Page 63 of Out for Blood
“Social media,” Daisy and Sarai said at the same time.
“Social media?” Now I was confused.
“It’s capitalized,” Daisy said. “Even when it’s not at the start of a sentence. PrincessA. Not lower case but upper case as in?— ”
“A social media handle,” I said.
Daisy nodded. “Exactly.”
I leaned back against the counter, the reality of the discovery sinking in. I wasn’t big on social media, but Daisy practically lived online as part of her design business, and Sarai had been on social media (in secret since her parents wouldn’t allow it) since she was twelve.
They’d seen something the Hawks and I hadn’t.
The men at the paper mill hadn’t been working for Dimitri Kaprolov.
They’d been working for a woman.
One who used PrincessA as a social media handle.
29
HAWK
We pickedCassie up after work to take her out to dinner. Reva was in the house cleaning and “food prepping” for us, if that was what you wanted to call the horrific assortment of food products she was combining to make a week’s worth of meals we’d have to throw out (we’d tried donating her food to a local soup kitchen once and they’d asked us nicely not to do so again).
It was safer — for all of us — to steer clear so we’d told her we had plans to take Cassie for a romantic dinner.
And okay, Screamin’ Syd’s wasn’t romantic by traditional standards, but I felt fucking romantic every time I looked at her so there was that.
Plus, Syd’s had the best burgers and onion rings in town and Cassie loved a good onion ring (battered not breaded because everyone knew that breaded onion rings scraped your mouth raw).
“I’ve never been here,” she said as we passed the bikes lined up outside.
I lifted a hand in greeting to some of the leather-clad biker dudes outside and was glad Cassie had convinced Vigo to leave his bat in the car. That was the kind of trouble I didn’t wantto start with Cassie in the mix, although it might have been fun some other time.
Jagger stopped to shake Mac’s hand. Mac was president of the Blackwell Barbarians, and our paths had crossed more than once in the course of business.
He seemed surprised to see us with Cassie, but he wasn’t nearly as surprised as I was when I realized Cassie already knew him. Bram had worked overtime to shelter Cassie from the darker side of Blackwell Falls, but it turned out Cassie had already met Mac through Daisy because Mac was Jace’s foster dad.
Small town. Small world.
We continued into the large main room at Syd’s and I squinted as my eyes got used to the dim light, which was almost no light at all thanks to the bar’s one and only window.
The TVs around the room displayed an interesting array of entertainment (NASCAR, an old sitcom, cable news, and a live feed from the stock exchange), their light reflecting on the paneled walls.
Four pool tables were arranged on one side of the room. A handful of bearded guys in leather jackets and cuts milled around them with beers in their hands, chatting it up and laughing while Honey, one of the regular waitresses, dipped in and out, picking up empties and replacing them with new bottles.
Smart and good for business to keep them coming.
A bar stretched along one side of the room, the mirror behind it reflecting the pool tables and a handful of dining tables, all but three of them occupied. Christmas lights hung over the mirror even though it was only October, and I tried to remember if I’d ever seen the place without them.
“This way,” I led Cassie to one of the empty tables and caught her reflection in the mirror behind the bar, felt that familiar swell of ownership I was beginning to get used to.
That feeling that she was mine, that somehow I’d fooled the universe into believing I — we — deserved her.
“My god, it smells amazing in here,” she said, taking a seat.
“I’m starving,” Vigo said.
