Page 33 of Wicked Attraction

I didn’t wait for confirmation because I knew they understood. Violence was the only language they understood. I left, feeling like at least one fucking thing had been accomplished today.

“This isn’t over, motherfucker!”

Terry and I froze at the voice and slowly turned around.

“I guess they don’t like the easy way,” Terry growled.

“Guess not,” I agreed.

Terry looked at me with a gleam in his eyes. “Bet I can pick off more than you and faster.”

I smiled. “Think so?”

“Willing to bet haggis and whiskey on it.”

“Bet.”

Without another word, I glanced around before we went back inside, aiming at every moving body and shooting until they stopped moving. Less than a minute later, we walked back out. The Psychos nothing but a memory.

“That was fun.” Terry dabbed at the blood on his split lip with a broad, satisfied grin.

“It was,” I agreed as we made our way back to the car and headed back to Midnight Mass. “Now I need a fucking drink.”

“Amen, brother.” Terry barked out a laugh. “You’ll need it to go with that haggis you’re having for lunch.”

I groaned and shook my head. “I hit that last fucker first.”

“You did, but I’m pretty sure my head shot did him in.”

“Cocky fucker,” I grumbled, which made Terry laugh.

“Thanks. Kat thinks so too.”

Fuck, I didn’t need to know that.

CHAPTERFOURTEEN

Mo

What was it about prenatal vitamins that made them sound like maracas? Being pregnant was certainly no party, not with the morning sickness that lasted morning, noon, and night.

Not with the sensitivity to smells, which was pretty much an ongoing thing when you worked in a pub and sometimes—too much lately—moonlighted at a titty bar. And not with such specific fucking cravings that the chefs at the three different restaurants inside Emerald Isle either thought I was losing my mind or pregnant.

I’d rather they believe the former instead of the latter because gossip traveled fast in casinos, restaurants, and bars, and Emerald Isle was all three.

Without another thought or a frown at the oversized pills, I washed them down with ginger ale. Maybe the combined effect would stave off another round of nausea, at least until it was time for my lunch break.

It took several giant swigs to get the pills down my throat and another two swigs just to avoid that impending sense of puke.

“Okay. All right.” I straightened my work clothes, let out a sigh, then grabbed my tablet and painted a smile on my face as I walked out of the locker room.

It was time to make some money, so I shoved all the bullshit aside, including the mental bullshit, and stuck my tits out and settled into my shift.

“Waitress, two more pitchers, please? One dark and one amber?”

I clenched my jaw at the way some customers just shouted their orders over the noise of the crowd. It didn’t bother me that these guys could stare at my tits for hours without seeing the two little letters that made up my name tag.

It did bother me that they assumed we all knew their voices well enough to identify the table as ours. It was late afternoon, and two other waitresses were on shift, whirling around the pub, dropping off and picking up plates, mugs, and silverware.

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