Page 55 of The Wild Moon
Very quickly, I noted I was by far the youngest and least well-traveled woman in the room. None of them turned to look at me, but many other heads did. Eyes dulled by alcohol and other substances stared at me, and I’m not sure I’ve ever felt dirtier in my entire life than in that single moment.
I tried to look past them. I wasn’t afraid of any of these men. If I needed to, I could fight my way out of the bar, but it was unsettling to be the object of attention to so many men in the decrepit bar.
It had been nice once, I’m sure, long ago. The giant beams running crosswise were huge and reminiscent of a time when wood was the material of choice for building. A horseshoe-shaped bar stuck out from the back wall. A sunken pit on the left was crammed with tables and rough-looking types. Half the lights had gone out over it, and the few remaining were centered over a poker table.
To my right, more tables and some booths ran along the exterior and crowded the interior. A couple of doors on the right-hand wall might have been bathrooms, but I doubted I wanted to find out their current state. My mental sanity was already stretched thin.
Behind me, Aaron entered. Eyes turned to him as well. Dressed in his typical suit, he stood out almost as much as I did. At least I had the smarts to wear a black jacket and black pants.
Aaron had chosen his cream-colored suit again. In a place like this, it made him a prime target. I was going to have my work cut out for me.
Yet, as he walked by me, the crowd parted, letting him through like fish before a shark. And make no mistake, Aaron was adangerousshark. I still didn’t understand how, yet, but his arrogance wasn’t born of money. It was born of competence. Everyone just knew not to mess with him because it wouldn’t go well for them.
I went to follow, but the crowd was already closing in behind him.
“I’m with him,” I said, pointing.
They didn’t care.
This was a test. I’d told Aaron I could handle myself, and now he was letting me show him.
Fine. I can handle a test.
I started forward anyway. The closest drunk, a man probably in his thirties but looking twice that thanks to substance abuse, came at me, leering at me with a grin that was missing at least five teeth and breath that could stop a T-rex in its tracks.
“Hey, honey,” he said as he came close, reaching for my chest. “How much for the night?”
I let him take a step closer. Then I grabbed the outstretched arm, pulling him in even as I turned and drove an elbow into his stomach before standing up sharply, my shoulder catching him in the jaw.
The drunk dropped like a sack of fish and heaved his stomach out onto the wooden floor, adding to the mix of other liquids and substances.
I was really glad I hadn’t worn nice shoes. If I’d stepped in here in a pair of Louboutins, I’d have a much harder time restraining myself.
“Next one gets a broken bone,” I said to the assembled crowd. “Dealer’s choice on which. I’ll break an additional bone for everyone after who tries to touch me.”
The crowd parted for me, revealing Aaron’s back as he headed toward the sunken pit.
That’s what I thought, I said as I strode forward, head held high, my wolf howling in victory.
I stopped at Aaron’s side, looking past him. He was watching the poker game with interest. Four characters were playing, not including the dealer.
The leftmost was a pockmarked, salty old man with skin that bespoke a lifetime on the sea. Probably a fisherman. He wore a black slicker jacket and had a ratty old Yankees hat.
To his right was a younger man with the look of a construction worker, down to the hi-res vest he wore. Probably a dockworker, I surmised, noting the safety boots and slightly higher quality of his black sweater, not to mention the fact he looked like he had all his teeth.
“That’s our man,” Aaron said, nodding to the third player. “Jaxton, my quartermaster.”
Jaxton had black hair that was gelled into a spiky look, reminding me of a popular boyband hairstyle in the early years of the new millennium. He wore a black turtleneck and fingerless gloves. He was also holding a pair of nines and had another pair of sevens with one of the cards on the draw.
“Come back later,” Jaxton said, without looking up. “I’m busy.”
“We can’t,” Aaron told him. “We’re leaving in two days now. Time to get to work.”
Jaxton sighed. The final card was overturned, and it was another nine. He was going to win the hand, I thought.
“How many?” he asked as the bets went round. Jaxton raised by several large chips.
“Seven,” Aaron replied.
