Page 70 of The Games We Play
“You’re being a dramatic dick.” Clutch’s hand digs into my tense muscles.
“Fuck off.”
He slides out and sits on the stool on one side of me; King takes the other. Vex is gone.
“You claiming the Irish chick?” King asks.
“Her fucking name is Iris.”
King shrugs. “One letter difference. Irish, Iris. Only thing missing is theH.”
I never noticed that. “Yeah. I’m claiming the Irish chick.”
“You want us to help you figure out what she’s involved in?”
“I do. She doesn’t want this life. Tried to extricate herself from it as soon as she was old enough to leave Cillian. But I’ve been winning her over.”
Clutch laughs. “Is that what we’re calling fucking these days?”
I can’t help but muster a smile. “It’s more than that. But I’m going to try and figure this shit out without distressing her more than I need to.”
King taps the bar. “One last formality before I rip the shit out of you for hooking up with the tiny half-pint of a woman. I can’t just let this slide. You disregarded a direct order. You left us vulnerable. This might cost us money in the long run if Cillian tries to claim any kind of payback. I’m docking your share for the next three months, putting it back into the club in reserve. You won’t get paid again until the new year.”
I let out a breath. I got plenty of money to tide me over. Worst case, I’ll grab some off-the-books construction or security work. But it won’t come to that.
“Fair enough,” I say. “Just don’t tell me how much it would have been.”
King laughs. “You shitting me? I’m gonna spray paint it on the walls of your room so you see just how expensive your taste in pussy runs. Would have been cheaper to throw a bucket load of hundreds at the women in the strip club.”
“Fuck.” I hiss. “You’re a dick.”
“And your dick is the reason we’re even having this conversation. How the fuck did you get Iris to look beyond that pretty face of yours?”
Now I do grin. “I’m still working on it.”
“Not tonight, you’re not. Tonight, you’re staying here, telling me all about what happened down at the docks, then getting fucked up with the rest of us.” King pauses. “There’s one last thing. Debated bringing it up and shit, but ... Kabul. You’re not straight on that shit. One of the rules of you still having a patch come January is you taking care of it. You need cash for that? The club’s all in.”
The final request hurts more than shrapnel.
And it wipes the grin off my face.
23
IRIS
“Iris,” Chris shouts the following day as I’m about to head to my car. “Wait up.”
I shift my purse to the other shoulder. “What’s up?”
“The weirdest thing just happened. Dylan Shires’s father did the school pickup this afternoon, and he was clearly in a lot of pain. Wincing as he bent down, that kind of thing. Then I noticed his hand. His fingers are all busted up.”
“Thatisweird.”
Chris nods. “Even weirder, he had a bunch of new shit for Dylan. A video game, a stuffed dinosaur.”
“Dylan loves dinosaurs. He can name nearly all of them. What do you think it means?”
Chris shakes his head. “I called the police and asked them to do a welfare check on Dylan, given social services are dragging their heels. Get him on someone’s radar faster this way.”
