Page 2 of Last Shot

Grey raised an eyebrow at Pixie-cut, who appeared less affected by the combination of gravity and sangue.

‘About a bottle,’ she said.

‘Jesus.’ Grey held out an arm to help Pixie steady the swaying blonde girl. ‘It’s a wonder you’re still upright.’

‘I want to bet on Luca,’ she slurred, head swivelling to her right, where Luca Barbarani was surrounded by a fortress of high-heeled women, each hungry to make an impression before an hour of his time was sold to one of them like a prized goat at market. Technically the highest biddershouldwin, but Luca still had discretion – a rule Grey had invented. Otherwise he’d never have been able to rip Luca off the teat of his whiskey bottle to get him here.

A woman with long dark hair and tattoos defacing toned arms stood on her tiptoes to whisper into Luca’s ear. The expression on the youngest Barbarani’s face sent an alert through Grey’s bloodstream. But –onepotential threat at a time.

‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ Grey said to the blonde. ‘No intoxicated persons on the premises.’

‘I’m fine,’ she said, taking a step towards the Luca-herd and crumpling into Grey’s chest when her tiny Bambi-legs gave way. Between her newborn unsteadiness, the patchy fake tan and her uneven eyeliner, he surmised she couldn’t be much older than twenty.

‘Let’s get you home,’ Grey said, eyes on Pixie-cut. ‘Can you take her?’

The woman frowned, looking over at the crowd. ‘I ... well ... The tickets were really expensive ...’

‘She can’t stay,’ Grey said more forcefully. Keeping his voice politician-neutral in the face of situations that called for more bare-knuckle-boxer remedies was a skill he’d perfected as the Barbarani Fixer over the years. ‘Where does she live?’

‘Over on Manta Ray Rise – her licence is in her phone case.’

‘Thanks for all your help.’ Grey gritted his teeth and steered Bambi through the crowd as the booming voice of the auctioneer announced the first bids were starting in five minutes. Grey tapped two buttons on his phone while attempting to keep Bambi at his side. She was wriggling and twisting, trying to unlock her phone – most likely to take a selfie of her swift exit from the auction in the hope the hashtag #LucaBarbaraniCantHandleMe would go viral.

‘Hey!’

Grey looked up from his own device to see the woman with the tattoos who’d been whispering in Luca’s ear a few moments ago glaring up at him, blocking the exit to the car park.

‘What are you doing with her?’

Annoyance at her insinuation flared. ‘I’m obviously taking her to an alleyway to cut out her organs and sell them on the black market.’

‘She’s drunk.’ Tattoos had full lips that might have looked nice if they weren’t curled into an ugly snarl.

‘Yes, I’m familiar with the concept,’ Grey said.

‘Are you familiar with the concept ofconsent?’

‘Intimately. Which is how I know you are in my personal bubble and need to respect my request to kindly move out of the way.’ He started forward.

‘I’m not letting you take that woman anywhere.’ She folded her arms, her stance widening like it mattered at all. She was so short he could pick her up with one arm, the other still firmly around Bambi, and lift her out of his way. But the look on her face made him pause. He took her in like a shot of absinthe: quickly, painfully and leaving a scalding tang in the back of his throat. Her dark hair was glossy yet hanging loose, unpinned and unsprayed, and her denim shorts were cut off mid-thigh, exposing strong, shapely legs that looked like they ran triathlons or kicked the shit out of people in a sparring ring.

It was his job to notice details. Which is why his eyes rested perhaps a moment too long on her not-quite opaque white singlet that stretched over a chest far too big for it. Her bra was black. Again, it wasn’t his job to know what details might be important, just his job to catalogue them. Her black, scuffed Doc Martens were at odds with Bambi’s strappy wedge heels and, for some reason, that flicked his internal warning switch to ‘high alert’.

‘Do you suggest I leave her here in a puddle of her own vomit?’ he asked.

‘I’msuggestingyou step the fuck away.’

‘Sure.’ Grey had reached his threshold. ‘As you wish.’ He let go of Bambi, who swayed and then plummeted fake nails first into Tattoos. She reached out instinctively to grab her.

‘Oomph!’ Instead of crashing towards the window, the woman stepped a boxer leg back, balancing Bambi mid-fall.

Grey checked his phone.

‘Hello?’ Tattoos snarled, slowly folding under Bambi’s weight. The drunk girl was basically comatose, her glittered eyelids fluttering like wounded bugs.

Grey held a finger up as he read Jett’s message.

‘A little help?’

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