Chapter 22
Indigo
Mondays … cue the eye roll, am I right ? Except I didn’t roll my eyes when I thought about Mondays because, for once in my life, I actually had a reason to dislike the first day of the workweek…and I kind of loved that. Also, I didn’t have a Monday through Friday workweek since I worked at a bar, and it was open seven days a week. I didn’t care, though. I was so excited to have a real job, an indoor home, and friends that I’d work every day for the rest of my life if it meant I got to keep it all. My time in the basement taught me not to take anything for granted. A few months ago, I lived next to a dumpster and fought Creepy Steve and my garbage kitties for trash snacks. I was Queen of the Alleyway but barely kept myself alive while hiding from Uncle Roark. Now, I had my own room, real human friends, a job, and my best bitch Sheila. From where I sat, life was pretty freaking great right now.
Opening my door, intending to hustle to Sheila so I could spend time with her before Cricket joined me to carpool, I almost stepped on a small white paper bag on the floor. I jerked my foot back and peered at the bag curiously. Hmm... I’d seen people leave bags of dog shit at people’s doors in movies as a prank, but those were usually also lit on fire. This bag was not in flames. Thinking about flames made my mind instantly jump to Pyro and his stupid lighter.
The jackass had tried to be sneaky when I was watching a documentary in the common room the other night and attempted to light my braid on fire. He crept up behind me, unaware that his scent—ripe BO with undertones of lighter fluid and ignorance (a parfum de loser if you will)—tipped me off that I was no longer alone. The soft snick of the lighter had barely reached my ear when I dumped my secret late-night treat, a large frosty glass of Yoo-hoo, directly behind me. My hair, and Pyro’s lower half, were completely drenched in milk chocolatey goodness.
A look of shock flashed on his ratty face right before I pivoted and punched him square in his tiny dick. Not only had he tried to burn me, which I really didn’t like, but he also forced me to sacrifice my treat that I had worked so hard to sneak from Tank’s stash in the garage fridge. He guarded his Yoo-hoo hoard like a burly biker dragon, and no one would risk his wrath. Except for lil ole moi. Because the Yoo-hoo…it literally beckons. I glanced warily at the bag sitting before me. Pyro hadn’t messed with me in a few days, but I wouldn’t put it past him to leave me a bag with a turd in it as some kind of weird warning.
However, I thought, the contents of the bag might not be poop related at all. Really, the only way to know would be to look and see what was inside. I cautiously nudged the bag with my toe, and when it didn’t explode or emit any stinky smells, I knelt and picked it up. Unfolding the top, I peered inside. It definitely wasn’t crap.
I walked over to Cricket’s door and knocked. A few seconds later Cricket popped his head out of his bedroom door. “I know you’re excited to resume your bar wench duties, but we still have five minutes before we have to leave.”
I held up the bag. “Do you know who left me a chunky biscuit? I think maybe it was Pyro. He probably poisoned it.” Handing the most likely deadly baked good over to my conscience, he examined the contents before barking out a laugh.
“You daft bugger, did you call a cranberry-orange scone a chunky biscuit ?” He chuckled before taking a bite.
“Hey!” I swiped the scone out of his hand. “That’s for me! I’ve never had a scone before. Sounds fancy.”
Cricket looked back into the bag and pulled out a card I hadn’t noticed. He chuckled under his breath a bit before he turned the card so I could read it. Small, slanted writing spelled out what kind of scone was in the bag, but that was all that was written.
“Do you know who left me a treat? Why wouldn’t they leave their name, so I’d know who to thank?” I asked Cricket while chomping on the best, and only, scone I’d ever tasted.
“Oh yeah, I recognize the handwriting.” He chuckled.
I waited for Cricket to tell me who it was, but he just stood there, annoyingly silent. “Well?” I asked.
Cricket turned and walked back into his room, picking up his LC cut and shrugging it on over his crisp, white button-down shirt. He slid his wallet into the back pocket of his dark wash jeans and grabbed his keys, walking out and locking the door. “You’d have to ask them, love. Surely, I have no idea.”
I rolled my eyes, following my annoying conscience down the stairs and out the clubhouse door. “So you’re really not going to tell me?” I licked the crumbs off my fingers so I didn’t smudge Sheila’s new paint job. I hopped in the driver’s seat and patted her on the steering wheel in greeting.
“Nope,” Cricket replied, popping the p on the end of the word in emphasis as he slid into the passenger seat.
I started Sheila and began driving down the driveway toward the compound gate. “Ugh, why not?” I whined, bouncing in my seat.
Cricket snickered, obviously enjoying my frustration. “Oh love, it’s just more fun this way.”
Pulling Sheila onto the highway, I glared at Cricket before stomping my foot down on the gas pedal. Cricket shot a nervous glance my way, buckling his seat belt with an audible click .
“Now now, sister dear, remember what we talked about. The speed limit is flexible, yes, but it’s not Mrs. Freaking Incredible. For fuck’s sake ! You almost hit that Volvo!”
Now it was my turn to snicker, changing lanes like a deranged reject from The Fast and the Fabulous movie. Cricket clutched the handle over Sheila’s door and made a very un-manly squeak as I hit a curb turning into Sagebrush. “Why are you driving like a bloody lunatic?”
I smiled over at Cricket. “Oh, love,” I purred, “it’s just more fun this way.”
I started working with Cricket at Crow’s Landing as a bartender a few weeks ago, and when I got my first paycheck I almost cried. Cricket took me to a local bank in Sagebrush and helped me set up a checking account, and now I have a bank card to put in my boot next to my knife and driver’s license. Lennon seemed appalled that I didn’t have a wallet, or a purse for that matter, but who needs extra shit to carry? Maybe if fashion designers would put normal pockets in women’s jeans, I’d actually be able to put my stuff in there instead of my boot. Dum-dums.
“Hey! Helloooo?” A middle-aged man snapped his fingers in my direction. Wiping down the bar was a chore that always caused my mind to wander, and for a second, I forgot I was on the clock. You’d think it’d be hard to get lost in thought in a busy bar, but I was really good at a lot of things, and wandering off in my head was probably my most-used skill. Crow’s Landing was a popular spot in Sagebrush, and Cricket made sure to host fun events and themed nights to keep people coming in. The booze brought in the regulars and alcoholics, but Cricket’s marketing kept a steady stream of college students and young working people walking through the doors. Another snap brought my attention back to the man in front of me. See, I did it again. “Are you fucking dumb or something? I’ve been trying to get your attention for three minutes! I’ll take a whiskey sour if you think you can manage that,” he said with a sneer.
I eyed the man up and down for a second before I grabbed an old-fashioned glass and started making his drink. He was only a few inches taller than me with thinning blond hair and watery hazel eyes. He wore a suit, and I could tell by the way he snapped at me that he considered himself a pretty important guy. I made his drink and slid it over to him. He picked it up with a tiny smirk on his pink face, taking a sip. “Wow,” he sneered, “looks like she can do her job after all.”
I started wiping the bar down again, remembering Cricket’s number-one rule of working here. No stabbing the patrons, even if they really, really need to be stabbed.
“Did you know that goats have accents? They can also pick up different accents from other goats when they change social groups.”
The man stopped his glass halfway to his mouth and looked at me like I was crazy with a capital Z. “What?”
“Did you also know there’s a type of jellyfish that’s basically immortal? When threatened, they can turn themselves back into widdle baby jelly polyps and start their lives all over again.”
Mr. Whiskey Sour scoffed at me. “I don’t—”
“Who’s fucking dumb now?” I snickered. I relaxed my workplace face and let a glimpse of the real me peek out of my eyes. “Those jellyfish may be immortal, but you’re definitely not . Snap at me again. I dare you.” I let out a loud bleat in my best goat accent, startling him so much he sloshed his drink onto the bar I’d just cleaned, earning him a snarl. Mr. Whiskey Sour decided he’d prefer to sit at a table instead of the bar and rushed away. I might not be educated, but I wasn’t dumb. He was the dumb one…dumb AND rude.
“Darling, we discussed this.” Cricket’s voice pulled me away from my stabby thoughts. “You can’t threaten every prick who walks through the door, or else we’ll go out of business.” My conscience set down a heavy case of liquor for me to stock and brushed a lock of his sandy-brown hair out of his eyes. He paused for a second, and I got what Bones and Priest meant when they made fun of Cricket for posing. With his tousled hair, dimples, and scruff, he looked a lot like the kind of man you see on billboards advertising cologne.
I hid a smirk at his pose and wiped up Mr. Whiskey Sour’s spill. “I didn’t threaten the asshole. I just hit him with some solid science facts.”
Cricket chuffed a laugh and leaned back on the bar. “You and those animal documentaries.”
I grin. “Learning is a lifelong endeavor, you know.”
“I wondered…” Cricket caught himself mid-thought. “But…never mind.”
I stopped wiping and leaned against the bar, looking up at my conscience. “What did you wonder, Cricket?”
“Well, after what you told us… about how you grew up. So, uh…” He lowered his voice. “ Isolated . How did you learn to like, read and stuff. Or all the pop culture references you throw around. I was just curious.”
I reached into the case at my feet and grasped a bottle and began restocking. I considered my words before I spoke, wanting to answer honestly without spilling any details out in public. I didn’t think Uncle Roark had spies in a random little Nevada town, but you never know who might be listening. “Well, when I wasn’t being…useful… no one really knew exactly what to do with me. Uncle R— Uncle enjoyed hurting me, but there are a lot of hours in the day. I was left alone with the guards a lot of the time, when he was working or living his actual life. His men were not the Mary Poppins type, if you catch my drift.” Cricket crossed his arms over his chest and gave a curt nod for me to continue.
“Well, let’s just say they discovered that the TV is the best babysitter. One of the least horrible men would bring me DVDs, movies, books… all to shut me up and keep me out of his hair, I guess. I never had internet access, but the media he brought me helped me learn enough to get by. I taught myself how to read. I’d rewatch documentaries he’d bring over and over, trying to learn every little fact I could.”
“We all know you’re an ignorant bitch,” Pyro sneered as he carried in a case of liquor and stopped behind Cricket to place it on the bar. “No need to brag about it.” I forgot he was supposed to help bring in stock at the bar today. My smile slid off my face like cheese off a slice of pizza.
“Dude, do you have to be such a prick to her all the time?” Cricket glared at Pyro over his shoulder.
I scoffed but didn’t say anything to Pyro to make the situation worse because Cricket honestly had no idea exactly how much of a prick Pyro was to me. I didn’t tell anyone about his muttered threats and nasty comments, about the cruel notes I’d find tucked into my locker at work or under my pillow back at the clubhouse. I kept his bullying to myself because I didn’t want to make waves with the Crows by causing trouble with a member, and honestly, it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. Uncle Roark makes Pyro look like a sweet, cuddly teddy bear.
He could run his mouth all he wanted; I had no problem slinging shit back his way. As long as he kept his hands to himself, I couldn’t give less of a crap about Pyro. He was a weak little man who needed to feel big. There was only one man I feared, and it sure as shit wasn’t him.
“Aw, Cricket, leave Pyro alone,” I said with a smirk.
Cricket turned bewildered eyes on me. “Seriously, you’re going to defend him?”
Pyro chuffed a nasty snigger and reached into his pocket to play with his silver lighter. “Yeah, Cricket. I’m not saying anything the dumb cunt doesn’t already know.” He stuck a cigarette between his lips and lit the tip with his lighter, the glow of the flame briefly illuminating the maroon birthmark on his face in the dim bar. “She clawed her way out of the dumpster and right into our club. Someone must have taught her to suck a mean cock, I can’t imagine another reason Duke would let a worthless waste of space like her hang around. Is that what you were doing in church a few weeks back with Duke and Bones? Letting them both take a run at you to keep a roof over your head?” Pyro let his beady little eyes run down my body, his expression cruel and filled with malice.
His hateful tirade was interrupted when Cricket shoved Pyro. “What the fuck, man? What’s wrong with you? Other than handing you your ass, which you deserved by the way, Indi hasn’t done a fucking thing to you.” Pyro took a step toward Cricket, but I swiftly stepped between them, pressing my back against Cricket’s chest to keep him from trying to push me aside to get at Pyro.
“Don’t worry, conscience. This isn’t about me, it’s about Pyro and his damage.” I turned to face Cricket and patted him on his cheek. “He’s just an insecure man-baby.” I looked over my shoulder at Pyro, who was glaring at me. I know my refusal to rise to his bait just made him hate me more, but I was out of fucks to give. “Pyro, you are the sentient equivalent of an anal fissure, and I hope you get pink eye. Like… the crusty, oozy type of pink eye. Now, get the fuck out of here before I tell Duke and Bones exactly what you said. I wonder what they would think about your weaselly ass trying to eavesdrop on their private conversation?”
Pyro’s mouth snapped closed at that threat, and he let out a pathetic little growl of frustration before he stomped out of the bar, shoving patrons out of the way as he left. Creepy Steve’s come-filled shoe had more charm than Pyro. I rolled my eyes and looked over my shoulder at Cricket, who had an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face. “Don’t worry about it, Cricket. Pyro’s an asshole, but I can handle him.”
“I know you can more than handle him, love, but you shouldn’t have to. I don’t give a fuck if he’s a Crow or not, the next time he speaks to you that way he’s gonna get acquainted with my bat.” His eyes flicked up to the cricket bat that was mounted over the bar. It was his signature weapon, and I thought fondly back to the first time I saw him with it… even though he was trying to whack me.
“No need for you to defend my honor, Mr. Fancy Bat. I handed Pyro’s ass to him once; I can do it again.”
“Regardless love, Duke and Bones need to know the shit he’s spewing. It’s disrespectful, not just to you but to them too. Duke is his prez, and Bones is the sergeant at arms for the Crows. That kind of disrespect can’t slide.”
“I’m not a narc,” I insist, crossing my arms over my chest.
“I’ll let it go this once if you promise to tell me if he gives you shit again. I’ll shove that lighter down his throat to teach him some damn manners.”
I giggle. “I thought we couldn’t threaten every prick who walked through the door, boss man. Isn’t that rule number one for working at Crow’s Landing?”
“Oh, my sweet summer child, there’s an exception to every rule.” Cricket’s gray eyes flashed like quicksilver, a look of pure menace on his face. It was easy to forget that my friendly, golden retriever conscience had a dark side because he preferred to effuse charm instead of barely contained violence like so many of his brothers. But the expression on his face reminded me that he had the potential to be just as vicious and deadly as Priest or Bones.
Shaking his head a bit, Cricket reined in his dark side, and the playful, cheeky expression he usually wore replaced the angry one Pyro’s words put there. “Come on, quick march, bar wench. We’ve got to finish restocking, and I need to work on the inventory before we can clock out. I’m glad we’ve been carpooling with Sheila because that means you can drive us back. Not at Mach-speed this time, though, if you don’t mind. I can’t get through inventory without needing a bloody drink. I joined a biker gang to avoid a life of monotonous paperwork, and look at me now…bloody bogged down with the stuff.”
“Definitely false advertising on the Crow’s part. I agree. Next time you guys have a recruitment night, we’ll have to specify that life outside the law with Los Cuervos comes with lots of paperwork.”
Cricket’s barked out a laugh as I swiped a bottle of Macallen from the crate and headed to his office.
“Uh, hi?” A timid voice called out, “Can I get a Jack and Coke please?”
Ugh, a bar wench’s work was never done.
Priest
“Priest,” Prospect’s voice sounded off, and I pressed my phone closer to my ear so I could hear him better. “Man, I think you need to come down here.”
“Prospect? What’s going on?” I turned away from the pool table where Ratched, Mindy, Amber, and I were playing a game and motioned for them to be quiet so I could hear what Prospect was trying to say.
“I…. there’s only four….figured I should give you a…do you want me to do?”
I only caught part of what he was trying to say. “Ratched, cut the music. I can’t hear a damn thing he’s trying to say.” Ratched pulled his phone from the pocket of his jeans and fiddled with the jukebox in the corner until the music blaring out of the speakers suddenly cut off. I heard him murmuring to the girls to keep quiet.
“Prospect, sorry man, I didn’t catch that. You’re on guard duty, right? What’s going on?” Ratched placed his cue on the table and ambled over with a look of concern on his face. Any night we had club girls and civilians on the compound, we kept someone at the gate, and tonight was Prospect’s night.
“Yeah man, I’m at the gate that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. There’s an SUV here, four people inside. Driver said they’re here to talk to the prez and Indi.” The muscles in my neck tensed up, and I rolled my head to crack my neck and relieve some of the tension that wasn’t there a moment ago. Ratched noticed my reaction to Prospect’s words and narrowed his eyes.
“Who are they?”
“Petrovs.”
Prospect’s single-word answer set my teeth on edge. “Wait five minutes and then open the gate.” I ended the call and lifted my chin to Ratched. “We’ve got visitors. Club business. Tell the girls to go home and get all the brothers on the compound here within the next two minutes. I’m calling Duke.”
Ratched ushered Amber and Mindy away, their bewildered expression grating on my last nerve. They know what we are, what Los Cuervos is; they knew this wasn’t a damn country club where they could hang out and get laid. Club business was about to go down, and they weren’t Crows. They had no business looking hurt that they got kicked to the curb.
Dialing Duke, he picked up on the second ring even though I knew he was home with Ma probably watching one of the girly period dramas she liked so much.
“Priest.” No “ hello, son ” or “ hey, what’s up ” from my old man, he always cut straight to the chase.
“Duke, we’ve got Petrovs at the gate. I sent the girls home; they’ll be at the clubhouse in about four minutes.”
“Got it.” Click . I shoved my phone in the back pocket of my jeans. My brothers had assembled; all the ones present that was. Ace, Thor, Bard, Ratched, Bones, and Sticks stood in front of the clubhouse, some on the porch and the rest fanned out near the driveway. Someone had turned on the floodlights, and the harsh, bright light illuminated the front of the clubhouse and part of the driveway. Petrov’s black SUV slowly crawled from the gate down the driveway, coming to a stop a few feet away from where Bones and Ratched stood. My father, having come in through the kitchen door, exited the clubhouse right as their vehicle parked and stood on the porch with his arms crossed over his chest.
Simultaneously, all four doors of the SUV opened. Hands were the first thing we saw; held up and out from the vehicle, empty. Slowly, four men exited and stood with their arms stretched out, waiting for the pat down they knew was coming. Bones and Ratched worked efficiently, dividing the men between them, and checking them for weapons.
Bones nodded over to Duke. “They’re clean.”
“Well, fellas.” Duke casually ambled down the stairs of the clubhouse and toward the Russians like mobsters showed up on our doorstep all the time. “To what do we owe the honor of such an unexpected visit from the bratva?”
One of the men stepped forward and offered a tattooed hand to Duke in greeting. “Hello, Duke, my name is Riordan Petrov.”
Duke looked at the hand offered to him for a moment before reaching out to meet it in greeting with his own. They shook hands for a moment before letting go, and Duke looked Riordan up and down. I found myself doing the same from my position by Duke’s side. Riordan was a couple of inches shorter than my 6’2”, with artfully tousled brown hair and mossy green eyes. He looked like he was maybe in his mid-twenties. The suit he wore looked expensive and tailored just for him, but I guess when your daddy runs his own bratva, you can afford that couture shit. Tattoos crawled up his neck and based on the ones on his hands I assumed he had even more ink elsewhere. Russian mobsters were weird about their tattoos, each one had a specific meaning and placement. Tattoos for them were less about self-expression and more about a pictorial rap sheet. Each one showcased their loyalty to the brotherhood and illustrated exactly what they did to earn their place within their ranks.
“I know who you are, Mr. Petrov. After your introduction to two of my members at Allure, I made it my business to learn about the new Petrov player in town. What I want to know is why you’re here in my front yard. Uninvited.” Duke’s expression remained pleasant, but his tone carried a hint of impatience. One of the Russians, a wiry-looking blond, stepped closer, but Riordan held his hand up, stopping his companion in his tracks.
“Los Cuervos and the Petrov bratva have co-existed without issue for some time now, and I have no plans to change the amicable nature of our acquaintance.” Riordan lowered his hand. “Tonight, I come to settle a debt and hopefully gain some much-needed clarity on a certain…concern of mine. My business has to do with Indigo. Is she here?”
Oh. Nope, don’t like that. Her name coming out of his mouth set my teeth on edge.
“What exactly is the debt you plan to settle? Last I checked, Los Cuervos didn’t owe anyone a damn thing, least of all the Russians.” I spit into the gravel at Riordan’s feet, daring him to take a swing at me. Disdain for any organization that had a hand in human trafficking was easy to summon, and I let all my thoughts concerning the Petrov family show on my face.
Riordan, the arrogant bastard, didn’t even look at me as he replied with a smirk, “That’s between lisichka and me. Now, if you don’t mind, the adults are talking.” This motherf-
Duke's eyes narrowed a bit. “That so? Well, y'all better come inside then. Indigo’s at work, but she should be home shortly.” Duke calling the clubhouse her home didn’t even bother me anymore, which gave me pause.
I wasn’t sure what had changed between us since our time in the confessional, but I found myself hating Indigo less and less every day. Maybe it was watching her bake with Ma or dancing with Lennon. Maybe it was catching Ratched and Indi watching nature documentaries late at night when they were too restless to sleep, or the easy friendship she was cultivating with Bones and Cricket, two of my very best friends. The fact that she was unintentionally hilarious, stunningly beautiful, and more than a little crazy could also have something to do with my gradual change of heart. We weren’t friends, per se, but she’d grown on me as much as I could allow her to. I didn’t like the Petrov’s showing up claiming Indi owed them a debt.
Duke led our uninvited guests into the clubhouse and my brothers followed closely behind, ready to throw down the moment the Petrov’s stepped out of line.
Bones came to stand next to me, his favorite bone already in his hand like a macabre worry stone. “This is about what went down at Savage Delights. I don’t like them just showing up like this.”
I didn’t like it either. Usually, there are protocols; a specific way for the leader of one organization to contact another and arrange for a meeting.
Showing up in the middle of the night was a calculated risk on Riordan’s part. Either he thought we were such small fish we couldn’t possibly threaten him, or he thought he would be welcomed into our pond as a friend. We weren’t his fucking friends, allies, or even neighborly adjacent in our business ventures, and as a general rule, the Crows and the bratva stayed out of each other’s way. Bones was right, something was up with Petrov’s interest in Indigo, and hopefully tonight, we would find out what he wanted from her and why.
Petrov took a seat on one of our oversized chairs while his three goons fanned out behind him. My brothers and I spread out around the room, warily watching our visitors, and Duke took the chair opposite Riordan.
“Can I offer y’all a beer?” Duke raised a brow in question. Thing One and Thing Two, who had yet to speak, shook their heads in unison, declining the drink, but the tall blond man who seemed to be Riordan’s shadow grinned. “A welcome like this, who could say no?”
Riordan shot him a quick disapproving glance. “What Ivan meant to say was that we’d both appreciate a beer, thank you.” Duke nodded to Bones, who went behind the bar to grab two bottles of lager. Bones handed the bottles to our uninvited guests, not even trying to hide his sneer when he handed Ivan his. A gleam flashed in Ivan’s eyes, and even though I had never met the man before, I knew exactly what was coming. Cricket got the same look when he was feeling nasty and wanted to stir some shit.
“Tell me, where is the luscious Lennon this evening? She and I hit it off at Savage Delights. I’m thinking maybe it’s time we got to know each other a little better.” Riordan’s mask slipped for a single second, but I caught the look of irritation that flashed in his eye at his companion before it slammed back into place. Ivan was baiting Bones, for fun or simply to pass the time, but he picked the wrong damn subject matter to bring up.
“The fuck you say, boy?” Thankfully, Sticks was on the opposite side of the room, but upon hearing his baby girl’s name on the lips of a Russian gangster, he put some pep in his step and barreled toward Ivan. Now it was Bones’s turn to smirk at Ivan, who had unknowingly riled the wrong man. Bones was more than happy to sit back and watch Sticks kick the shit out of Ivan, but Duke’s reflexes were still on point. He got between his enraged brother and the Russian. Duke’s hands were planted on Sticks’ chest, straining slightly but trying not to let it show.
“Calm down, brother. Calm.” Duke kept his hand on Sticks but turned a face like thunder toward the irritating Russian. “If I were you, son, I’d keep Lennon’s name out of your mouth. She’s Sticks’s daughter, and none of us will take kindly to any disrespectful mention of her or any of our women.”
Riordan held up a hand in a placating gesture. “Of course, we would never disrespect you or yours in your own house. Ivan can be an annoying bastard, though he means Lennon no harm. Correct, Ivan?” Riordan was glaring at his man now, who was trying to look contrite and failing miserably.
“I meant no offense, Mr. Sticks.” Ivan did a shitty job of apologizing because he forgot to tell his face to match the tone of the words coming out of his mouth. The fucker looked positively gleeful at the drama he’d initiated, and I prayed a silent prayer to the god of mischievous fuckery that Cricket and Ivan never became friends.
Bard, never one for awkward silences, drummed his fingers on his thigh. “Anyone wanna play a game of pool while we wait?” Stony silence stretched on for a moment or two before Riordan looked at Thing One and Thing Two and said, “ Idi igray.” The Things moved in unison, which was a little creepy, and followed Bard over to a table. Thor joined them and passed out cues to our guests. Bones and Sticks continued to glare at Ivan, who looked delighted he’d managed to piss them off. Ace went behind the bar, presumably in search of whiskey, while the rest of us waited. Thankfully, we didn’t have to wait much longer. The girl I’d— we’d— been waiting for stumbled through the front door carrying a takeout container of hot wings and accompanied by a laughing Cricket.
Indi stopped in her tracks, her green eyes widening as she took in the assembly in the common room. She had hot sauce on her chin and a maniacal-looking grin spreading across her face. “Aw, you guys! Did you finally start that Boy Scout Troop I was talking about the other day? Who’s the Pack Master? Or is it Beast Master? Duke, I’m sorry but you can’t be the leader guy since you’re already a president; it would totally be a conflict of interest. Oh!” She placed her container of wings on the bar and sucked the sauce off her fingers and did a little happy wiggle that was annoyingly adorable. “We can have a jamboree, which I think is some kind of bonding ritual that requires two rabbis and a certified lifeguard, so if anyone knows a guy, now’s the time to phone a friend.” Duke waited for her to pause for air, which took a lot longer to occur than it did with normal women, but when she inevitably did, he cut in.
“Indigo, darlin’, you have visitors. Riordan Petrov came by to see you.” Duke raised an eyebrow in question. “Somethin’ about a debt to pay?” Indigo spun to face Riordan, and her manic Boy Scout tangent took a sharp ninety-degree turn toward the mobster.
“Too damn right. He owes me . I beat your Tough Guy at Savvie D’s, and you got all coy when it was time to put out.” I tried not to laugh, but I couldn’t stop a snort from escaping. Savvie D’s? An expression of mischievous glee spread across Cricket’s face at hearing Indi’s nickname for Bear’s beloved fight club. I can already see the little shit-stirrer tucking that one into his back pocket for later when it will provoke the most entertaining reaction from Bear.
Indigo crossed her arms under her tits and popped a sassy hip out as she glared at Petrov. “Put up or shut up, Riordan. Why are you so curious about me? I know I’m interesting, but damn, dude, you stare more than Creepy Steve.”
“I came to answer your question, lisichka , and the questions that are sure to follow. May we speak privately? The subject matter is a tad…personal.” Riordan rose from his seat and buttoned his jacket.
Indigo remained firmly planted in place. “Dude, enough. Just get to the point. I have wings and Animal Planet waiting for me. Tonight is Otterly Adorable night, and if you make me miss tummy tables and otter families holding hands, I might have to burn your house down.”
Ivan exhaled loudly between his lips, looking up at his boss like he was curious as to what he would do. Men like Petrov were used to setting the stage; they made demands and phrased them as questions purely as a courtesy to those below them, which to them was literally everyone else. Instead of demanding privacy like a highhanded ass, Riordan nodded his head in compliance.
“As you wish. Before I answer your question, would you please indulge me by answering a single question of mine? I swear, your answer will be pertinent to the story I have to tell.”
Indigo rolled her eyes and shifted her weight to her other foot. “Ugh, fine! For the love of otter adorableness, what ?”
Riordan licked his lips nervously. “Does the name Roark Callahan mean anything to you?”