Five Weeks (Seven Series #3)(21)

“Do that again and I’ll—”
“Tattle? Don’t be one of those guys. Look, we have no choice about working together, so can we be civil? What happened between Jericho and me is not only personal, but it happened decades ago. It’s our personal business to resolve, but I’m still going to be here every night waiting tables. I need to know you’ll have my back if I’m in trouble. And each time drinks move out slowly because you’re in one of your moods, it not only affects my tips, but it hurts Jake. Truce?”
He polished the bar with his rag, causing the muscle in his bicep to flex. Denver wasn’t ripped, but just nicely defined. I could see a little of Jericho in him, but they were definitely two different personalities.
He bent forward on his elbows. “If you promise to stay away from Jericho and not mess with his head, I’ll cut you some slack.”
“No problem.”
His eyes flashed up. “I smell bullshit.”
I wasn’t a drama queen, and his implication that I had plans to become a train wreck in his brother’s life made me bristle. “Four drafts, please.”
Denver smoothed out all the rough edges in his expression and patted the bar with the palm of his hand before he turned to the object of his affection.
That’s all I needed. We were good.
“You two old lovers?” a woman sitting on the barstool to my right inquired. She had blond tresses dolled up in an old-fashioned style, like Marilyn Monroe. “I’m a Sensor. I don’t always have to touch things to pick up on emotions.”
“No, he’s just a brother of someone I used to know.”
“Ah,” she said in a husky voice. “One of those. For five hundred bucks, I can make your job a lot easier.” The woman absently ran her finger around the rim of her glass.
I leaned in closer. “What do you mean? You can’t remove emotions without someone knowing.” She’d have to place her hands on Denver’s chest in order to complete an emotional transaction—whether it was giving or taking.
“Just between you and me, he won’t know a thing. He looks like the kind of man who might pay for a little action, if you know what I mean. I’ve got a whole drawer full of erotica,” she said, tapping a finger on her temple. “People pay good money, but maybe I’ll offer him a free session. During the transaction, I’ll bring you up conversationally and remove all that hostility without him even realizing it. If he starts to guess I’m pulling the emotion, I’ll slip him some kinky sex that’ll make him soon forget.”
Sensors were sneaky beings. They worked hard for their money and established reputations in many clubs.
“No, thanks. I’d rather him hate me to my face.”
She took a slow drink. “Your call. But it’s a harmless exchange and everybody walks away happy. I’ll be here if you change your mind, dearie.”
Encounters like that made me skittish about non-Shifters. I didn’t know who I could trust.
Hours passed, and a steady flow of customers kept me busy. I spotted April at a table on the far end of the room and decided to say hello.
“Mind if I join you for a minute?” I asked, holding the empty chair on the left next to Reno, my motorcycle hero. April touched his right arm and smiled proudly.
“You look beat,” she said. “I don’t know how you do it. I’m scrambling with a bunch of kids in my store, but this is chaos.”
I smiled and an awkward moment passed as I waited to be introduced to her pack—Jericho’s pack.
“Everyone, this is Izzy. We ran into each other shopping. Izzy, that’s Wheeler, Trevor, and this is my Reno,” she said, leaning against his shoulder. He quickly wrapped his arm around her and gave me a brisk nod.
Wheeler was the kind of guy I’d be wary to have in my section. His arms were covered with tattoos, and he wore a sleeveless shirt to show them off. All Breeds had healing abilities to some degree, so the body absorbed the ink, and the tattoo would disappear. The only way to seal the design was to use a salve called liquid fire—a painful process that made any tattoo or scar permanent. Laser removal didn’t apply. No smile touched his face behind the facial hair that surrounded his mouth but didn’t extend up to his ears in a full beard. His scruffy brown hair was styled shorter on the sides and fell all over the place on top. He had a morose expression as he leaned on the table and sipped his whiskey, sliding his bright eyes up to mine without saying a word.
Trevor seemed like a laid-back young man. I loved the way he styled his hair over his forehead. Not many men his age wore button-up shirts and nice watches. He had the kind of celebrity charisma that made girls bashful.