"Get out of me pub," Dominic said, his voice barely louder than a whisper.
The man grinned, revealing black and yellow teeth, and pursed his lips to spit, this time right on the counter.
Dominic's arm flashed out, catching the man around the head and bringing his face down to hit the counter with acrash.
There were a few gasps and shrieks, and Ava started to sidle away.
The man gave a startled, muffled cry and tried to pull away, but Dominic held him tight, fingers digging into the back of his neck.
"This is me pub," he hissed, "and ye follow me rules. Got it? Everyone in here knows that. There arenae many rules, but the number one rule is that ye dae as I say. Dae ye want to guess what number two is?"
A whimper was his only reply.
"Rule number two is thatye don't spit in me pub."
Dominic yanked the man up by his collar, rounding the bar and dragging him towards the exit. The man's nose was bleeding, gushing down his face and soaking into his shirt, and he'd gone mostly limp. The crowd parted like magic to let him through.
"I've never been treated this way in a pub," the man managed to say, obviously not knowing when to shut his mouth and just accept what was happening. "Never. Ye should be ashamed to treat customers this way."
"A hundred men just like ye traipse in and out of me door every evenin'," Dominic replied tartly. "I can stand to lose one or two of ye. I gave ye a warnin', lad."
"I'veneverbeen treated this way!"
Dominic paused in the doorway, ready to toss the man out onto the filthy cobblestones of the courtyard. He leaned down tosmile thinly in the man's face, enjoying how the drunkard tried to pull away, despite being held tightly in Dominic's vice-like grip. And then, he let go.
"Aye, well, welcome toTheSinner."
2
"Iam so sorry to do this to you, gentlemen, but it looks like I win." Paisley placed her hand of cards gingerly down on the sticky table and flashed around an apologetic smile.
Unsurprisingly, it was not returned. There was a sizeable pile of money and valuables in the center of the table, and every card player had had their eyes on it. They were all men, of course.
Oddly enough, Paisley found it easier to join card tables of all men, and easier to win. The women were usually cleverer, more suspicious when Paisley downplayed her talent, and more difficult to beat.
There were also fewer of them in places like this, so she usually found herself facing tables of all-male players. Here atTheSinner, the card-tables were set up in a little basement room.
One went through the main floor of the pub to get here, then went down a steep set of stone stairs to a windowless room lit by candles. It wasn't particularly pleasant down here, but at least the noise of the pub above was muffled. That wasn't too reassuring, though.
Paisley could barely hear the chatter and laughter from upstairs, so that meant that they, in turn, could hardly hear anything from down here. And it also meant that a flight of uneven, dangerous stairs stood between her and freedom, should she need to make a run for freedom.
Don't think about that, Paisley,she warned herself.Concentrate on the here and now. They're like dogs, remember? They can sense fear and unease. You have to stay calm. Exude confidence. That was what Papa said, wasn't it? You don't play the cards; you play the people.
And she had to admit that she'd playedthesepeople particularly well. Neither of them was a skilled card player, but with the habitual unearned confidence of men, they each believed that they were.
She leaned back in her seat, tugging on the edge of her veil. She'd initially had a much longer veil, but after a small incident involving a rogue nail, a snag, and a hasty exit, the veil had torn, leaving Paisley with no choice but to trim it. She felt exposed with such a short veil, but it was certainly better than no veil.
Sweat beaded on her upper lip, and she shifted uncomfortably. It was red-hot in the pub, as expected, and her dress was stiffand heavy. She could feel sweat pooling in the small of her back, under her arms, and across her bosom.
Come on, come on, get on with it,she thought impatiently, watching the men carefully inspect her cards and then their own. This was fairly standard stuff, of course.
The men always allowed Paisley to join almost as a joke. They exchanged grins with each other and flashed lascivious smiles her way. Sometimes they directed a few filthy comments at her, which Paisley always pretended to ignore.
Occasionally, a well-meaning man would painstakingly explain the rules of whatever game they were playing to her. She would always pretend to listen carefully. It did no harm, even if the man would always shoot her an aggrieved, betrayed look when it became obvious that Paisley knew perfectly well how to play.
She didn't mind. She didn't mind because she knew their condescending, leering smiles would drop right off their faces once the game began.
There were five men at the table, all leaning over Paisley's cards and whispering amongst themselves. They kept shooting her angry, suspicious glares, and she knew better than to hurry them along.
