Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“Duffy.” Blue nods to the bartender, who’s already reaching for the whiskey without being asked.
“Blue.” Duffy’s easy charm has shifted to something more respectful, but not fearful—more like the careful attention someone pays to a celebrity. “Whiskey neat?”
“Please.”
Blue’s hand rests on the back of my chair, his fingers brushing against my shoulder blade. It’s a casual gesture that feels anything but casual.
I reposition my body to study the crimson spots on Blue’s shoulder. “Rough morning shaving?”
Blue follows my gaze and touches the stains with the casual air of someone discovering ketchup on their shirt. “Small accident with the razor. You know how it is.”
“Not really. I don’t typically bleed that much when grooming.” I take another sip of my gin fizz. “Must have been quite the close shave.”
“I’m very thorough in my personal hygiene.”
Duffy slides the whiskey across the bar, and I notice her hands are steady, but there’s an energy about her that suggests she’s watching everything with keen interest. “So, Blue, what brings you to town? Besides collecting Saylor, I mean.”
“Just making sure she’s settling in well.” His attention ping-pongs between Duffy and me, and I can practically feel him cataloging every detail of our interaction. “Grimlock can be overwhelming for newcomers.”
“Duffy’s been an excellent source of info,” I say sweetly. “Very informative about local customs and folklore.”
Blue’s hand comes to rest on the back of my chair, his fingers brushing against my shoulder blade. “Has she?”
He reaches for my gin fizz and brings it to his nose first, inhaling deliberately. Duffy watches with growing amusement as he takes a careful sip, his eyes locked on hers the entire time.
“Really, Blue?” Duffy’s smile is equal parts fond and exasperated. “Gin is gin.”
He sets the glass down, but keeps his fingers wrapped around it. “Can’t be too careful.”
“If that was the plan, it would have happened by now.” Duffy shakes her head, clearly entertained by his paranoia. “Besides, you know I wouldn’t let you drink it if it was actually poisoned.”
“I know.” Blue’s posture relaxes slightly. “But I had to be sure.”
Duffy gives me a warm look. “I like this one too much to waste good gin on.” She glances between us, then starts gathering empty bottles from behind the bar. “I should go check on my distillation setup in the back. Take your time, you two.”
She disappears through a door marked Employees, leaving us alone with the soft ringing of wind chimes from outside.
Blue throws back his whiskey in one smooth motion, finally releasing my glass. The silent conversation between them seems to be over, whatever test he needed satisfied.
“Testing my drink for poison? Really?” I shake my head, though I’m oddly touched by the protective gesture. “What’s next, a food taster?”
“Don’t give me ideas.” His smile is mischievous beneath that curved mustache of his. “But Duffy’s right. If she wanted you dead, you’d already be dead.”
“Comforting,” I say dryly.
“I thought so.”
Blue reaches for the whiskey bottle behind the bar, helping himself to another pour. His movement forces him to lean across me, and I catch his scent. Jesus the man smells good. “What exactly was Duffy telling you about our local folklore?”
The way he emphasizes folklore tells me he knows exactly what Duffy was discussing.
“Oh, you know. The usual small-town gossip.” I watch his face carefully. “Apparently you’re quite the romantic.”
Blue’s hands slide from my shoulders to the arms of my chair, effectively caging me in. “Whatever Duffy told you—”
“Seven wives, Blue.” I meet his gaze directly, then laugh. “Seven! That’s quite the resume.”
For a moment, something raw passes across his features. Then the mask slides back into place, and he almost smiles.
“Small towns love their stories,” Blue says.
I shake my head in amusement.
“You find it funny.”
“I find it ridiculous.” I grin up at him.
Blue stares at me for a long moment, and I can see something settle in his face—relief, maybe. Finally, he straightens, pulling out enough cash to cover both our drinks plus a tip that will make Duffy weep with gratitude.
“Come on,” he says, giving me space to stand. “If you want to explore Grimlock, I’ll show you the parts worth seeing.”
I want to argue, to insist I can handle my own exploration without a murderous escort. But the way Duffy talked about Blue, with that mixture of fondness and respect, tells me there’s more to him than I understand. And honestly? After watching my father die in front of me and knowing the Crow are still out there, having that kind of protection might not be the worst thing in the world.
“Fine,” I say, sliding off my barstool. “But I want to see everything. The real Grimlock, not some sanitized tourist version.”
“Trust me,” Blue says, offering his arm in that old-fashioned gesture that melts all the feminist-fuck-all-men energy I’ve nursed my whole adult life. “Grimlock doesn’t have a sanitized version.”