Page 18 of Prodigal Son

Needed to get hold himself. Right now. For his own pride if nothing else.

He spun around and marched back toward the front of the shop. Pushed past the curtain, went behind the heavy wooden desk that served as Albie’s counter, and plucked the whiskey and tumbler from their familiar places beneath the register.

He poured himself a double with a shaking hand and threw it back as fast as humanly possible, coughing a little like a kid taking his first sip.

So embarrassing.

When he set the tumbler down on the blotter with a thump, Albie appeared at his elbow. Close enough to be annoying, but not close enough to get himself punched in the face. A face that was infuriatingly composed at the moment; the expression Fox had been aiming for, and missed by a mile.

Albie leaned both elbows on the edge of the desk. “So,” casual and careful, “can we agree that maybe you’re just a little bit worked up about all this?”

Fox poured another finger of whiskey and forced a jerky nod. His own body was betraying him for the first time in his life; he couldn’t deny it anymore: he was…having emotions. He chose to label them asfuriousandfed-up, becauseterrifiedanddesperatehit too close to the bone.

“Okay, good,” Albie continued. “I would like to state, for the record, that I am also a little bit worked up about this. In fact, I’m worried that at any second, shitty sniper fire could come through that window.” He nodded toward it, where late afternoon sun slanted in in golden shafts in the places the curtains couldn’t reach. “So. Since we aren’t actually going to feed the old man to the wolves, I say it’s time to hunker down somewhere actually safe, and have a real discussion about how to handle things. Afamilydiscussion.”

Fox made a face and threw down his drink. “Family?”

“He’s not just your dad or mine, yeah? We’ve got to come to an agreement. All of us.”

Fox groaned.

“I’m gonna call Phil.”

“Of course you are.” He poured another. “What about the girls?”

Now it was Albie’s turn to make a face. “I guess we gotta drag them with us.” He sighed and fished out his mobile. “I don’t needthaton my conscience.”

Seven

They walked to Baskerville Hall. Or, rather, jogged, heads on the swivel. Albie’s pace was thrown wildly off the sheer number of guns he’d stashed on his person, and Eden’s mum was in heels…though she seemed to be managing better than him. Eden, in her sensible Docs and jeans, led the charge, holding her mother’s hand, Axelle keeping close behind them with her long legs, pale hair streaming behind her in a banner that caught the evening light and seemed to be a neon sign for any watching eyes.Here we are. Shoot us now.

But a part of Albie hoped someone was watching; they needed to be seen going into the Hall, because there was no way anyone up to nefarious business didn’t know exactly what that running black dog on the sign above the door meant. If you messed with the Lean Dogs, you messed with an international crime organization with overwhelming resources and reach. These Pseudonym people, whoever they were, wouldn’t want to make that kind of rash move right now. It was one thing to attack Devin Green in his own home, quite another to lay siege to the London Lean Dogs’ headquarters.

Heart pounding, hand ready to reach for a gun, Albie hustled down the pavement, free hand hovering at his brother’s back, because Fox had thrown down four shots in a row, most likely on an empty stomach, and he wasn’t the largest of men; he was unsteady.

“Don’t fall,” he hissed under his breath.

“You don’t fall,” Fox hissed back, inelegant and half-drunk.

It seemed an eternity, but was only a few seconds, and then Eden was racing down the steps, yanking open the door, and they were all tumbling into the cool, belowground darkness of the pub. Low lamplight and the scents of smoke and hops greeted them; it always felt a bit like stepping back in time, to a London that had belonged to Sherlock Holmes.

Eden came to a sudden halt, pulling her mother with her. Axelle trod on their heels with a muttered, “Oops, sorry.”

Albie sidestepped them and headed for the bar, and the curious prospect wiping out a glass there.

“Phillip in his office?” he asked.

The kid nodded, eyes moving over their odd group. “Yeah,” he drawled. “Where else?”

Fox climbed onto a stool and leaned over the bar, reaching toward the row of bottles along the back wall.

Albie grabbed the back of his jacket and tugged him down until his ass hit the stool.

“Hey!”

“What about my other brothers? Tommy? Miles?”

“Uh…” The prospect’s eyes widened. He was new enough that he hadn’t recognized them.

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