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Bar. Gotta go to the bar.
On my way over, I notice many people I’ve seen over the past six months. Most are the staff of the hotel. Others are members I bumped into. The rest I assume are the happy couple’s family and friends.
The group of men at the corner of the venue, though, doesn’t fit into either category. They have a dark, unpleasant aura surrounding them.
I still wonder who these people are when it’s my turn to order my drink.
“What can I get you, Amara?” Jamey, the bartender, asks. Totally professional. He doesn’t flirt like he had with the woman who was before me.
Maybe he doesn’t like me like that.
And maybe Carter’s and Killian’s proverbial pee in a circle around me scares the living fuck out of him. After what they did to Christopher, it wouldn’t surprise me.
I’m theirs. Jamey and everyone senses it. They’re aware that messing with me would suck big time.
Is it sick that I get excited over it?
“Amara?”
“One Shirley Temple, please.” My mouth waters for something sweet. Something that won’t get me drunk.
Loose lips sink ships and all that. So no to alcohol for me. I like my ship where it is.
“Coming right up.” Jamey turns to start mixing my drink.
“Nice of you to work on Luna’s wedding day.” I lean on the bar, sneaking glances at the group of suspicious men.
“Not to brag, but I’m the best bartender in the whole Tri-state area.” He smiles over his shoulder. “And Luna deserves the best.”
“She does,” I say absentmindedly.
“There you go.” Jamey hands over the red-orange drink.
“Thanks.”
Sipping on the pink straw, I continue studying the room and the strangers from my place at the bar. Guests—Carter and Killian included—watch Luna and Julien’s first dance on the improvised dancefloor. The couple is adorable, swaying in a slow dance to Megadeth’s “Paranoid.”
Everyone’s captivated by them.
Everyone but the men in the corner. I have to know who these people are.
“Hey, Jamey.” I lean closer, and he mirrors my gesture while keeping a respectful distance. “The men over there. They look familiar, don’t they?”
His green eyes widen almost imperceptivity. I catch it nonetheless.
“They’re members.” Refusing to give me another clue, he grabs a glass from the bar and starts wiping it.
Curious. Very curious.
“Hmm, makes sense.”
“I wouldn’t go staring at our members, Amara,” Jamey says without averting his attention from the glass.
I’m on a reckless streak, because I return to staring at the men. I’m sure that if I look long enough, I’ll figure out who they are.
I’m positive I’ve seen them before.
Maybe—Oh, shit.
