Page 2 of Lucifer's Hounds

Lacey walks over to fix my drink and movement in my peripheral demands my attention. Next to me is a man in his mid-thirties wearing a ballcap turned backwards with the letters LHMC embroidered on it. He’s wearing a leather vest with patches on the front and back, a black Harley Davidson T-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. His arms are likely bigger than my head, with a half-sleeve on either one, and he has the most beautiful gray-green eyes with the slightest tinge of purple around his irises.

"Double Crown? I never would have pegged you for a whiskey girl."

"I'm sorry?" I ask, realizing I hadn’t understood him because I was too busy ogling him.

“Oh. Yeah. I’m not into the typical girly drinks. I know they all say that, but y’all can keep that fruity shit. I like my Crown,” I shrug.

Lacey returns with my drink and sets it on the bar in front of me. “It’s six fifty.”

“Here you go. Can I get five in quarters too, please?” I ask, handing her a twenty.

“Yes ma’am.”

She sets the quarters down along with the change from my drink.

“You can keep the rest. Thank you.”

Lacey smiles and thanks me before rushing off to take care of another customer down the bar.

“Quarters? Plan on shooting pool?” the man next to me inquires.

“Yes, actually I do. Know anyone around here who would be interested in shooting a few games?” I ask, giving him my best smile.

“I might give it a shot. But you’ve got to take it easy on me. It took me three weeks before anyone told me I was shooting with the wrong end of the stick.”

I cackle loudly and unceremoniously. “Oh, that’s good.”

He sticks his hand out for me to shake. “Cass. And you are?”

Taking his hand, I reply. "Lilly Summers. Nice to meet you."

"You too," he says, standing up and walking toward an open pool table.

"This table is the best one to play on, or at least that's the conclusion I came to yesterday."

"Yesterday?"

"Yeah, I just got in town yesterday and this place was closest to my hotel."

I load quarters into the slot and drop the balls. While I walk over to rack, I look up at him.

“Where are you from, then?”

“Gonzales, Louisiana.”

“No way. I’m from Livingston.”

"Where everyone dates their cousins, and they have family wreaths instead of family trees?" His laugh is like medicine. Soothing and has the ability to heal anything.

"Hey now! That is not the case for everyone in that town." I slap his arm playfully.

"You shouldn’t go around telling people you're from there."

I replace the rack in the slot allotted for it and step away from the table.

"Break 'em up."

Cass breaks and starts shooting out the solids on the table. I’m standing a few feet away, mesmerized by the look of determination on his face as he focused on making each shot. His eyes are hooded and unreadable as he plays the table.

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