Page 88 of Devilish Debt
“It is…” she leans a little closer, “my guy.”
We share a small laugh, alleviating a bit of the stress in only ways she can.
Which is good.
Because Weslington can simplysenseanxiety.
And if he can sense it, he can use it.
I swear, I’ve never been more grateful tonotbe in a country where he has the possibility to be king than I am now.
Our arrival at the area where he’s expected to be mirrors the one we encountered outside except this menacing individual actuallydoeshave credentials.
High ones.
The type you expect from someone assigned to openly protect royalty.
Although, I would bet the classified naval mission he completed thatgot himthis position still haunts him at night.
Haunts everyone else who managed to survive it.
You know.
According to their mental health records.
And what’s a little digging in those when I’m already up for treason in their country.
“We’re here to see Prince Thaddeus,” Garcia professionally announces.“Regarding legal matters.”
“He’s currently inaccessible,” replies the bald, accented individual.
“Yet if you pull your little jump rope of defense slightly to one side, he could become accessible really fucking fast,” Salay points out in her fearlessly snarky fashion.
His stoic nature doesn’t deter as he repeats himself, “He is currently inaccessible.”
She prepares to lunge forward to continue her instinctive verbal poking, prompting me to stick an arm out and ask, “Do you know when he’s expected to return from the other activities he’s attending?”
At that, the male – whose name I didn’t bother to mark to memory – meets my stare.“Within the hour.The open bar and kitchen will suffice to occupy you in his absence.”
“We’ll be back then,” I insist and motion my head for the three of us to dismiss ourselves from the section.Once we’re out of earshot, I huddle us together near one of the pillars and inform the others, “He’s most likely downstairs where they host prohibited physical events for large sums of currency.”
“Did you just legal jargon underground fighting?”Garcia scoffs.
“That was weird,” Salay sneers.
“How do you know about it?”
“Legal’shisthing,” she interjects on another gag.
“Have you done it?”
“Computersare yours,” leaves her alongside a gentle tap to my chest.
“Have youbeton it?”
“Do,” a second touch is delivered, “you.”
“Is this going to beanotherlegal shitshowI’mgonna have torescue youfrom?”
