“Whoops.” She flashes an unapologetic grin.
Cato’s eyes suddenly go round. “Does that mean you read about the…”
“Oh yeah,” she replies with a leering wink. “Those were some interesting mental images. You’re a kinky son of a bitch, Cato, you know that?”
“Leave him alone before he blushes himself to death,” I say, trying to hide my smile.
Cato’s face has turned nearly as red as his hair, the flush spreading across his cheeks and overtaking the prominent freckles scattered over his skin.
The teasing is welcome after the heaviness of the past few days. It's a taste of normalcy that I didn’t realize I needed so badly.
“So,” I continue, steering us back on track, “do we just go in and ask for Leif? Is there a codeword?”
Cato huffs a laugh and drags a hand through his hair, clearly grateful for the change of subject. “That imagination of yours is running wild again, Dom.” His eyes meet mine, lips pulling into a familiar smirk. “Or should we call you Bash? How havewe been friends this long and I had no idea that was your real name? Honestly, I’m kind of offended.”
Ego turns her troublemaker grin on me. “Of course it’s his name. Sebastian Garfield Hale—”
“You didnotjust out me like that,” I say with a glare.
Cato bursts out laughing, and I swing my eyes to him. “Oh, you wanna poke fun?” I taunt. “We can discuss those letters in more detail if you prefer.”
“Damn,” he mutters, dropping his gaze back to the ground.
We turn the corner onto a quieter street, and a weathered wooden sign sways above the door to our destination. Inside is dim, and patrons mill around the bar or at tables, nursing drinks and chatting in low conversations.
The barkeep glances up, meets my eyes for a moment, then shifts his attention to Cato. Without a word, he grunts and nods toward the back room, dusting his hands on his apron before disappearing through the door.
“Friendly fellow,” I mutter with a questioning glance at Cato, but he grins as he leads the way through the doorway.
“Haven’t seen you around in a while,” Leif says in a gruff voice as the three of us crowd into the storage room with him. The tight quarters carry a potent mix of stale beer and lemon cleaner, and shelves filled with kegs, thick glass mugs, and dried food items line the walls on either side.
“Been busy,” Cato replies easily.
Leif nods, his sharp gaze darting between me and Ego.
“Oh, right. This is Ego,” Cato says, gesturing toward her. Leif’s eyes linger on her shockingly blue hair, but she offers an unbothered flutter of her fingers in greeting.
“And this is Dom.” Cato finishes.
Leif studies me more closely, narrowing his eyes as he takes me in. He notes my hair and piercings before planting his hands on his hips with a quiet hum.
“You wouldn’t go by the name Bash, would ye?”
I bite my lip for a second before nodding. “Used to.”
He grunts in response and glances up at the ceiling. “There was someone here looking for you. He was willing to do just about anything to get to you, but he disappeared. I suspect he’s been caught or killed by now. It’s a shame. He was a nice lad. Polite.”
“Nice,” Cato snorts, the smugness in his tone more grating than I care to admit. “Oh, he was caught alright. We’ve got him locked up back at home.”
“Locked up?” A spark of interest flashes across Leif’s face as he looks to me for confirmation, but I only glance away.
“We have the schedules he was carrying,” Cato continues, pulling the rolled papers from his back pocket. “Figured you’d want them after the trouble he caused to get them.”
Leif’s tone hardens as he takes the papers. “Trouble? What kind of trouble?”
“Not the kind that’ll come knocking on your door,” Cato promises. “They realized he had a fake ID, but as far as we can tell, there was no suspicion around this place or the shipment.”
Relief relaxes Leif’s features, though he pulls his lips into a pensive line as he fiddles with the papers.
