His brow wrinkles. “Wait, you know me?”
I motion to Connor. “Heard him say your name.”
“Oh, right.” His laugh grates over every one of my nerves. “She’s Samantha. Now we’re all friends. Can you show us where the Unholy hang out?”
“How far you willing to go, Michael?” I give him my best David fromThe Lost Boysimpression.
This, too, sails over the moron’s head.
Connor clamps a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “This is a bad idea.”
No, seriously, shut the fuck up, Connor.
Mike shrugs off his friend’s hand. “Far enough to go home with street cred.”
Holy Christ, it takes everything I have not to laugh in Mike’s face. Street cred? Is this douche for real? His expression is deadass, and it’s too precious.
“For sure.” I’m nodding like an idiot, and my cheeks hurt from smiling. I slide off the stool, dying to teach this man-child a much-needed lesson. “You want to cause a little trouble?”
Mike’s bright blue eyes practically sparkle with excitement. “I’m tired of hearing how tough they are. I want to pick a fight with one so I can go home and brag about how I kicked one of their asses.”
“No fucking way,” I say in a feigned, scandalized whisper.
“I told him it’s a stupid idea,” Connor counters. “His father is going to kill him. Thank God there’s not any here, and I’m too tired to go bar hopping.”
He sounds relieved, as he should be. But he’s wrong. Obviously.
Duh.
I tilt my head and regard Connor thoughtfully. “How do you know there aren’t any Unholy here?”
Connor sweeps a hand at the collection of people at Talon. “Look around you, dude. It’s like Mike said. It’s senior night at this bar.”
Mayhem has a balance. Devil’s Den pops on the weeknights. Weekends are reserved for the Unholy. This allows the other establishments to thrive, beginning on Thursdays and ending in the wee hours of Monday mornings.
This means tonight, Talon is, in fact, kinda on the dead side. And the few folks who are here are locals looking for a quiet night out to enjoy a few drinks.
But Devil’s Den? God, I love that place. It’s a one-stop shop for debauchery. One part bar. One part strip club. One part brothel. All parts awesome. It’stheplace to party in Mayhem. I’d be there tonight if we hadn’t caught some dickhead dealing onyx over at Elysium a few weeks ago. He wouldn’t give up his supplier of the designer narcotic—but shocker, we found out itwasn’ta Berserker. The gang may own the corner on drugs, but they don’t fuck with us by selling their shit in our town.
Before we killed the guy (because that’s what happens to someone who pushes junk in Mayhem), he confessed to being one of many. Unfortunately, that wasallwe got out of him. He was a tough sonofabitch. Now, every Unholy is on alert, pulling double duty, stationed around town. It’s why I’m at Talon on a Wednesday night instead of at Devil’s Den having fun.
“Yeah, no, I get that,” I say to Conner. “But how do youknowthere aren’t Unholy here? It’s not like they walk around with neon signs above their heads declaring their affiliation.”
Connor rolls his eyes. “Look at the crowd, man. Tell me, any of them look like they belong tothatgang? You’re local. You know what I’m talking about.”
“And they have a tattoo,” Annabelle announces as if she’s dropping some profound wisdom.
“Huh.” I pretend to mull over the tidbit for a second. “You mean like this?”
I yank off my black hoodie, and four sets of eyes zero in on the wordUnholyinked across my pecs, peeking out from behind a white tank top. The tattoo runs shoulder-to-shoulder, and while Annabelle seems to appreciate the view, her companions appear to have realized they done went and fucked up.
Samantha jabs an accusatory finger at me. “You’re one of them.”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.” I wink at her before shifting my focus to Mike. “Let’s start over. I’m Jester, and you’re so screwed it’s not even funny.”
Mike throws up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean any disrespect. I swear to God.”
“Put your damn hands down, Mike,” I say with an exasperated huff.
