Page 7 of Queen Of WildCards

"Hey, ladies, don't forget about me," he pleaded, wandering off after them.

Isettled in at the end of the bar and called for a soda, prepared for a couple hours of dry amusement.

* * *

Ittook exactlytwo more hours forJoker'splans to go to shit, and for that hinky feeling of mine to double.

Jokerstormed back to the bar, minus two women, and the dance floor had cleared out significantly since his disappearance.Thatrogueish blonde shoulder-length hair looked like he'd run his fingers through it a million and one times, the faint lines dividing it where he'd blazed temporary tracks in his agitation.

Onecould always gauge his mood by the way he wore his hair and the height of his smile at the edges.Thewider his smile, the worse his mood.Conversely, the more messy his hair, the nastier the fallout would be.

Andtonight was amping up to be a doozy.

"Backso soon?"Iteased, unable to resist the urge to jab the knife in a little further.Afterall, if he hadn't fucked up so spectacularly,Icould be pounding in skulls, getting answers to the questionsAcehad on his list.Instead,Iwas babysitting an unhinged and slightly manic wild card at the bar, stuck watching him nurse his pride after being deserted by his horny hotties.

Sucha shame, really, that he needed such validation from others.

Icracked my knuckled asJokerslapped the bar, demanding the bartender's attention quite rudely. "CanIget some service down here, yeah?"Myhand instinctively reached out to pull his away from the counter, but he jerked said hand out of my reach, nearly smacking into the man on his other side in his haste. "Fuckoff, mate,I'mhavingfun."

"Doesn'tlook that way from whereI'msitting, pal,"Ieased, knowing another drink or two would have him really spoiling for a fight.Acewouldn't be pleased ifIdamaged pretty boy's face, soIsimply flexed my fists and waited for him to continue his rant.

IntrueJokerfashion, he ignored me in favor of the pretty girl who'd been sent to tend to him, unknowingly becoming his newest victim.Sheoffered him a teasing, flirtatious smile, and he gave her one right back, though it resembled more of a shark's dinner grin.

"Ah, what canIget you, sir?" she asked cautiously as she leaned back to put some distance between her andJoker.

Hiseyes caressed her tits, then moved to the drinks. "Giveme a double of your top-shelf tequila, and make it quick.Nolime, no salt, just straight burn."

Ialmost pulled him back, butIfigured it would be easier to drag him to the car fully sloshed.ThebarfI'dhave to clean up later would be easier to deal with than fighting him in a bar full of people.He'dcause a scene, for sure, andIwanted to avoid that if at all possible.

Theless memorable, the better.Lethim go down in their minds as a desperate drunk man whose buddy had to take him home.

Hedowned both shots and threw me a look. "HeySpade, any chance you can grab this round?Ileft my wallet at home, andI'mall out of cash."

Irolled my eyes and handed a fifty to the bartender. "Thatenough to cover the drinks and a tip?"

Shesmiled and nodded appreciatively, taking that as her cue to head off.Jokerwatched her perfectly round ass with unconcealed lust, andIbegan to think maybe my eyes would forever get stuck in the back of my head with as much asIrolled them around him.

Thearrogant princeling slumped onto an empty stool and leaned his elbows against the bar, staring down at the countertop for a moment.Whenhe looked back up at me, there was nothing but empty, forlorn self-hatred in the depths of his gorgeous, bright blue eyes.

"WhyamIlike this,Tyce?"

Isat in stunned silence while he hung his head in shame, resting his temples in the cradle of his upturned arms, the tips of his bottle-blonde hair grazing the sticky countertop.

Noone had called me by my real name in quite a while.Solong, in fact, thatI'dalmost forgotten how it sounded.

Sure, we all knew our legal names, but when you're in a criminal organization, you get used to calling people anything the government can't quantifiably trace.Thatmeans code names all the way.IwasSpade, and he wasJoker, end of story.

I'dnever called himCassian, andIwas fairly sure he'd never once in all the yearsIknew him called meTyson, let alone the shortened version he used now.Itold myself it was the booze talking, that he'd be embarrassed in the morning when he remembered what he called me in public.

Hadto be a slip-up.Hadto be the booze.Thealternative was too strange to contemplate.

Ifollowed forlornly, deep in thought, asJokerslipped dejectedly from his perch and stumbled outside, his face tilting up to greet the night air and buzzing fluorescent streetlights like an old friend.

Oldfriends, indeed.

CHAPTERFOUR

MALLORY

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