Carver drew his finger from one side of his throat to the other and pointed at Big Country.
Yeah, this stupid bastard had the good fortune of messing with him on a particularly bad night. Big Country was gonna enjoy bashing that fucker’s face in.
Sienna Red and all but two of her murder of crows made their way toward the door. Turning, she eyed the one still tucked in Caleb Bailey’s arms. The twenty-something woman had a problem with discernment if she thought it was safe to latch onto that devil’s reject. The other remaining woman had her arms wrapped around Mama’s waist, head resting in Mama’s lap. Mama smiled at him and shrugged as she sat on the bar, stroking the drunken woman’s hair.
Sienna Red moved toward the bar as Terry handed her the purses he’d retrieved from below.
“Octavia, Reign!” Sienna Red snapped.
“Come on, Stormy,” the younger one objected. “I’m not ready to go.”
Big Country was ready to intervene in the event that Caleb wasn’t ready tolether go. The younger man was rubbing the scruff of his jaw back and forth over the crown of the young woman’s head.
“Come on, Stormy,” the woman holding onto Mama’s waist said, lifting her head. “I’m not ready to…” Her head plopped back down. “I’m not ready to…stop drinkin’!”
Sienna Red hooked the bags over one shoulder and supported the drunken woman’s weight against her other side. Big Country had already felt the strength in the woman’s body, but to see her wielding it so effortlessly had Bubba pleading with him to make her to stay.
“Almaya, I’ll call you about what we discussed,” Sienna Red stated. Lynx strolled closer and leaned his elbows against the bar top, planting himself beside Mama’s dangling legs. Sienna Red leaned toward Lynx and he bent his head, allowing her to plant a kiss against his cheek. “And you I’ll see at the Boutique on Monday?”
“Absolutely,” Lynx replied.
Control, son, control, Big Country cautioned himself.
Having made her way to the door, Sienna Red turned back toward the dance floor. “Tavi, do youwantme to call my brother?”
The younger woman pulled out of Caleb’s embrace and stomped all the way to and out the door. Sienna Red rolled her eyes, her gaze drifted back to him, lingered, then she turned and left the building. All the vibrant energy seeped from the bar like blood from the body of a dying man. The gnawing unrest that had been dogging Big Country’s steps returned with a vengeance.
“I wanted her,” a rusty voice said beside him.
Big Country looked to his left to see Caleb, with his dead-snake eyes standing there. “Hell, son, we all thought you was mute. Who knew that all you needed was the right whiff of woman to loosen your vocal cords?”
“I’m in,” Caleb muttered in response. Carver and his Marine buddies grinned beside Caleb, likely believing their chances of taking him down were greater.
Bloodwasgonna flow tonight, and here he’d thought Zeus was gonna be the one responsible for it.
“Anybody else feeling froggish?” Big Country asked for good measure.
“Hell, why not. I never liked your backwater ass to begin with,” Harvey Connors, the ex-DEA agent, said from the other side of the room.
“All right mate, you know the drill!” London yelled to Terry over the rising tide of voices placing bets and talking utter bullshit. “Line ’em up.”
Big Country’s five opponents shed their shirts and took their places in front of the bar. Terry set out six shot glasses, one in front of each man, as London leaped on top of the bar and crouched. London was a mimic—who he was changed with the situation—and with the women gone, he’d lost his spit-shined polish.
“Lads,” London shouted over the voices. “We all know the rules. No weapons, and no one joins the battle after the blessed elixir has been chosen.” He pointed at Big Country. “My backwater Brood mate, do you stand alone, or would you like a second at your side?”
Big Country eyed each of his five contenders, then sucked his teeth in disdain. Pulling his shirt over his head, he folded it and placed it on the bar next to Mama’s thigh, placing his cigar butt on top of the shirt. “I believe I like these odds as is.”
“Fair enough. And what spirit will guide you fine warriors onto the field of battle, my behemoth friend?”
“Aw son, that goes without saying.” Big Country looked to Terry and tapped the bar twice.
“Firewater it is,” Terry said, reaching down to retrieve a large mason jar.
“Son of abitch,” Carver muttered once he saw the clear liquid with the opaque briny film on top.
Terry poured equal-sized shots and Big Country was the first to down his. He imagined consuming Firewater was like ingesting blue flame, absinthe, and dry ice in one gulp.
Closing his eyes, he rode out the first hit, which was like white fire sizzling through flesh to devour what remnants of soul one might still possess.But ohhh son…once the fire burned through him, quiet descended as if he was the sole life form on a planet covered in snow. Numb, alone…at peace.
