Page 61 of The Devil's Weakness

The last thing I want to do is make them all move from their seats because of me.

“No, that’s okay. I’d hate for everyone to move. I can sit over there. I don’t mind.”

I point to the open chair between Hawk and a guy who I remember seeing briefly yesterday.

“Are you sure?” Blade asks.

“I’m fine. I’m inthatgirl mode.” I whisper, winking at him.

I can feel everyone’s eyes on me as I round the table. I purposefully went the long way so I wouldn’t have to walk past Stone. He’s the one I’m most worried about. Before I’m able to pull my chair out, the younger boy—Kid—hops up and meets me at my seat.

“Allow me.”

“Oh, you really don’t have to—” but the chair is out before I can finish my sentence. “Thank you.”

“Kid is a prospect,” Blade informs me, as though I’m supposed to know what that means. “That’s his duty. He wants to join our Club. He just has to prove himself first.”

“Ah, I see. So he’s a grunt?” I ask, trying to liven up the conversation again.

“Something like that.” Blade smiles at me from across the table.

“Waffles, Sasha?” the older lady sitting next to Stone speaks up.

“Please. I hope I’m not imposing.” I look at her, and only her. I can feel Stone’s eyes on me, though.

“Forget it,” she assures me as she passes me a plate full of waffles.

“Thank you...”

“Bon-Bon,” she answers.

“Thank you, Bon-Bon.” I smile in appreciation.

Kid passes me the butter and syrup, and I load my waffles up with some of both. The table grew quiet again, and part of me wants to let it go, but the other part of me knows it wouldn’t be this way if I weren’t here. I rack my brain to think of what to say.

“So, do you all have nicknames?” I ask.

The more you know about them, the further you’re planting yourself into their life, Sasha.

It’s just for today. This charade will be over with soon enough.

“Road names,” Blade corrects me. “Kind of like CB call signs. You know Stone, Bon-Bon, and Hawk. That’s Drama, SoCo, Cap, Pretty Boy, and Kid. And of course, there’s Iron.”

“That’s pretty cool,” I say, cutting my waffles. “Blade told me he got his name because a knife is his weapon of choice. How did the rest of you come by yours?”

I continue cutting until the table breaks out into a fit of laughter. My head snaps up in surprise. I look around at everyone, ending with Blade, who is the only one not laughing. He looks embarrassed or uncomfortable. Suddenly I worry that I’ve done something terribly wrong.

“I’m so sorry. Did I say something I shouldn't have?”

Frozen in place, I wait for Blade to respond, but someone else does first.

“Blade got his nickname because he likes knives, huh?” Drama asks, humor in his tone.

“Um... yeah?” I shrug, suddenly feeling as uncomfortable as Blade looks.

“Let’s get one thing straight right now,” Cap chimes in. “Blade's never stabbed or sliced anyone—other than himself, anyway. He never used to be able to shave without nicking himself a good one. Which is how he landed that nickname.”

I turn my attention back to Blade with a faux expression of hurt on my face.

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