Page 95 of Blacklist

Most of the group is busy doing shots, but I can’t help noticing that Oliver Hawthorne has broken off from the crowd. He’s dressed in an expensive suit, fresh off whatever job his nepotism has secured. He wastes no time chatting up a single woman at the far end of the bar.

“Keep an eye on that one,” I tell Jack. “He’s got shifty fingers.”

Jack knows exactly what I mean. Oliver won’t get any drugs past him tonight. Ava sashays over and links her arms around me. As usual, Darcy is at her heels.

“You sure you don’t want something?” Ava asks.

I shrug her off me and force a smile. “Someone has to be the designated driver.”

“We have drivers,” she says.

“I think it’s sweet of you,” Darcy says, leaning against me on my other side. They’re like a pair of bad pennies—always turning up. They haven’t left me alone since they arrived, which I imagine is all part of Adair’s plan.

But Adair has gotten quite cozy with Jack’s reserve whiskey. She practically sloshes as she pushes herself between me and Darcy.

“Are you hitting on my man?” she says. Her accent, which is usually barely noticeable, deepens to a full southern.

“Your man?” I repeat under my breath, amused despite myself.

“Isn’t that what you are?” She turns, forgetting Darcy, and wraps her arms around my neck. “Unless you changed your mind.”

I brush a strand of sticky hair from her forehead and let myself pretend she means it. “Never, Lucky.”

She’s too drunk to care that I just broke the rule she made earlier.

“Good.” She gives me a sloppy smile. Then, she lurches forward and kisses me. She tastes like whiskey and bad decisions, and I want more than a single shot of her.

“Get a room!” Kai whoops.

Adair breaks away from me and giggles. “Is that all you got?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “That’s what she said.”

“I don’t think that works the way you meant it to,” Poppy informs him, shaking her head.

“Let’s dance.” Adair pulls me toward the dance floor.

“I need to talk to Jack for a second,” I say, directing her toward her friends. They swallow her whole. Adair never fits in more than when she finally lets go. She’s never known what she has, never appreciated what she’s got. She’s always felt like she’s on the outside, but I see what she can’t. They’re always there, waiting to welcome her inside the inner circle. Most people would kill for that invitation.

Jack’s wiping down the counter. It’s near close, but he hasn’t said a thing to his guests from Valmont.

“They’re going to drink all your booze if you’re not careful,” I warn him. “Moderation is one lesson they’ll never learn.”

“It’s worth it,” he says, leaning onto his elbows so no one can hear us. “I’ve been serving the Wests someone else’s whiskey all night. It’s the little things.”

“I think we might finally get a moment alone with that one.” I tip my head toward Oliver, who’s broken off from the group again to talk to one of Kai’s loitering fans. I’ve been watching him all night, looking to see if he’s up to his old tricks. It seems like he no longer relies on pharmaceutical aids to get women. Someone must’ve clued him in that money would be enough. That doesn’t change what he did years ago. He might not have confessed to being the one who drugged Adair that night. He might not have known she was the target.

He’s still on my list.

“I’m on it,” Jack says. “You take care of the others?”

“My pleasure.”

Considering I don’t drink, it’s been a long time since I closed down a bar. And closing down a bar in Nashville is a bit of a feat. They stay open well past most cities, even if the hours don’t follow the law to the letter. But this is a city built on rebels and whiskey, bootleggers and booze. The party doesn’t stop until someone says it does.

Poppy is the first to throw in the towel.

“I need to go home,” she announces, peeling off her shoes to rub the balls of her feet. Kai stands behind her massaging her shoulders.