“You don’t have to be so formal with us.” Archer clapped him on the shoulder and grinned. “We’re practically family.”
“Is the rest of your pack here?”
“Nah. It’s game night, so the couples are going to war. Nothing like a little world domination after dinner to get those couples fighting. Mel pulled out the Risk game when Tak suggested Yahtzee. That man has some magic voodoo on those dice.”
Atticus returned to his seat while listening to Lucian placing orders at the bar.
Krys sat opposite him and crossed his arms. His closed-off body language suggested that he hadn’t come here voluntarily.
“What brings you out this way?” Atticus pretended he hadn’t overheard them whispering moments ago.
“Thought we’d keep you company.” Archer stole the chair to the right and glanced down at his jacket before removing it. He quickly adjusted his white shirt when the left sleeve got caught behind his back.
“I have a tailor who can make some alterations to your shirts,” Atticus offered.
Archer cleared his throat. “It’s cool.”
“Let me know if you change your mind. He can take off the excess fabric and make it look as if it were made for your body. No trouble. The right fit makes a difference.”
Krys scoffed. “We don’t wear your fancy clothes.”
Lucian returned, and when he sat down with the beer bottles, he sniffed the air. “What are you guys talking about?”
Krys shook his head. “Wasting money on getting street clothes fitted.”
Lucian cracked open his beer. “It’s not a waste if you want to look good. I get my nice shirts fitted.”
Archer smothered a laugh while sipping his beer.
Resting his arms on the table, Atticus decided to change the topic to make Archer less uncomfortable. “Joy mentioned you’re having issues with Hamish Macgregor.”
“Dickhead likes to give us trouble,” Archer replied. “One of these days I’m going to snip off that curly mustache of his.”
“He tried throwing down more poison ivy seeds,” Lucian said. “It’s petty and not very effective.”
“Did you hear the news about his beta?” Archer’s eyebrows reached for his hairline as he straightened up.
Krys jerked his head back. “What?”
After setting down his bottle, Archer leaned back in his chair. “I overheard his men talking at the Rabbit Lounge this afternoon. Apparently he was having trouble with his beta and threw him out.”
“No shit?” Krys smirked. “Serves him right. A pack is only as strong as the top two wolves. That should create some chaos.”
“Maybe it’s karma for all the shit he’s doing on our land,” Lucian grumbled.
Archer reached for his beer. “Hold that thought—the best is yet to come. Guess who he picked to replace him?”
Atticus knew many of Hamish’s packmates and wasn’t impressed with any of them, especially the third in line.
“Kevin?” Lucian quipped.
Krys’s lips twitched.
Archer gulped down more beer with an anticipatory look on his face. “Deacon.”
“You’re fucking with us,” Krys said, his voice tightly caged. “Are you kidding me? That piece of shit musclehead who…” He glanced at Lucian, whose face turned an ugly shade of red. Because he had a shaved head, most of his scalp was also flushed with either anger or embarrassment.
Lucian lowered his eyes, his clenched jaw and stiff posture making it clear that he and this Deacon fellow had history.
