Chapter Seven #2
As if reading his thoughts, his brother studied him for a moment before saying. “Maxen said to keep an eye on you.”
Drake cursed. Bloody Maxen. “Aren’t I the one in charge when he is off playing house?”
“Even he had you.”
Drake arched a brow, cocking his head. “So now you’re me?”
Dagger shrugged. “I’m whoever you need me to be while the boys play.”
“You mean Reaper and Deveraux?” Those two brothers of theirs were the bane of his existence.
One was reckless, the other was devil-may-care.
Opposite sides of the same bloody coin. He should hire a damn wet nurse for each of them.
That would free him up to do more important things.
Like dealing with a certain spitfire . . .
“Ten pounds says those two brawl before the week is out.”
Drake, who once again started to chew on thoughts he had no business chewing, lifted a brow. “Make it twenty, and I’ll take the wager.”
Dagger leaned back in his chair, arms crossing. “Confident, are we?”
“Always.”
“Dangerous trait.”
“Only for the other man.”
Dagger arched a brow. “There’s always a first time.”
“I’m seldom wrong in my assessments,” Drake drawled. “Reaper may bite and growl, but he is extremely tolerant of our newest brother’s tongue.”
Dagger shrugged. “Twenty pounds it is.” He cast a brief glance at the bar. “Care to tell me why the back of my neck turns to ice whenever the two of you occupy the same space?”
“Maxen didn’t tell you that part?” Drake asked.
Dagger shook his head.
Good. “A minor disagreement, that’s all.”
“It’s never minor when it’s between brothers.”
“Don’t worry so much. This was infuriating, but still minor. Not even worth mentioning.”
Dagger’s brow lifted. “You ruined his boots again, didn’t you?”
“That was one bloody time.” Drake wanted to say more but the door of the tavern slammed inward with such force that he leaped to his feet, hand on the pistol in his waistband. Dagger followed suit, a blade appearing in his hand.
He scowled when Reaper shoved Deveraux aside and entered, faces bloodied, bruised, cursing at each other.
“You long-limbed, treacherous thoroughbred thief!” Reaper bellowed, blood streaking down his temple as he shoved Deveraux against the wall.
“I did not steal your damned horse,” Deveraux snapped, shoving back. “Your beast followed me.”
“He follows no one but me, you perfumed fraud!”
“You named him Reaping Wrath. Why in God’s name would I want any animal called that?”
“You fed him!”
“I gave him one apple,” Deveraux growled.
Reaper shoved him again. “He is loyal to the apple-giver! Everyone knows that!”
Bloody hell.
Drake tucked his pistol back in his trousers. Damn fools.
“That is not how horses work, you fool! And if you’re so worried, just give him a damn apple and get off my back!”
Reaper cursed something foul in French.
Dagger slowly turned his head toward Drake. “Do I collect the twenty pounds now?”
Drake didn’t bother replying. He was already moving, shoving himself between them, planting a hand on each chest and forcing them apart.
“Calm the hell down,” he snapped, a glare cutting between them. He was hiring a damn wet nurse tomorrow. “Reaper, he didn’t know to leave your damned horse alone. Count this the message received.” He gave Reaper a harder shove for emphasis.
He lost twenty pounds over a damn apple.
Reaper muttered a curse, harsh and begrudging.
Dagger strode over and signaled Knight. “A round of cognac.”
Knight retrieved four glasses, uncorked the liquor and poured a generous amount before pushing each glass down the bar toward them in neat, efficient slides.
“You’re not joining?” Dagger asked, lifting his glass in salute.
Knight didn’t even glance up. “Someone in this room needs to keep a level head.”
Reaper wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Since when is that you?”
Knight poured himself water. “Since you’re all acting like unruly pups. Where is Serpent? Why didn’t he return with you?”
“The Red Noses at Black Rock,” Deveraux answered, swallowing the drink down in one go. “Hell if I knew why he took off.”
Drake knocked back a mouthful of his glass, embracing the burn. At this rate, Serpent might as well move his belongings into his beloved caves. And Knight could become a wet nurse.
Deveraux scowled. “Don’t know why you all call them caves. They’re rocks and hollows at best.”
Reaper snorted loudly. “Serpent loves peace. And he often guards our loot. Why don’t you take your arse back to London or something? You clearly don’t belong here.”
“Boys,” Drake warned, causing Dagger to chuckle.
“I’ll collect the twenty pounds whenever you’re ready,” his brother taunted.
Drake shot him an annoyed look.
“What twenty pounds?” Reaper groused. “Were you wagering without me?”
What a joke. “We were wagering on you.” Drake eyed Deveraux. “And him.”
Saint entered from the tap room, eyes heavy with sleep. He plopped down into a chair at one of the tables. “A man can’t get any bloody rest with all the ruckuses. Do I even want to know?”
“No,” Drake muttered, finishing his cognac. “You don’t.”
The tavern door slammed open a second time.
Drake groaned. He set the empty glass on the counter. What the bloody hell now? He turned to the door, along with his brothers.
And there she stood.
The spitfire.
Violet.
Hands on her hips. Trouser clad hips. Chin high. Eyes blazing with purpose.
“I’m ready,” she announced, staring straight at him. “Are you?”
Ah, hell.