Chapter 2
Grayson
Grayson smothered a chuckle as Locke dropped back into his seat and scowled at his empty beer.
It wasn’t often he got to witness the Hound getting shot down so hard that he should be standing in the middle of a smoldering crater instead of a very cool bar.
Based on the clenched jaw, dark glare, and nearly visible steam coming from Locke’s ears, the man didn’t enjoy the experience. Which made teasing him an easy call.
“You okay over there, Prince Charming?”
“Fuck you, Gray.”
“You’re not my type.” Grin widening, Grayson picked up his beer. “Not sure you’re hers either.”
Locke blew out a breath, shook his head, and muttered, “Whatever.” He sat back, picked up his bottle, took a long draw, and set it back, all without taking his eyes off the raven-haired woman’s ass as she leaned into the bar to talk with the very intriguing bartender.
Speaking of types… There was something about the woman holding court behind the bar.
She moved gracefully from one spot to another, a fascinating combination of bohemian and rocker chic.
Her hands flew in a graceful sweep, like an orchestra director, as she mixed drink after drink.
Her wildly colorful hair, pulled back in a half-tamed tail, held browns and blacks with glints of bright gold and streaks of deep red. It twirled and bounced as she moved.
Grayson’s hands itched to sink into that wildness.
He was too far away to see her eyes, especially since she wore wire-frame glasses, but he could definitely feel the weight of her gaze every time it landed on him.
And he sure as hell hadn’t missed the flush of color that filled her witchy face when he winked.
Or the way she bit her full lip before she looked away.
“You know,” Locke said, “Cass is Isa’s best friend.”
Grayson reluctantly turned his attention from the two talking women to the man across from him, who now wore a shit-eating grin.
“So,” Locke continued, “the odds are not in your favor.”
Ignoring his friend’s opinion, Grayson focused on what was more important. “Cass?”
Locke’s grin widened. “That’s the name of the woman you’ve been eyeing all night.”
“Whatever.”
Locke laughed, his amusement chasing away the last bits of his earlier irritation. “Don’t worry. If those looks she was giving you are anything to go by, she’s interested.”
A rush of anticipation zipped through him then cooled. Unfortunately, he was heading home the next day, so as much as he might like to pursue the beautiful Cass, it wouldn’t happen that night. “Wish you’d brought me here earlier, when I didn’t have to head out in the morning.”
“Well, I appreciate you coming in to help on such short notice.” Locke studied him for a moment. “You sure you don’t want to consider moving out here? There’s a lot of opportunity for a Key like you in the Valley. Hell, I know for a fact the Cordovas would be happy to put you on their payroll.”
Grayson couldn’t deny that the idea held some appeal, especially since his feet had been getting itchy.
Still, he wasn’t sure he should upend his life when the offer hinged on being beholden to an Arcane Family, even if it was one of the better ones.
He had no problems contracting out with the Western Arcane Guild, which covered southern California, Texas, Colorado, New Mexico, Utah, Arizona, and Nevada, because that gave him the option to pick and choose his jobs, but tying himself to one Family?
Yeah, no thanks. Still, he wasn’t one to burn his bridges, because you never knew where life would take you.
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m happy in Vegas.”
“Fine.” Locke shifted in his chair and stretched his legs out alongside their table. He tilted his half-filled bottle and absently rolled it back and forth. “At least I can let Zev know I tried.”
“How’s he doing?”
About a month earlier, Grayson had been called to one of the Vegas hotels by an old business friend and fellow Guild Key, Lena Davis, to help out Zev Aslanov, the right-hand man of the Cordova Family—well, more like to help out Lena’s friend, Rory Costas, another intriguing woman who was more than she appeared to be.
The Arcane Transporter was slowly gaining an impressive reputation and not because she was Zev’s significant other.
The whole situation had been an interesting experience to say the least. The modified bane hex that had been set on Zev should have been fatal, but he’d been protected by something, or someone, very powerful, which had provided Grayson the slim opening he needed to counter the highly illegal and complex plague hex.
“Zev is good, actually. He’s getting ready to move in with Rory.”
“Wait—I thought Rory and Lena were roommates.” Grayson noticed Cass take a phone from the big guy working with her then disappear into the back.
“They are… were.” Locke set his bottle down, his gaze drifting to Isa as she went back to working the floor. “From what Zev told me, Lena wanted to move in with her guy, so she offered Zev the option to buy out her half of the condo. He took her up on it.”
“If housing prices are anything like they are in Vegas—”
“Worse,” Locke said.
“Then good for him,” Grayson finished, trying not to smirk when Isa swept by without acknowledging Locke.
Locke’s gaze followed her before he shook his head, lost his sprawl, sat up, and leaned forward, his arms folded on the table. “Yeah, I’m glad I got into my place when I did.”
“Speaking of, how’s the rehabbing going?”
A year before, Locke had bought a fixer-upper and spent what little spare time he had doing endless projects.
As stunning as Locke’s results were, Grayson preferred to make a phone call and have someone else deal with things like leaky faucets and nonfunctioning appliances.
In any case, he wasn’t ready to set down roots.
“I got the master bath done, and now I’m working on the kitchen cabinets.”
Locke was in the middle of a story involving a sketchy landscaper when the man behind the bar motioned to Isa.
She headed over, the two had a short conversation, then Isa set down her tray and slipped behind the bar.
The man went through the door and disappeared.
Grayson tuned back in to Locke’s story but couldn’t stop his occasional glances at the bar.
He wondered where Cass was, and—even more irritating—why had the other guy followed her to the back.
He squashed the flash of unwarranted jealousy before it could become a massive pain in his ass.
Locke turned to follow Grayson’s gaze. “What?”
“It’s nothing.” Grayson idly played with his beer.
Locke gave him a “don’t bullshit me” look before turning to eye Isa, who was setting drinks on the tray of one of the younger servers. He gave a soft grunt of amusement. “Where’s Cass?” Before Grayson could answer, he frowned and added, “And Des?”
Grayson stilled his restless movements. “Des?”
“Yeah, the other bartender.” Locke scanned the room. “He tends to stay on the floor.”
Grayson lifted his bottle and tipped it toward the bar. “They both disappeared through that door.”
“Huh.” Locke drained his beer and stood, his chair sliding back from the table. “Come on.”
Not sure what Locke’s deal was, Grayson didn’t move. “Where?”
“The bar,” he answered in a tone that indicated he questioned Grayson’s intelligence. “If Isa’s covering the bar, something’s up.” Empty bottle in hand, Locke turned away. He took a couple of steps then stopped and looked back. “You coming?”
Well, shit. Grayson picked up his nearly empty bottle, finished it, and then got to his feet to follow Locke to the bar.
They were almost there when the back door swung open and Des walked through, his face strangely blank as he reached out to tag Isa’s arm.
In the midst of preparing a drink order, the raven-haired woman stopped and turned.
Whatever Des said to her had her shoulders going rigid as she tossed aside a bar towel.
The two switched places, Des moving to finish up the drink order and Isa rushing through the door to the back.
Locke’s casual stroll went predatory even as a curious tension wrapped around Grayson. Something was definitely up. Des caught their arrival and made a gesture for them to wait as he served customers. They set their empties on the bar top.
It didn’t take long before Des was standing across from them and picking up the empties. “Need another?”
“Nah, we’re good, thanks.” Locke lifted his chin to indicate where Isa had gone. “Everything all right?”
Des tossed the bottles into a bin, and the sharp clash of glass against glass rang out. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
Undaunted, Locke kept at the man. “That nothing sure lit a fire under Isa’s ass.”
“Maybe give said ass a break, yeah?” Des folded his thick arms as he glared at Locke. His dark gaze went to Grayson. “No offense, Don Juan, but you might want to try your luck somewhere else tonight.”
“Okay, Des, cut the shit,” Locke said. “What’s going on? Is there something we can help with?”
Des studied the Hound for a long minute, ignoring the flashes of light that burst like fireflies from the order-display rune embedded in the counter.
Concluding his internal debate, he eventually exhaled and grimaced.
“As much as I appreciate the offer, this isn’t something you can help with unless you want to clear tables. ”
Grayson was as surprised as Des when Locke took the bartender’s suggestion seriously. “If that’s what you need, I can do that.”
A small curve hit Des’s mouth, easing some of the hard edges. He turned to Grayson. “That go for you too?”
Since his early twenties had included working the casino bars in Vegas, it was an easy ask. Besides, he was curious. He shrugged. “If you need the help, sure.”
“Right. Meet me at the pass. I’ll get you set up.”