Page 31 of Moros

No one reacted.

In a place like Shamrock Paddy’s, people minded their own business.

And Poke was a bit of an asshole—they probably thought he had it coming.

“I don’t feel like running today, Poke.” I growled, grabbing him by the back of the shirt and lifting him like a bag of flour back to his stool.

“Fuck off!” Poke slurred.

“Do I have to remind you how to behave in front of a lady?” I demanded.

“If she’s a lady, she wouldn’t be here.” Poke eyed Ryanne through heavy, drunken lashes. “Fuck, she’s kinda sexy for a fatty.”

Ryanne tugged her hand from mine.

I back-handed Poke so hard, he slammed into the floor and curled in on himself clutching the arm he fell on.

“Get up.” I demanded.

Whimpering in pain, Poke rose and rested an ass cheek on his stool.

I demanded the bartender bring him nothing but water until we were finish talking and turned to stare at the man, now favouring his arm.

It’s probably broken.

I don’t care.

Taking Ryanne’s hand, I eased back on a stool and gripped her hips to lift her across my lap, her back resting on the bar.

“I have some questions, Poke.” I ignored her surprise gasp. “Torez Sloan, talk.”

“That’s not exactly a question.” Poke spat. “I think you’re still healing from your brain injury.”

I tilted my head.

“Fine.” Poke winced. “What do you want to know?”

“Who’s he working for right now?” I demanded.

“I don’t know.”

I shifted.

Poke flinched.

“I really don’t know.” He panicked. “All I know is, whoever it is, has some maaaad moolah.”

“How do you know that?” Ryanne asked.

Poke looked at Ryanne as if he’d forgotten she was there.

“Answer.” I growled.

“He’s in the country,” Poke replied. “Which is a risk on his life. If they catch him, he can be executed.”

“Canada doesn’t have any crimes that are punishable by death,” Ryanne said. “And the last military execution was in like 1945. So, start making sense.”

“You’re a civilian. What do you know?” Poke spat. “Look, Sloan is on the list.”

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