“Kinky,” he deadpans, interrupting me.
“—because Murph will clearly have me murdered if anything happens to you on my watch. Now go. If you don’t have anything useful to say, you can start practicing keeping your trap shut.”
“But—” he starts as he hops down off the counter, but I interrupt him with a gruff noise and a raised eyebrow.
He stops talking, looking at me appraisingly again—it feels like the tenth time today—and then very slowly miming locking his mouth shut and throwing away the key with a shrug. The way he slowly licks his lips afterwards, tracing the bottom edge with that pink, wet little tongue, is very deliberate, but I clearly have to pick my battles.
“Go,” I repeat.
He finally turns to saunter very, very slowly towards the war room. I take the last sandwich off the plate, hesitate, and then grab both a Coke and a beer from the fridge. I need everything I can get to fight off whatever this terrible feeling is. Especially if he’s going to be around here for more than a few hours, and I’m going to have to pretend I’m capable of thinking about things other than getting my goddamn hands on him again.
After we’ve been talkingfor a while, my brain does restore itself to work mode. It’s also nice to see that Fallow is a distraction to everyone, not just me. Although not in quite the same way.
The guys can’t seem to get a handle on him, for the most part. Lucky’s radar for queerness has clearly been activated, considering how much scowling and grumbling he’s doing now. I’m choosing to ignore him, so I don’t end up throwing him through the table in frustration or finally sitting him down to explain why his blatant homophobia is a wafer-thin self-defense that’s so obviously an internal crisis that it’s bordering on cliche.
For the others, I think they’re just confused. He doesn’t look like a thug or MC guy. He doesn’t look like the kind of person who would have a kill list as long as we’ve heard he does, and right now, with his bubbly energy and outward displays of friendliness—although in a slightly weird, disconcerting way I can’t describe—he also doesn’t seem like the loner, terrifying serial killer type either. And then beyond that, there’s an inherent fluidity to him that I think they find confusing. Personally, I find his combination of a powerful, distinctly masculine body with delicate, feminine facial features and a preternaturally graceful way of moving through space distracting. It’s 100% the reason my pants are too tight right now.
But the others are confused. It’s not that he’s acting in ways that they would associate with being gay. He’s just… different. Masculine, but not in the way we’re used to. Queer but notcamp. A distinct energy that you can’t put your finger on but is guaranteed to unsettle you in either a good or bad way, depending on how well you deal with new things.
I have no problem with new things. I do have a problem being caught openly lusting after a man though, because it would definitely cost me my position in leadership here and possibly my life as well.
The only openly queer member we’ve had has been Eamon, and the only reason people seemed to tolerate it was because he was more interested in violence and abuse than any kind of loving relationship. Which is fucked up beyond measure, but true. They could tolerate him openly abusing the prospects because they excused it as an overdeveloped bloodlust. And because he was clearly a fucking lunatic, who Padraig was gunning for an excuse to exterminate from the start.
Someone like me, that commands respect? That’s a whole different story.
My stomach clenches, and I don’t know why. None of this is new information, and I made my peace a very long time ago with the sacrifices that this lifestyle comes with. It’s not like I’ve ever been very interested in a real relationship, anyway. The Banna saved me and made me into who I am today. They’re the ones who have my allegiance.
By the end of the meeting, we’ve decided to clean up the mess Fallow and I left behind and not make a decision about retribution until we’ve seen if they have anything else popping up over the next few days. We will stay on high fucking alert though, and I’m not going out without much more competent bodyguards.
“Lucky, you can be in charge of getting rid of the bodies,” I say, interrupting him from his long, pointless scowl directed at Fallow.
He turns to gape at me.
“What? Why me? I don’t wanna dig three fucking graves by myself.”
I crack the beer now that I’ve finished my Coke and take a long sip before I answer, quelling my swelling irritation.
“I didn’t say anything about burying them. We need themgonegone. Take them to Trigger’s.”
“Wha—” he starts, his expression pissy, but I cut him off.
“Am I talking to myself? Take. Them. To. Trigger’s.”
He pauses, obviously trying to compose himself instead of snapping angrily at me and turning this into a fight, like he would with anyone else. Once he’s swallowed back enough of his rage to be able to open his mouth, he gives me just a moderate amount of whining.
“You know that place gives me the fucking creeps, and I’ve only been there once. There are animals everywhere, so it stinks worse than this place, and that dude is a nutcase. Who the fuck wants to live out in the middle of nowhere taking care of a bunch of animals for no goddamn reason? Freaks and losers, that’s who.”
“Charming,” I deadpan, forcing myself to push back on my own irritation for the sake of getting this conversation over with. “And why don’t you say that a little louder, I’m not sure Fox Widow heard you.” I shouldn’t call her that in front of everyone else probably, but it’s accurate. “I’m not asking you to have a fucking tea party with the man. You barely even have to talk to him. Take the bodies, feed them to his gators or whatever other weird pets he has that are hungry, and then get your ass back here to do your deliveries.”
“But why can’t–”
He’s interrupted again, this time by my fist slamming against the table. Outwardly, I’m composed. I don’t let my anger show on my face or start to yell. I just cut him off before he can get going.
Inside, I’m roiling at the fact that I’ve been in this role for a while now, and I’m still getting more back talk than Padraig ever would have gotten. I don’t want to actually kill people to make a point. If they could all just do their jobs and be polite, that would be fucking fantastic.
Lucky’s looking at me, wide-eyed like he didn’t expect that.
And of course, Fallow, who has nothing to do with this, has his hand over his mouth and is trying to hold back a laugh that’s becoming more obvious by the second.
