Page 128 of Nemesis

I’m sandwiched between Saint and Kade, so close that my arms brush both of theirs. It gives me a modicum of security, surprisingly. Saint watches our backs while Kade flags down the bartender.

He comes over immediately, but he doesn’t smile. No warm welcome. “What’re you having?”

“An old fashioned.” Kade tips his head. “And whatever these two are having.”

I clear my throat. “Um, water.”

“Same,” Saint echoes.

Kade scowls. “Give them what I’m having.”

An old fashioned appears in front of me. I don’t say what I’m thinking—that I’ve had enough whiskey to last at least a year—but I take a sip all the same. Kade does, too.

Saint tosses his back like a shot.

“You heathen,” Kade mutters. “You don’t just gulp down?—”

“I wanted water,” Saint interrupts.

“You stand out in a bar if you just order water.”

Saint raises his eyebrows. “Are we trying to blend in? You didn’t really tell us the plan when we strolled in here.”

Kade snarls. “Seriously? We’re trying to blend in. It’s common sense.”

“You don’t blend in anywhere, outsider,” Saint retaliates.

I put my hands up in front of their faces. “Stop it. Both of you.”

I can only imagine what would happen if I left the two of them alone. They’d probably tear each other’s throats out.

“Saint, calm down and stop riling up Kade.” My gaze switches to the big man on my other side. “And you should be more forthcoming about what we’re doing, since you’re not flying solo anymore.”

He goes still. His dark eyes bore into mine, and I kind of hate how transparent I feel around him.

“Okay,” he finally says. “You’re right.”

Saint scoffs. He leans forward and flags down the bartender. “We’re hoping to speak with Gabriel.”

Kade glares past me.

The bartender hesitates. He’s young, probably in his early twenties, with floppy blond hair and a handsome face. He doesn’t seem like the type to be caught up with the Cyclopes or Gabriel…

Wait.

Are they related? Gabriel and the Cyclopes? I hadn’t considered it. Didn’t really think it was any sort of possibility. But if Gabriel came here, then…

I keep my expression carefully neutral and hope the bartender doesn’t clock my sudden nerves. We’re in West Falls, in an area that has definitely been taken over by Cyclopes. Just because I managed to drink here one morning—yeah, it sounds bad in my head, too—doesn’t mean that I can just come and go.

I’m marked, isn’t that what everyone has been saying?

And they’re not talking about my bike. They’re talking about me.

Twice now, I’ve been attacked. Saint saved me once. I saved myself the first time, which was really more like a warning than anything else.

“Gabriel,” the bartender repeats, his expression freezing in place. Like he isn’t sure what to do with the question and he’s never heard the name before.

Saint stiffens. He nudges me, just the barest graze of his elbow along my ribs. I look at him, and in the peripheral I spot someone rising from their booth. Not just one. The stares of several men burn the back of my neck.

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