Page 20 of Synnr's Ride

That would make her Zilly.

No one batted an eye when the boss slid his hand up Zilly's skirt and made her moan. There were plenty of dark corners in the bar, and though no one had crossed any lines of decency yet, it was early. This was a wild bar. Jori expected he might learn a thing or two about public sex before this was all done.

Kark let Zilly go after another minute and all the men grinned after her, but no one dared to touch.

Jori wasn't subtle about watching the interplay. He wanted Kark to notice him, he needed an in with the gang. But this wasn't the kind of place where he could fill out an application. When Hanna walked in to interview for the bartender gig, Zilly had thrown an apron on her and told her to get working. They paid in cash, and taxes were an afterthought.

If nothing else, Ozar could get Kark for that.

Jori let his gaze drift back to the bar. Hanna was laughing at something Zilly said as if they'd been friends for years. When someone ordered a drink, she prepared it with quick hands and handed it over.

She looked like she belonged, and it made Jori's stomach twist in a knot.

It was beyond stupid. She was doing exactly what she was supposed to be doing. It was what he was supposed to be doing, too.

But if she could lie so easily here, was anything about her real?

What about the kiss?

Punt. Jori wasn't thinking about that. They hadn't said a word about it in the two days since it had happened, and he could take the hint. It was a mistake. Whatever their cover for the job, at home they were strictly professional.

But now that he'd had a taste of her, he was starving for more.

One of the men from Kark's table got up and pulled out the chair opposite Jori without asking. He slid into the seat and grinned. "Haven't seen you before."

Jori sipped his drink. "I'm new to the area."

"What's that jacket about?" Jori heard movement behind himself and saw a shadow before his shoulder was soaked with strong beer.

"Whoops!" laughed another of Kark's men.

Jori shrugged out of the jacket and laid it on the table, watching as the Synnr military insignia soaked up more alcohol. "No loss there." He didn't have to choke on the words. He was a loyal soldier, he believed in protecting his people. But the patch was just a patch. And he had a part to play.

The man who'd poured beer on him took another seat. This one was Jursor. He kept his dark, thinning hair short and wore an oversized leather jacket, as if that might make it look like he had bulk. Even sitting, he was tall, but Jori wasn't intimidated by tall men. He'd had an entire life preparing him for that. "I wouldn't wear that shit here," Jursor warned. "You wouldn't want to get it... dirty." He laughed again.

That braying laugh was going to get on Jori's nerves, and he decided that he was going to like destroying this man. He had to get at least some satisfaction from the job.

"It's the only coat I've got," Jori said simply. "Not like they pay us grunts enough to get by." That was a lie. Jori got paid plenty. It was a matter of practicality. Soldiers with debts were soldiers who could be bought, just like Kark's men were going to find out.

The first man spat on Jori's coat as if he expected him to flinch. "We don't need soldier boys here."

"I'm just having a drink." Jori kept hold of his beer. He didn't want them spitting inthat. "And if it weren't for this stupid asbrazwar, I wouldn't even be a soldier anymore. But the higher ups aren't discharging anyone, no matter what our contracts say." He glared down at his jacket, but didn't spit.

"That so?" Now Jursor was sitting back in his chair and Jori reassessed the situation. He'd expected the first man to be leading this encounter, but Jursor was the one in charge. He was higher up in the gang. He'd be the one reporting back to Kark.

"I don't want to die for a bogus—" he cut himself off and took a long sip of his beer. Let them fill the rest in their minds. A bogus war? Queen? Kingdom? These were Apsyn sympathizers, but he had to be careful about how hard he sold his part. Blatant sedition would be a step too far.

Jursor and his friend let that sit. "So what brought you in here?" he asked. He kicked his feet up onto the table.

The treads of his boots were clean. Almost shiny. Either Jursor was surprisingly fastidious, or those boots were brand new.

"I live in the neighborhood and I've been admiring the bikes out front for the last few days. Then my girl," he nodded his head towards the bar, but didn't try to look for Hanna, "started slinging drinks here. Thought I'd check the place out."

Jursor pursed his lips. "Hanna's your girl? She sounds like an Apsyn."

When she spoke to Jori, her accent was as flat as any Synnr's, but she was playing up her lilting drawl for the crowd.

"What's that to you?" He put a bit of defensiveness in his voice and hunched his shoulders. "At least she's Zulir."

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