“I won’t get my hopes up,” Brooke replied with a skeptic grunt.
“Ouch!” Mercedes winced at the final prick of the needle.
“Sorry,” Brooke smirked. She dabbed the last bits of blood away and placed a bandage over Mercedes’ skin. “You’re good to go.”
Mercedes slid off the table and fixed her shirt into place. “Thanks, honey.”
“Whatever you’re doing, be careful. I can’t—I mean,can’t—lose my brother,” Brooke said.
“You won’t,” Mercedes said.
Brooke folded her arms, pinning Mercedes with a warning look.
“Brooke, I promise. Dan, Carlos, Adam, and your brother are all going to come out of this alive. I fucking promise.”
“Fine,” Brooke said, turning back to the paperwork laid out on her bench. It was all the acceptance Mercedes needed to know that Brooke was trusting her with their friends’ lives. Without another word, she left Brooke alone, closing the door to the office behind her as she left.
* * *
“Are you sure you want to hang out here?” Paul asked, looking around nervously. He was too nervous these days, in Adam’s opinion. He was wound tighter than a corkscrew.
“Why not?” Adam said, taking a swig of his scotch and swirling it around to relish the taste.
“It’s out in the open,” Paul shrugged.
Adam rested his hand on the booth behind him, gripping it so he could survey the room. The bar in question was only a block from Adam’s hotel room, and was one of the most run down, worn-out, dodgiest dive bars that could be found. The room was nearly pitch black, with only the glow of red neon lights that gently dimmed the atmosphere. Despite the smell of body odor and spilled alcohol, Adam had been making a habit of taking up the darkest booth at the back of the bar almost every night.
While taking back the Neptune Club had been a win, it wasn’t smart to frequent it. It was a business he had to love and leave behind, trusting that Tia would keep the asset under control.
“I think we’re fine,” Adam said, turning back. He fanned himself with the drink menu, the lightly blowing fans on the ceiling a useless addition.
Dan and Carlos joined them, sliding up onto the sticky leather.
“Heaps of our people in here tonight,” Dan said, enthusiastically surveying the force of people enjoying drinks.
“Our people?” Paul frowned, shaking his head but trying to hide his smirking grin. In response, Adam gave him a wicked smile of reckless unconcern.
Adam’s pale pink and green Hawaiian shirt blew lightly as he continued to fan himself. He’d opened his shirt in the front to let the breeze in, aware of his muscled chest on display and the droplets of sweat riding down his neck. If a certain someone happened to notice, so be it.
“Cheers to us!” Dan said. They clinked their glasses and chugged. Before the drink even went down his throat, Dan lined his coke up on the table, sniffing it in.
“Not without war wounds,” Adam said. The press of the glass had cut his lip open again, leaking droplets of blood that he wiped with his thumb.
“Victory wounds,” Dan corrected him, his voice high and nasally from the coke.
“That’s right, a fucking win!” Carlos said.
The front door of the bar swung open, letting in a hot breeze. Against the red light all Adam could see was her silhouette in a skin-tight black mini dress and heels. It was rare to see her in anything other than leather, for fighting, or elegant sundresses, for pretending she was someone she wasn’t. He hoped this was the proverbial letting down of her hair.
“Scoot,” Mercedes said as she reached the table. They shuffled around to make room as she slid into the edge of the booth next to Carlos.
“What happened to your shoulder?” Paul asked.
“Oh, I needed stitches,” she said. She waved down a bartender, but slapped her hands down on the table when she got no response.
“Who gave you stitches?” Paul said.
Still getting no response from the bartenders, Mercedes threw her hands defeatedly in her lap. Adam held the cool glass against his cut lip, watching the exchange with interest. It was pretty fucking obvious who would’ve given her stitches.
