Rogue's Passion(3)

The two Iron Guild warriors stepped back out into the open. Gurgling sounds came from the guy as they approached. He was clutching his neck as blood dripped over his fingers to the wet pavement.
“Sorry, asshole.” Asher pulled out the pencil-sized arrow and wiped it on his sleeve. “That’s gotta hurt.”
The man collapsed to the ground in the fetal position, not unlike the way Fallon had looked when he died.
The sirens were louder now. Only a block or two away.
“Ash, come on.”
He tucked the arrow under his coat and strode down the alley. “That will teach him not to fuck with a Cascadian assassin.”
***
“Happy anniversary, beautiful.”
Olivia Crawford poured the wine, taking care not to drip any down the neck of the bottle. The man in the Elvis Costello glasses waited until she was done, then leaned over the table and kissed his date seated on the opposite side.
“Aw, baby, thank you. Here’s to many more.” The woman had a small gap between her front teeth, just wide enough to be noticeable and draw attention to the fact that she was smiling and happy.
Olivia grabbed a rag and began wiping down tables. She could get used to working around people who were in love. Sure, it was corny and maybe it would get old, but angry, aggressive people with something to prove could make your life a miserable mess.
Except for the owner and this couple, the Grape and Bean Wine Bar was empty now. Not that the place had been busy to begin with. In an attempt to take advantage of the late-night club goers in this part of New Seattle, Marco had recently extended the hours, which was how Olivia got the job. But it hadn’t caught on yet. People seemed more interested in dancing and getting drunk across the street than sipping on fine wine here. Marco was an optimist, though, saying it was only a matter of time before the place was packed.
Olivia liked that about the man. In the three weeks she’d been here, she hadn’t once seen him lose his temper. Quite unlike her last employer. And unlike many of the other places where she’d applied since she moved here, he hadn’t insisted on a detailed employment history, either. He’d taken her at her word that she was a hard worker and reliable, and for that she was grateful. He might be too trusting to be a savvy businessperson, but it was perfect for her situation.
The neon sign of the Apocalypse Tonight Club across the street flashed a cheery pink and blue. Seemed the whole city was filled with optimists—or at least people with a twisted sense of humor. Businesses with names like The Big One, Richter 9.0, and The Shimmy Shake were everywhere. The city had embraced its cataclysmic history and turned it into something positive.
Many years ago, Seattle survived a devastating earthquake that had killed thousands and destroyed the infrastructure. Looters and petty criminals rushed into the city like herds of sewer rats, followed later by organized crime. To restore peace, the military was called in. The crime rate dropped as the city got back on its feet, but the army never left. The earthquake had opened up new, secret portals, and Cascadians, they said, were to blame for the majority of the crime. Because their world was poor and backward, these barbarians would slip through the portals to steal and rape and kill. It was only the heavy presence of the Pacifican Army that prevented things from turning into chaos again.
She was bending to pick up an empty wine glass that someone had left near the window when movement outside caught her eye. A large, wiry-haired dog sat in the middle of the sidewalk and stared across the street. He glanced at her when she opened the door.
“Hey buddy, what are you doing here?” He sniffed her hand, gave it a little lick, then turned his attention back to the flashing lights of the club. “Don’t tell me your owner is over there?”
She looked up and down both sides of the street. Who would take their dog out partying in the city and leave him sitting here all by himself? An irresponsible person, that’s who.
She returned a few minutes later with a bowl of water and a few dog biscuits that Marco kept behind the counter for the people who liked to bring their dogs wine tasting with them. Apparently, it was the thing to do, so he liked to be accommodating.
“Are you hungry?” She held out a biscuit and the dog carefully took it from her. “What a good boy,” she said, stroking his coat as he ate. His tail thumped on the ground. When he finished, she bent down and scratched his ears. Although he had no collar, he smelled good, like herbal shampoo. He edged closer, his muzzle tickling her neck, and she laughed. “Someone definitely loves you, even if they are irresponsible. If you’re still here when we close, I’m leaving a note on the door and taking you home with me. Deal?” She gave him one last pat, then headed back inside.