Page 5 of Nicolette

“Yes, Dad,” I teased, watching the old dwarf amble off to get the drinks.

“What did he mean, the master’s calling your number?” Left Twin asked.

Leaning back so I could see them both, I crossed my arms. “Sorry boys, if you want to butt into my personal life, I’m gonna at least need to know your names first. Seems only fair don’t you think?”

“That it is, and incredibly rude on our part,” Right Twin said, standing, reaching out for my hand, which I gave him. “Marco, at your service.”

Left Twin appeared next to his brother, taking my hand out of Marco’s. “Name’s Polo.” Turning my hand over, he pressed a kiss to the inside of my wrist, then nuzzled it with his cheek.

Marco took my hand back and did the same thing before releasing it back to me with a grin. “For good luck,” he offered.

“Riiighht,” I drawled.

Nomolin came back with the drink slamming down the beers for the twins with a glare. “These two causing you trouble?”

“Seriously? Pretty sure if I wanted to get rid of them, I could.” I laughed, snagging my glass.

“Be mindful, Swurve, the only felines in this town belong to Savage Pride,” Nomolin said. “Nothing that comes out of that load of bikers can be good.”

“Says the man working for the big bad mobster who thinks he owns this city,” Polo countered. “I’d think twice before pointing out the sins of others, don’t you think, dwarf?”

“Hey,” I snapped. “Break it up, the both of you. Nom, there is nothing to worry about. It’s not like I’m going to run off to join a biker gang. Pretty sure you need to be a feline for that to happen anyways, and as we’ve already discussed, I’m incredibly fucking human.”

“I could fix that if you like?” Marco offered, baring his teeth in a wicked smile.

“Not a fucking chance, pal, but I applaud the effort. Isn’t it true that people turned only have a fifty-fifty shot of surviving the shift?” I asked.

“That’s werewolves,” Polo corrected. “We felines are a much more selective bunch. If you’re not a natural born shifter and if you’re bitten, it’s more like a thirty percent chance.”

Marco hissed at his brother, slapping him upside the head. “Way to sell it to her. Now she’ll never say yes.”

Polo snarled, shoving his brother into the bar. “We couldn’t have done it anyways. Nine forbid us from ever biting anyone.”

“Nine?” I questioned cocking a brow.

“Our president, Nine Lives, but we call him Nine most of the time,” Polo explained.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at the name as I took a sip of my drink. “Isn’t that a fitting name.”

“Yeah, well, just in case you ever meet him, I would suggest keeping your thoughts on it to yourself. I know a prospect who has claw marks on his ass for asking how many lives the prez has left,” Marco shared with a shiver as if remembering the moment. “He was patched by the past president, and apparently, the name means something meaningful.”

“Duly noted,” I commented with a nod of my glass. “But as you might have picked up from my worrywart friend, Nomolin, I might not have too many more days to live. Seems I’m too good at my job, and after the years I’ve been fighting, there are not many humans left who will challenge me. Which means, the next best thing is to start throwing me in with Supes. If this first fight was anything to go by, my days are numbered indeed.”

Marco actually started to growl at what I’d just told him, and Polo let out his hissing yowl that only a cat could pull off. Both were not responses I would have expected from either of them.

“How can that be with how much money you pull in?” Polo demanded. “Since you’ve become a favorite with those coming on the weekends for your fights, he charges a hundred bucks a head just to get in. Then there are the bets that favor you to win almost every time. I can’t imagine those purses are small.”

“Whoa, guys, take a chill pill and dial it down like five notches,” I suggested motioning with my hands for them to lower the level. “You two should know what it means to sign up for a life. I’m the idiot who didn’t read the contract, and now, The Broker owns my ass. I’ve had to come to terms with my choices, or I’d have been dead long before now at the bottom of a bottle. When you sign a contract with a fucking leprechaun, make sure you read all the goddamn words.”

“That’s what he has on you, a contract?” Polo asked, perking up at this. “What were the terms of the agreement?”

“Hi, did you miss the part where I said I didn’t fucking read it?” I snapped.

“Right, sorry,” Polo apologized, backing off. “Marco and I are the treasurers for the pride, and I specialize in contracts… making and breaking. I just thought if there was a way that I could help, I’d happily offer.”

Narrowing my eyes at the two of them, I cocked my head. “Why the fuck do you two care what happens with me?”

“Easy, we’ve been following your fighting career for the past five years,” Marco piped up. “That and who wouldn’t be pissed that a knockout like yourself would be bumped off for a shit reason.”