She poured. No cheap shit. The good stuff. Liberty always says you can tell how much trouble someone is in by what you’re willing to waste on them.
He took the glass. Fingers around the rim for a second, then he braced his forearms on the bar without ever letting the backpack slip.
Raven slid onto the stool beside him, chin in hand, studying his profile openly.
“You guys really look like this,” she said. “I thought comic books made you up.”
He huffed half a laugh. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“Oh, I’m not disappointed,” she replied. “I just thought the universe was exaggerating when hunky bikers showed up. Guess not.”
Diamondback wandered over, wiping grease off her hands with a rag that just smeared it around. She was still in ripped jeans and a tank top, hairpiled messily on her head.
“Cute,” she announced. “Smooth face though. He’d be even hotter with a beard.”
“What do you think Medusa?” California asked.
Medusa kicked her boots up on a nearby table and chimed in without looking. “Yeah. Give him a beard, some road dirt, and he could pass for halfway feral. That would sell.”
I hadn’t meant to talk.
It just came out.
“No,” I said.
All three of them turned. So did he.
“He wouldn’t,” I added, refusing to change my tone. “Clean shaven is better. Less mess.” I mumbled.
“Well, well,” Diamondback said leaning closer to Raven, her grin already blooming.
“Somebody has opinions,” California said with a smile.
“Didn’t think you looked that close,” Jersey Boy said.
The audacity.
Itfelt like he was challenging me. I turned slowly to him and walked over to him, angry, but not the only thing coursing through me.
“I didn’t,” I replied. “You’re just loud to look at. Hard to avoid.”
Laughter flickered around us. Medusa gave a bark of appreciation. California thumped the bar.
“Loud,” he repeated. “That’s a new one.”
“You’re wearing twenty pounds of ink and a patchthat screams I start trouble,” I said. “You walk into my hospital with that, it’s loud. You walk into my clubhouse with that and a bag you won’t let go of, it’s louder. Clean shaven is the least of it.”
“Could grow one if it helps,” he said. “I aim to please.”
I snorted. “You couldn’t grow a good beard. You’d get three weeks in and look like a depressed barista. Do yourself a favor and keep it clean.”
Raven nearly spit her drink out. Diamondback leaned her elbow on the bar, laughing. California looks like she just got tickets to her favorite show.
He grinned. That full, real grin. There was a tiny nick still at the corner of his mouth, a healing remnant of some older fight.
“You’re very sure for someone who’s only known me half a gunfight,” he said.
I leaned in. “We’ve had men like you drift through our peripheral for years,” I said. “We know the type. Pretty. Dangerous. Think the world owes you something for the scars you’ve collected. Newsflash. It doesn’t.”
