Page 58 of The Hate We Breathe
I don’t hold back my glare, letting Darrio see just how not fucking scared of him I am. “Fine,” I tell her. “Did you already get his drink order?”
Margo shakes her head. “No.” Her eyes flick to Tracy behind the bar. “Tracy knows what he likes.”
I shake my head. “I’ll make sure to get his order first.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Mads asks, her tone hesitant as she reaches for my arm, her cool, small hand trembling on my bicep.
“It’ll be fine.” There’s more confidence in my voice than I feel, but I’m not going to show them that. “This is a semi-public place,” I remind them. “And Lex is right outside. He can’t do shit.”
Mads’ hand falls away from me as I begin the slow march towards Darrio and his men. Each step feels like I’m heading towards the gallows, but I keep my head high and my gazetrained on him. When I arrive, I reach into my apron pocket and withdraw a pad and pen.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” I click the pen. “What can I get you to drink?”
The four or so men accompanying Darrio all remain silent, their eyes moving to him deferentially. I wait for a beat before letting my attention trail all of them. I wonder if they wear the same set of clothes—dirty jeans and black t-shirts—because they want to all look alike.
Two of them are clearly older, middle-aged if I had to guess, with gray at the temples of their dark brown hair and wrinkles stretching their tan skin. The other two, however, are as different as day and night. One appearing like he popped straight out of an Irish fairy tale with bright red hair and a burst of freckles across his face and the backs of his arms. He’s the youngest, though certainly not the sweetest considering the harsh-looking scar that runs down the length of his face, his neck, and disappears into the collar of his black shirt. The fourth and final man almost looks like Darrio in that they’re both of similar stature and skin tone. His nose is slightly bigger with a hookish end and he has eyes that are closer together than Darrio’s.
I turn my gaze back to the man in charge and arch a brow. “Are you drinking?” I ask.
“Yes,” Darrio finally says. He holds up two fingers. “Mezcal. Two bottles. Six glasses.”
My pen hovers over my pad before I write down the amount of glasses. There are only five of them. I scribble it anyway before casting him a flat look. “Be right back.”
I return to the bar and put in the order. Tracy already has it ready and all she has to do is grab the extra glass. I stack everything on the tray and head back to the table. There’s a hush around the club; even the other guests are watching, and I hatethe sensation of creeping eyes along my spine. I should be used to it by now.
Squatting next to the table, I set down the two bottles of mezcal and the six glasses. “If that will be all…” I get back to my feet.
“No.” Darrio points to a spot in between two of his men. “Sit. Pour the alcohol.”
My fingers tighten on the tray. “I’m not?—”
“I wasn’t asking, Miss Donovan.”
If there’s something about me that must drive the guys insane, it’s the fact that when I’m presented with a challenge, it’s really fucking hard for me not to take it. I hope this is over before Lex comes back.
Stepping over a few of their legs, I drop the tray beneath the table and lean forward, grabbing the first bottle. I keep my eyes fixed on Darrio’s as I open it and pour. One glass. Two. Three. I pass them around. When I get to the sixth, I pause.
“That one is for you,” Darrio says. “Pour.”
His expression is cold—detached. The sight of the yellowing skin at the top of his forehead and around one eye as well as his nose makes it easier for me to follow the order. I don’t skimp either, pouring a full shot of the mezcal just like I had for the others. He nods in approval and I set the bottle to the side.
“What are we drinking to?” I inquire as the group lifts their glasses.
Darrio answers with a gravelly tone that’s pure disdain. “To getting rid of traitorous bitches.” He stares straight at me as he says the words. I don’t flinch from it as his men all tip their glasses up.
I grimace as the alcohol fills my mouth and slides down my throat, burning a hot path into my gut.Disgusting. As soon as I set the glass down, coughing as the searing liquid pools in my stomach, Darrio is reaching for the bottle of mezcal again.
“My son seems to be quite taken with you,” he says, the casualness of his words a lie so easy to see through that it’s a wonder he even attempts the facade of civility. “Enough to turn his back on his own family.”
“A family that beats and abuses him isn’t really a family at all,” I reply coldly. He pauses a beat as he pours his own shot before continuing and then swinging the bottle to the side to pour a second one.
“Martin. Jack. Up.” He barks the command and the two men on either side of me—the redhead and one of the older men stand, moving to the edge of the booth area and standing alongside the opening with their arms crossed as they face the rest of the club. Their departure from the booth has left an open gap between Darrio and me. My heartbeat thrums against my chest, speeding up as sweat dots the back of my neck.
Darrio shoves the second glass full of liquor in my direction. “Drink.”
This time, I glare at him as I lift the rim to my lips and swallow back the foul taste. Two shots should be nothing, but I haven’t had much to eat today and when I get to shots three and four, my lips begin to tingle.
The other two men sitting with us move to the edges of their seats, remaining seated, but don’t get up. They sit there, quiet, eyes trained outward like the two that are standing as if they’re giving us some sense of privacy. A snort escapes me.
