Rule Breaker(30)
“Sober up, Slim,” she ordered the kid, knowing the consequences if his father caught wind of tonight’s overjovial state. “Daddy will be after your ass in a few hours if you’re not home.”
“Fuck him,” Slim drawled, slurring the insult. “He needs a beer.”
And no truer words had ever been said, she thought, throwing the boy a wave as she contained her laughter and moved for the bar while watching the crowd carefully for the sight of her sister among the throng.
Slap Happy’s was filled every weekend with drunks, wannabe punks, biker dudes and biker babes, wicked Breeds and rogue Breeds, soldiers, warriors, male and female and every sort of desperado in between.
Tonight, she was betting it had maxed out the limit of allowable bodies, if the time it took her to get from the door to the bar was any indication.
Cops and criminals were known to share space here, as well as rogue Coyotes and Bureau of Breed Affairs enforcers along with any arm candy or wannabe sweet that could be had.
It was also one of the best rumor mills and gossip socials outside the private weekend or illegal desert parties that often sprang up on the reservation itself.
Unfortunately, patrolling Breeds and rogue Coyotes looking for trouble had managed to make the desert parties all but impossible to have. The private weekend parties had been scarce as well, due to the isolation of many of the ranches and small estates where they were held.
There were actually several scheduled in the coming weeks since news that the Bureau of Breed Affairs and the Navajo Nation were negotiating the possibility of locating a central Breed office in Window Rock. One that would focus on the enforcement of Breed Law, for both Breeds and humans, in the western states.
Until then, Gypsy was forced to resign herself to the larger, rougher bars instead to find the sister still two years away from being able to legally enter.
Loose lips and secrets discussed in the so-called anonymity of a crowd was another reason she was there tonight, though. According to one of the enforcers at the bar where Gypsy regularly met friends on Friday nights, Kandy had been seen here the night before with several of her friends. And that did not sound like her sister.
The band was taking a break for the moment, the holographic substitute band pelting out music instead to please the crowd on the dance floor.
She let a smile play at her lips as she wedged herself between two recognizable hard bodies at the bar and leaned over the teak counter.
“Kenny C,” she called out to the bartender on the other end of the bar. “You’re as handsome as ever, you baldheaded lothario.”
Kenny laughed back at her. “Be there in a sec, honey.”
Satisfied she had complimented her favorite bartender to his satisfaction, she wiggled between the two men, pressing at each of them until they shifted marginally, then waited.
“You are trouble waiting to happen, Gypsy Rum,” Rule warned her as Kenny handed her the beer and smacked her an air kiss with a smile.
“So everyone keeps telling me.” Turning her head, she shot the Breed a look from the corner of her eye, taking in all those sexy dark looks and sensual-as-hell features.
Her heart kicked up a few beats, just as it always did whenever he was around, while she became slick and wet, her thighs clenching as her moist interest for him threatened to cause her no small amount of embarrassment.
After all, Breeds could smell a woman’s sexual interest.
Thankfully, if he sensed it, he never commented on it.
“One of these days, I might stop warning and start spanking.” Too-long, too-lush lashes lowered just enough to make her breath quicken just that little bit as she turned to face the cavernous room and lifted the beer to her lips.