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“Go.”

He went, still grinning.

Ruckus watched him disappear toward the bar. “For what it’s worth, I do think this is funny.”

“I know.”

“I just also think he may die.”

“I know.”

Rook took a drink. “Both things can be true.”

Micah slid a basket of fries toward me. “Eat something before Mayhem comes back with whatever poison he picks.”

I took one. “See? At least one of you was raised properly.”

Ruckus looked wounded. “I was raised exactly the same.”

“Yes. Fascinating nature-versus-nurture case.”

Micah laughed. Some of the tightness left my shoulders.

That was the thing about the Bishops. You could drop me into almost any situation with them and some part of it would feel like home.

Even, apparently, a strip club three towns over.

A dancer crossed behind us on her way toward the stage, smiling at something the DJ said. She was tiny, maybe five-three, with sleek dark hair cut at her shoulders and a body that looked less delicate the longer I watched her move.

Her shoulders were defined. So were her arms.

She climbed onto the stage.

Then she grabbed the pole with one hand and lifted her entire body sideways.

I stopped chewing.

Micah followed my stare. “First strip club?” he asked.

“Can you do that?”

He glanced at the stage. “What?”

“That.”

The dancer had extended both legs horizontally while supporting herself with what appeared to be one arm and spite.

Micah laughed. “Absolutely not.”

“Ruckus?”

“No,” Ruckus answered immediately.

“Rook?”

Rook didn’t bother looking. “Whatever it is, no.”

I looked back at the stage.