Page 91 of Riot

More laughter, loud and obnoxious. It’s nails-down-a-chalkboard irritating.

Fuck I can’t sit here, pretending everything is fine, when the patch is bleeding.

I toss back my drink and am about to stand when a figure sidles up next to me.

Crank.

I snap my shoulders straight as he plants his hands on the bar and crooks two fingers in Riley’s direction. “Get me a drink.”

Riley looks like he’d rather spit mud but walks away to get him a bottle.

I stand, intending to be somewhere else, anywhere else, but he says, “Sit.”

It’s a command, but weakness flexes through the word. He’s not a man used to giving orders and not having them obeyed.

And I don’t want to fucking sit, but he thinks I’m loyal… and he needs to keep thinking it.

Even so, the urge to tell him to get fucked sits on my tongue, but I plant my arse back on the stool.

He doesn’t say a word, the silence stretching between us like a noose around my neck. Between my shoulders itches, as if I can feel the knives stabbing my back.

Riley places the bottle in front of him and eyeballs me before walking to the other end of the bar. That look says a thousand things.

Crank takes a slow sip of the beer, as if we’ve got all the time in the world, and watches me out the corner of his eye. He ain’t half as relaxed as he seems, and that gives me a little confidence.

I watch him pick the label off the bottle as if he’s pulling skin off bone. This show of dominance only serves to piss me off more.

Finally, he pushes the bottle away from him and slides his hard eyes towards me.

“You know anything about chickens?”

What the fuck?“No.”

He leans his elbows on the bar, and I slice my gaze towards Riley, who is watching from a distance.

“Farmers worry about foxes getting to the henhouse. They build fences, set traps, do whatever it takes to keep those fuckers out. But the fox? He’s just tryin’ to survive.” He gives me a smirk that sends waves of coldness down my spine. “And he ain’t the only threat. See, the farmer, he’s forgotten about the rats.”

My shoulders are so tight, they pinch.

Make your fucking point and piss off.

“They’ll take the chicks, pick off the injured birds,” he continues. “They’ll even steal the eggs before they’ve had timeto hatch, and worse, they’ll spread diseases that can wipe out an entire flock. Those little rat fuckers gnaw through the coop, weakening the structure enough to allow the enemy inside.”

All the warning lights on my internal dashboard are lit up like fucking Christmas.

Am I the rat or the fox in his eyes?

Fuck.I want to scan the room, make sure no one is closing in on me, but I don’t dare look away. He’ll see that as an admission of guilt, and the next few seconds of my life are about to be decided here.

“You thinkin’ of gettin’ chickens?”

His smile is all teeth. “It’s just a curious observation.”

“I don’t know shit about farm animals.”

I reach for my glass, just to give my hands something to do to keep from throttling him.

“Hmm. I figured. You’ll be needed tonight.” This last part is aimed at Riley, who gives a lift of his chin before walking away.

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