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Rook’s disdainful look washes over each of us at the table — Striker, Bullet, Thunder, Moose, and me. Of all of us at the table, Moose is the only one who looks unperturbed. Rook’s words aren’t meant for him; he’s not an official member of the MC — he hauls our cargo, and he’s Rook’s closest friend; Rook would just as soon smile as he would yell at Moose.
“What crawled up your ass and died?” Thunder says.
Moose leans back in his chair, and it creaks from the weight. “Sure ain’t a ferret, trust me — I’ve seen it happen. I know all the symptoms.”
“Dignity. That’s what,” Rook snaps.
“Dignity? Is that someone’s stage name?” Thunder says. “Do I need to call Eliza?”
“Maybe that’s their nom de strap-on,” Striker says.
“Don’t talk French to me, you jarhead jerkoff,” Rook says. “We can’t just be some collection of fuckheads anymore. We need a command structure.”
“We can’t be a collection of fuckheads? Didn’t Shakespeare say you have to be true to yourself?” Thunder says.
“He did,” Striker adds.
“Well, that settles it. Because Shakespeare was way smarter than you, Rook.” Thunder leans back in his chair and crosses his hands behind his head. “So, unless you want to create some of the greatest art in history…”
“Rook’s right,” Bullet says. “Like always, he’s being an enormous asshole about it, but he’s right. We need to formalize the MC. We need officers, structure, organizational goals, just like those guys up north.”
I roll my eyes toward Striker and see him doing exactly the same in my direction. Not that I don’t agree with Bullet — he’s a smart guy, determined, and had the ambition to fight through all the bullshit to get the Steel Reapers started in the first place — but right now he sounds like he’s been given a reading list from Madison or one of her coworkers about effective, no, dynamic leadership. Probably with some 20-something white guy on the cover who got his job because his daddy owns the company.
“Something funny?” Rook says, looking right at me.
I shrug. The asshole is way too observant for his own good. “You just want to be our general, don’t you?”
“And be even more responsible for your dumb ass? If the Marines and all their billions of dollars and commanding officers couldn’t straighten you out, I know I’ve got no chance in hell.”
“Then what the fuck do you want?”
“Command structure. Defined duties. I’m tired of being the only goddamn voice of authority.”
“Sounds like someone needs a nap,” Thunder says.
“Fucking right I do. A nap sounds like heaven. Don’t you want a nap?” Rook says. We all nod. Because no one can deny that a good nap now and then is a thing of beauty.
“Fine, I see your point. Some structure, all that, it could make things run smoother. And there’s nothing wrong with having a chain of command when shit hits the fan,” I say. My eyes drift away from Rook. Not that I don’t agree with him, it’s just that there’s something about Rook’s attitude, and entire existence, that makes me want to hammer his face.
Then my eyes land on the bartender.
And stay on the bartender, as blue-gray eyes captivate me from a cloud of softly curling dark hair, and the edges of her cherry lips curl in a smile that locks me up as tight as a pair of handcuffs.
I blink, surprised for a second.
All I’ve said to her tonight are the five words it took to order the beer in front of me, yet she’s looking at me like she’s got her mind made up about showing me something I’d sure as hell like to see.
“Go get me another beer,” Striker says.
“Am I your server?”
“No, but I see how the bartender’s looking at you.”
“So what?” Doesn’t matter how much she’s looking, or how good she looks, there’s something intense in her eyes that says getting close to her would be a bad idea; she’s looking at me like she wants more than just a night, and I sure as hell can’t drag a woman like her into a dangerous life like this. I’ve seen firsthand what this life can do to decent people, and I won’t let that happen to her. One face haunting me in the flames is enough.
Moose leans over, drops his voice to a whisper. “He’s implying that the attractive woman behind the bar wants to fuck you.”
“You think?” I retort.
