Page 56 of Grave Games

“I thought we were talking about the Bears.”

“We can talk about anything we want, and right now I want to get back to something you said about the power of the jacket.”

His brows went up. “What about it?”

“If I’m understanding how things go in this club, you’re working to earn your patch, right?”

He adjusted his leather jacket and stood a little taller. “You got it. I’m almost there, too.”

Yep. I knew he was close. “I’m just wondering how you scared that guy off without having an official Gravediggers patch.”

“It’s all in the attitude, Shiloh. I may not have my patch yet, but I have that all-important Gravedigger attitude, you know?”

“Really.”

“Yeah. No one pushes a Gravedigger around. For instance, when I put that jacket on right in front of that dude who was pissed off about a parking space, it was like putting on Superman’s cape. People can feel that attitude. They respect the power of it. You’ll see what I mean after wearing that jacket for a while.”

“I always wondered what it felt like to be Superman. I’ll take it if I can get it.” I frowned again at the receipt. Aha. Finally figured out what was missing. “When do you get your patch, Arthur? You seem like you’re ready for it.”

“I know, right? I’m totally ready, but I’ve still got a few trials to go through.”

“Trials? Like what?”

“That’s club business.” He said it with such a sense of importance it took everything I had not to laugh. “I’m just hoping we can finally get this war going so I can get a chance to prove myself.”

Like that, my humor vanished. “Not funny, dude.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You do realize people die in war, right?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Clashes like this have to happen periodically, Shiloh. It clears the air and sets strict boundaries. In the long run it actually helps keep the hostilities down to a minimum. So if you look at it that way, war is a good thing.”

“Nobody should look at war that way. What if you’re the one who dies?”

“I’m too quick to die. I’ve got catlike reflexes.”

Good grief. “Do me a favor and see if you and your catlike reflexes can catch the delivery guy. We’re missing twenty pounds of buffalo-style chicken wings. If he can’t cough them up on the spot, maybe you can go to war with him.”

Arthur rolled his eyes again, grabbed the receipt I held out to him and trotted out the door. I watched him go, frowning at his casual attitude toward what I thought of as a looming catastrophe. I was only two years older than Arthur, yet somehow he seemed almost like a kid playing soldier who had no idea the guns were real. Thankfully Romeo didn’t share that alarmingly casual, dislocated-from-reality point of view, and none of the officers in the club did either, as far as I could tell. That gave me hope. Maybe that would be enough to keep blood from being shed.

“Morning, sunshine.” Misty wandered into the kitchen, yawning and sleepy-eyed. “Ugh, I feel like I need another eight hours of sleep. I never sleep well away from my own bed, and on top of that I never sleep well when Lasso’s not there for me to use as my pillow. I feel like the walking dead.”

Aw. “Maybe next time he goes abroad he can take you with him.” I opened a cabinet and gave a tiny cheer. A nice big crockpot that I could put myqueso con carnein was exactly what the doctor ordered.

“Usually Lasso leaves me at home when it comes to business, but this time around he’s been gone for almost two weeks, and I’m missing that man something fierce.” She came to a sudden halt, blinking hard. “Shiloh, honey, what are you wearing?”

I placed the crockpot on the counter before turning to face her, all the while wondering if my face was as red-hot as it felt. “A present Romeo gave me yesterday. Like it?”

Misty’s expression lit up like a Christmas tree, and she let out a screech loud enough to be heard in Wisconsin. “Like it? Oh my God, I love it! Question is, doyoulike it?”

I beamed at her. “It’s a package deal—the jacket comes with the man, so it’s by far the best present I’ve ever received.”

Misty let out another screech and tackle-hugged me, which I returned in spades while laughing like a loon. Had it not been for Misty, I probably wouldn’t have understood the full value of what Romeo had given me yesterday when he gave me this jacket. The warmth and genuine happiness in her eyes told me everything I needed to know about Misty—she loved the people in her sphere, and she was at her happiest when they were happy. In my book, that made her amazing.

“What the hell is going on in here? You’re making enough noise to wake the dead.” Looking a bit haggard but still well within the range of blonde bombshell, Mabel and another Gravedigger woman I’d met last night—Zee’s new woman, Ana-Sofia Xenakis—came into the kitchen. “There better be a mouse or a rat or something that’s freaking you out, or I’m going to be pissed.”

“Mabel, look.” Not at all daunted by the older woman’s tone, Misty beamed and presented me like I was a prize she’d won. Then, she flipped me around to show off the back of the jacket. “It’s official—Rome-eo has fallen.”

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