Rolling to his back, he picked up a weed and started picking his teeth with it while he watched the clouds above roll smoothly by.
Snapping his head in Daemon’s direction, Thrall whisper-yelled, “Get back on the fucking clock. We’re working here!”
But Daemon wasn’t working. This was boring. This was play.
His attention going back to the Biters, Thrall quietly rattled off intel that Daemon already knew. “Bragga isn’t there. And I’m pretty sure these guys are all hungover or still drunk.” Glancing around, Thrall shook his head. “Not a single Enforcer on patrol. No perimeter alerts of any kind.” He glanced up, “Not even a goddamn avian shifter on hire.” He looked down at Daemon. “These guys are…”
“Dumb,” Daemon supplied, cutting him off.
“Or so good at what they do that they can afford to be lax,” Thrall countered.
Pulling the weed from between his perfect teeth, Daemon glared up at Thrall. “Are we good at what we do?”
Thrall snorted, his attention going back to the group gathered at the fire pit. “The fucking best!”
“Are we lax?”
That had Thrall frowning, “Absolutely not.”
“Which means,” Daemon prodded.
With a sigh, Thrall pursed his lips before responding. “These guysaredumb.”
Satisfied that Thrall had called him right, Daemon grinned and was settling more comfortably into the long grass. “Wake me up when that fuck, Bragga, makes an appearance. Daemon had just closed his eyes when they suddenly snapped open, his whole body going tense. Nostrils flaring, all the fine hairs on his body went on end as the weed slipped from his fingers. “What the fuck isthat?” he hissed, rolling over and slowly getting back into viewing position.
“What’s what?” Thrall asked, eyes scanning their surroundings.
Daemon snarled, “You don’t fucking smell that?”
Nostrils flaring, Thrall continued scanning. “Soot, beer, cigarettes, morons? What the fuck are you talking about?”
But Daemon’s focus was scanning everything.
There wasn’t a fire going, just a blacked-out burn pit where they’d obviously had a rager the night before. Most of the guys were lounging in lawn chairs while a few milled about, passingaround a bottle of whiskey. They were rehashing tales from their party the night before when one of them whooped, “Here it comes!”
All the men turned to look, and Daemon tensed when a slight female, who looked eerily similar to Jury, strode toward the men with her head down. She was carrying a large tray piled with some kind of individually tinfoil-wrapped food that Daemon didn’t give two shits about. His attention was on the woman.
“Took you fucking long enough!” The guy with the whiskey bottle snatched the tray from her hands and handed it to the guy next to him. The woman turned quickly and tried to hurry away, but whisky-bottle-guy grabbed her from behind and hoisted her off her feet.
“Whoa, Narae. How about you hang around a minute.” He turned to face the group of men who were suddenly sitting up, wolfish grins on their faces.
In the guy’s arms, the woman squirmed and demanded, “Put me down, Gram! Bragga said no one’s to touch me!”
Gram barked a laugh and let the woman slide down the front of his body, the movement bunching up the thin red t-shirt she wore and exposing the skin of her abdomen from just beneath her breasts, down to the snug jeans that rested just below her belly button. With one arm banded beneath her breasts, Gram lowered his head and made a show of breathing in the woman’s hair before tutting, “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Bragga said no skin-to-skin touching.” Gram used his free hand to slide over the woman’s jean-covered lower abdomen before he cupped her pussy and began rubbing. Gram panted at her ear, “We can do a lot over the clothes, can’t we, boys?”
“Burritos,” Thrall whispered. “I think what you smelled was breakfast burritos on that tray.” Turning, he looked down at Daemon, but Daemon was gone. Head shooting up, Thrall hissed, “Shhhhhhhhhhhhhit!” He stared in horror as he watched Daemon stalking angrily toward the fire pit.
Chapter 11
Bad, bad, bad. This is bad!
Clambering up from where he’d been spying in the tall grass with Daemon, Thrall’s brain was racing through a plethora of scenarios that could potentially result from Daemon currently going bat-shit crazy on the Biters pack. This was really bad. And not because Daemon and Thrall were outnumbered and in enemy territory, but because this wasn’t the plan. And Thrall was a stickler for following a plan. While Koe hadn’t given them exact orders, it was understood that the plan had been implied. At least to Thrall it had been understood.
Fucking Daemon! Fucking crazy, psychotic, fight-every-fucking-thing Daemon!
They were supposed to wait until Bragga was alone, and then they’d rough him up, have a little fun with him, and drag him back to their territory to gift him to Koe to exact his own vengeance. But nooooo! Daemon, per usual, couldn’t control himself and was currently snapping necks like it was going out of style.
Rushing out into the clearing, Thrall’s booted feet slid to a stop as he roared a thunderous, “Hey!”
