I have to understand the threat.
My neck seizes in a painful muscle contraction as I turn, fear manifesting as a cramp.
But it relaxes as I see the warning wasn’t for me. Big Blond glares at the boy who was blocking the door, now on his hands and knees near a large, stained wood cabinet.
The boy who’s now scared. Fear is the only thing written across his face.
Once I see it, it’s hard to look away. The flutter in my stomach is a new sensation. Satisfaction? The sweet taste of karma served piping hot?
Whatever it is, I want more. I could drown in this stuff and die happy.
“She’s a fucking whore,” says the boy on his knees, his dark eyes gleaming with menace.
Personally, I would have left well enough alone, but I guess I’m not like these boys. My mind isn’t warped like theirs for a start.
He spits blood to the side before grinning, his teeth watercolour crimson. “Is that how you’re getting your kicks these days, Trent? Paying hookers to come to your parties?”
“You shut your fucking mouth.” The blond boy—who must be the Trent in question—hauls him to his feet, bunching his shirt and holding him inches off the ground. He then shoves him against the wall hard enough that his skull bounces off it with a crack.
The kid opens his mouth again, unbelievable, and Trent smashes his fist into it. A spatter of blood and saliva goes flying while the injured boy’s smile grows wider.
“My dad’s going to fucking kill you,” he whispers, then stops talking as the next punch hits him in the throat.
“If anyone asks, I’ll swear under oath he tripped,” I say sweetly, craning my neck to get a better view of the carnage.
“You got your jacket?”
No. I got distracted by the entertainment.
I grab it now, circling the bar to grab a very nice bottle of bourbon while I’m at it, holding it aloft. “Mind if I take one for the road?”
The smile turns Trent from a menacing hulk to a giant marshmallow. I stare for a moment, licking my lips as I take in his gigantic frame once more, this time without the tint of fear.
He’s so well put together it should be criminal. I wonder if Finley would object if we kept one of him by the front door to scare away case workers.
But he’s probably got a girlfriend. Or maybe two or three. I’m sure he could easily handle at least three. Maybe four.
Handle them and never disappoint a single one.
I waggle the bottle as a farewell, then slip out the door, a shiver of delight working its way down my spine as I hear the crack of knuckles against bone.
I really, really, really hope that was the boy’s face.
“Where the fuck did you get to?” Finley asks, bouncing from a side room and grabbing hold of my arm. “Ooh, presents!”
She relieves me of the burden, frowning at the label. “This looks old.”
“It is old. That’s what makes it expensive.”
“Any good?”
“Buggered if I know.” I stick out my tongue, eyes travelling back along the hallway just in case the blond snack has finished with beating duty for the night and wants to relax and have some fun.
No sign of him. Pity.
“My palate is about as sophisticated as the rest of me,” I add, turning back to Finley with a smile. “You want to stay much longer?”
“Fuck no. My pockets are crammed with pizza, and I’ve tucked half a bottle of vodka in my bag for a chaser. If we don’t leave soon, I’ll start to attract rats.”
