Page 8 of Assassin's Game
A blast of cool air and the scent of hops hit me with the first step through the door, and something in my gut relaxed in a way only walking into Abe’s could ever accomplish. Maybe it was the richness of the wood dominating the barroom, the dark greens and reds on the walls. Maybe it was the familiarity of the one place that had been a constant in my life for eight years. My brothers and I hadn’t had that, not until we’d moved into our family’s mansion.
I didn’t know what made me love Abe’s Place, but I did.
The walls on each side were lined with booths, the wide, open space in the center dotted with tables of various sizes, some even now occupied with customers here and there. I strode down the middle, the sound of classic rock reaching my ears as I approached the center of what made Abe’s, well, Abe’s: the long bar at the back.
Behind the solid oak slab he refused to say he was proud of but never stopped polishing, Abraham Carter dried a beer glass, the pendant lights over the bar gleaming off the dark skin covering his head. A frown and narrowed eyes greeted me as I stopped in front of him.
“You’re not going to make me dirty up another glass, are ya?”
Never mind that the bar and everything in it was half mine. I ignored the man’s gruff exterior and moved behind the counter to help myself. “Gotta have something to keep me cool.” A shiver ran the length of my spine. “It’s a godawful furnace out there.”
“Then stay home.”
I snorted. Bringing my beer up to my face, I gave Abe a look over the foam gracing the top. “And miss seeing your ugly mug? No way.”
He’d been like this forever, probably even before I met him on the streets when I was twelve. A veteran of the Vietnam War, Abe had come home without the bottom halves of both his legs and no means to pay for the extensive medical care he’d needed after his discharge from the army. Like my brothers and me, he’d done the best he could without a roof over his head.
When we’d gotten on our feet, I’d made sure Abe got on his too—figuratively and literally.
I moved back around the bar to sit directly in front of Abe. One glass went onto the shelf, and Abe picked up another. “You’re not here to see me.” He wiped the cloth lazily over the dripping mug. “When are you gonna realize some wild things were never meant to be tamed?”
“Do you need taming, darlin’?”
The soft voice was accompanied by the scent of cherries, followed by the brush of a soft body against my side. Bridget usually occupied a corner stool with her girlfriends on Friday nights. She’d flirted, and sure, I was interested—any red-blooded man worth his dick would be interested in this woman. Maybe midthirties, with a body full of lush curves and intriguing hollows, red hair and green eyes shouting her Irish ancestors like a neon sign. She drew men like flies to honey.
So why hadn’t I taken her up on her offer?
“I’ll always need taming, Bridget,” I told her, flashing a smile that had been known to drop a woman’s panties at ten paces. “That’s not gonna change.”
“He don’t know much, does he?” Abe asked.
Bridget’s laughter rang out as she eased onto a bar stool. “He’s young yet.”
Not much younger than Bridget, but I didn’t bother correcting her. It wasn’t me I was interested in taming tonight.
“Sweetheart, you know I could never handle you.”
Cherry-red lips quirked into a smile few men could resist. “Of course not. But I’d let you try.”
I laughed. I just bet she would.
“Abe, hand me that bag below the cash register, would ya.”
The knowing look in the man’s eye said this plan wasn’t going to work, but he grabbed the bag I’d kept replenished there for the past month and handed it over. Bridget wrinkled her nose, a question passing from her gaze to her lips.
“Dog treats? I didn’t know you had a dog, Abe.”
Abe rolled his eyes—at me, not Bridget. “I don’t.”
The answer was more of a growl than words. I gave Bridget another smile to smooth my partner’s angry response. For Abe, there had only been one dog worth having. When Puppy died a couple of years after we met, he’d refused to consider a new companion. He’d been alone ever since.
“These aren’t for Abe’s dog,” I told Bridget. “They’re for mine.”
“Yours?” Abe let loose a startled laugh. “Not likely.”
“Not yet, you mean.” I winked at Bridget as I slid from my bar stool. “I always win the heart I’m going after.”
A slow pink flush rose across her cheeks. “I’m absolutely sure you do, Eli.”
