Page 60 of Hell and High Water

“Keep up, tiny man!” he yells in a terrible Arnold voice.

“Don’t let your gut drag you down, old man!” I snap back.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that, I’m just so damn distracted by your pretty fucking face!”

We’re both panting, having lost count after two hundred.

“You love my face!”

He swats at me, almost losing his balance.

“Cut that out!”

“It’s a competition. Anything goes!”

Dodging, I swat back, dropping into a one-arm pushup.

“Oh! You’ve got to be shitting me!” He roars, trying to match me arm for arm.

“I lost count!”

“Who cares!”

“Just say I won!”

“Oh, yeah, you won,” he gasps, flopping onto his stomach. “I blame the scotch. It's the fucking scotch.”

I drop to the ground, my arms and chest on fire.

“I hate to kill the mood, but you know what I’m going to ask. Who was the shooter? Or who do you suspect it is?”

“She was someone special to me. One of our crew. Her name was… is Alaya.”

“That’s it?’

“That's all you’re getting for now.”

“Alright. I won't pry.”

Gavin pops back up, heading for the fridge. “Shot?” He raises his eyebrows as he pours the frosted bottle of tequila.

Oh. This is going to get bad.

Several shots later, the game is forgotten and the conversation shifts.

“You got any ink?” I slur, pointing at the smudge I can see peeking out from under his sleeve.

“Yup. You?”

“You know I do.” I try to sound arrogant, but my wits are shot.

“Yeah, Hellena told me you’ve got some line work all over your body.”

Without a second thought, I yank my shirt over my head, standing to turn.

“Hmm. Reminds me of something from my time in Thailand…”

“That's where I got it done, actually.”

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