Leon made a face. “Right. Forgot that could be an issue. All right, so we’ll keep the bar open. It’s not like we’ve had a lot of business since the hellfire bomb attack.”
“We’ll still pay you, Jono,” Emma said.
Patrick snorted. “At least one of us will get paid.”
“We have tithes,” Jono said.
“I don’t know if I should use them.”
Jono turned to look at him, but Patrick wouldn’t meet his eyes, choosing instead to lean forward and grab his drink again. Jono reached for his wrist, holding on with loose fingers, prompting Patrick to freeze.
“Don’t. Please.”
He wasn’t sure if Patrick would listen. Jono was well acquainted with Patrick’s methods of coping—cigarettes and alcohol and keeping everyone at arm’s length. Jono had worn away Patrick’s walls over the months, convinced him to give up smoking, but alcohol was still something he reached for to soothe the stress of their lives. He’d gotten better about it, Jono could admit, but there were times, like today, when Patrick poured himself enough to serve three people.
Jono thought Patrick would fight him on it, but he only heaved out a sigh and sat back again. He slouched on the sofa, leaning toward Jono rather than away. Jono tightened his hold on the other man and didn’t let go.
“The tithes are there for us to use,” Jono reminded him.
Sage glanced up from her laptop, eyeing them. “It’s too late to deny you’re our alpha. Unless that’s what you want?”
Jono didn’t breathe for the ten seconds it took for Patrick to say, “No. Pandora’s box has been opened, so to speak. We can’t shove it all back inside. But any move I make is going to be scrutinized and used against us.”
“We’reallbeing scrutinized. Despite Estelle’s pack being the aggressor, we’re taking all the blame. I don’t think that’s going to change for a while.”
“Think we can get another meeting with the crisis PR company today?” Jono asked.
“I’ll call and find out, and loop in Danai. Considering a crisis is their job, they should be available.”
Sage set her laptop on the coffee table and went to retrieve her mobile from the dining room table where she’d left it after breakfast. Jono let her take the lead on that. They hadn’t sent out a statement about anything yet on Danai’s advice, but the PR company would hopefully be able to craftsomethingfor them that wouldn’t open them up to a bigger legal mess. Jono felt they needed to get their side of the story out there, though how much good that would do them at this point was debatable.
Sometimes silence wasn’t golden.
“You said you saw Youssef at the Met in the exhibit room where the trishula was? Do you think he knew what they had planned?” Emma asked.
Patrick sighed, the scent of whiskey on his breath coming through. “Who knows? The trishula isn’t like the Morrígan’s staff. Shiva can apparently pick up any trishula in the world and it’ll become his weapon. Whether or not it was Shiva who actually wielded it against Youssef is unknown at this time, and will likely remain unknown.”
Wade opened up his last packet of Pop-Tarts from the box he had with him. “Do you think that god is on their side?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never had to deal with the Hindu pantheon before.”
Jono would prefer if fewer gods were involved in this mess rather than more. They already had to deal with the possibility of Hades being in New York. Jono didn’t like that arsehole, and neither did Fenrir.
“I think the bigger question is why is everyone in New York? It can’t be just to take you out, can it?” Emma asked.
Jono wasn’t sure how to answer that. He glanced at Patrick, who was picking at a ragged fingernail.
“Taking us out would clear the playing field,” Patrick eventually said.
“They haven’t taken us out,” Jono said.
Patrick shrugged. “My job is hanging by a thread, they keep targeting you, and at some point, some kind of charge is going to stick that will affect your visa. If we’re separated, that halves my power.”
Unspoken went the fact that their soulbond was illegal, and if it was discovered, Patrick would be charged with a capital crime for interfering with someone else’s soul.
Jono swallowed tightly. “Maybe that’s the point.”
Patrick grimaced, gaze sliding away. “Maybe.”
