offered, jerking his head. “Let me help you.”
I snarled angrily, hating that I needed to be helped to my fucking seat like some goddamned senior citizen.
“I’m good,” I retorted, nostrils flaring as I eased my leg down from the chair and went to take a step and nearly fell on my face as all the blood drained from my upper body to congregate in my leg, filling it so it felt near bursting.
“Fucking hell,” I ground out, clutching the table.
“Come on, big guy,” I barely heard Drake say as he dragged one of my arms over his shoulder and Grey took my other arm, leading us all to the table for the meet.
They deposited me in my chair next to Pinkie, and I sniffed, catching the scent of Pinkie’s rum and Coke on the table in front of him.
I slid it over to myself, giving him a warning look when he opened his mouth to protest. He rolled his eyes, staying silent like a good Pinkie Pie.
“We all know why this meet was called,” Mav began, and I studied him over the rim of my drink as I sipped away.
He was a big guy. At least two-twenty, most of it muscle, with tattoos up the right side of his neck and a teardrop tat beneath his right eye that looked pretty sick in combination with the wordSUBMITscribbled above his brow.
But I’d pegged him as a weak ally from the first moment I’d seen him.
His men were a different story—some of them were true warriors, but this guy? He looked the part but that was where it ended. Underneath that jerky gaze and all those pounds of muscle was a man who had no fucking idea what he was doing.
He lacked the confidence a man in his position should have. Lacked the sort of vicious bearing he needed to properly lead a gang of his size.
It was a wonder he’d managed for as many years as he had.
