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Maxwell handed his darts to Oliver, who made a face but accepted them. “I’m surprised our commander let you stay at all if you’re here for Sebastian.”
“Well, it’s not like he’s going to kidnap me.” Sebastian waved a hand and then looked pointedly between Oliver and the throwing line until Oliver sighed and stepped up to position.
“Are you not?” Maxwell raised his eyebrows at Patrick. Maxwell trusted Oliver and Mal’ik, Sebastian’s own flippant attitude put him at ease, and Patrick himself didn’t set off any alarm bells in Maxwell’s head, but to be sitting in a bar with a man that wanted to bring his only friend back to enemy territory—likely to be executed—still seemed odd.
“I wouldn’t let him,” Mal’ik growled lowly and placed a hand on Patrick’s shoulder.
Patrick scowled at him and shrugged his hand off. “And I wouldn’t try.” He took a sip of his beer. “I’m a soldier, not a criminal.”
“Well, you’re a Klah’Eel soldier, so is there really a difference?” Sebastian shot him a grin over his shoulder as he lined up for his turn at the dartboard, and Patrick just rolled his eyes and took another swig of his beer. Smart man.
Mal’ik huffed and then held out a second glass to Maxwell that Maxwell hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Here. Noticed you were dry. Jun said you usually like this.”
“Oh.” Maxwell took the glass with a surprised smile. “Thank you. It’s nice to have a drink to take the sting out of constantly losing.” He nodded to the dartboard where Oliver was currently being a very good sport about being Sebastian’s punching bag, though Maxwell could see a tick in his jaw.
“So I’ve heard.” Mal’ik chuckled, and he and Maxwell settled into stools at the nearest table.
“No, it’s all fine.” Oliver tossed his chin at them and waved a hand as he returned from picking his darts up off the floor. “Playing darts with Sebastian is good practice for negotiating with my father. He’ll try to wipe the floor with me while saying mean things too.”
Maxwell frowned. “When are you going to negotiate with your father?”
“Two days, five hours, and six minutes.” Oliver threw a dart at the board so hard it embedded a whole inch in. “On behalf of Southern Tava. I have to convince him and the Turner Corporation board to manufacture all the turbines needed to clean Southern Tava for approximately one-fourth of the cost of the labor and materials.”
Sebastian laughed out loud as he took his spot on the throwing line. “Yeah, good luck with that.”
“I don’t need it.” Oliver pursed his lips. “You’d be surprised how well I play a game I’m actually good at, Sebastian.”
Sebastian shrugged. “I’d certainly like to be.”
Maxwell shook his head with a little smile as they bantered back and forth. He had just started to feel content, sitting with this strange little group with his drink between his hands, when the bar doorbell tinkled, and Maxwell heard a voice that ruined everything.
“Jun, the best man on the planet!” Kurt walked in with his arms spread wide and a few prisoners he’d arrived with trailing after him. Jun greeted him with the same enthusiasm and started filling mugs of beer, and Maxwell winced. How did they already know each other? How did they already like each other? How did Kurt do this?
“He’ll slip up eventually.” Patrick’s low tone at his side made Maxwell jump, and he looked to see Patrick watching Kurt with a suspicious glower.
Maxwell frowned. “What do you mean?”
Patrick took a sip but kept glaring at Kurt and didn’t bother to hide it. “The warden told me stories about him when I went to pick him up.”
Despite everything he knew, Maxwell tightened his grip on his glass as his hackles rose. “Well, a Klah’Eel prison warden would have horrible things to say about a Resistance prisoner, wouldn’t they?”
“Maybe.” Patrick shrugged a shoulder. “He didn’t have anything to say about the rest of them, though. And if it’s true, then like I said, he’ll slip up eventually.”
Maxwell didn’t take any comfort in Patrick’s certainty.
He kept his gaze down on the dirty bar table and the untouched liquid in his glass for as long as he could. Don’t engage. Make yourself small. It’ll all end. But eventually, his eyes disobeyed him and dragged themselves to the bar where he could hear Kurt’s voice.
They made eye contact—Kurt’s green eyes shockingly cold—and Maxwell’s breath stopped. He braced himself for Kurt to approach him. But then Kurt did something much worse. A smile curled the tip of his lips, he took his beer, and he went to the pool table.
Chapter Seven
“So I hear you’re the undisputed champion.”
Garrett’s hands froze on his pool cue, and he looked up to see Kurt Buck standing on the other side of the table, muscular arms crossed over his broad chest, stance wide, and a friendly grin on his face. Garrett finished his shot, slotting the ball he’d been after easily into its pocket, and stood with a matching smile. “Well, it’s not really a competition.”
Kurt raised his eyebrows. “Isn’t it?”
Garrett leaned his hip on the table and rubbed some chalk over his cue. “It’s just a game.”
