Page 13 of A Raven Reborn

The man chuckled. “I heard you were stabbed after you interrupted a robbery at The Raven’s Nest.”

“Afraid so.” Patrick rolled his injured shoulder gingerly. “And unfortunately, the blackguard got away before I could return the favor.”

“I suppose that’s why I saw some of your muscle outside the shop yesterday?”

Patrick nodded. No one needed to know he was there because of Rosie, not the jewelry in the shop beneath his apartment.

Across the room, a man made his way clumsily between the two roulette tables, his gaze locked on the ladies on display in the corner. An homage to the club’s namesake, they wore black-feathered gowns and masks and held oversized fans. Their decolletage was on full display with enticingly low necklines, but they were to be looked at, not touched. Patrick had already warned this particular man away from them once this week.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” He strode through the tables, the plush carpets silencing his footfalls as he went. His concentration on one thing, the shouts of excitement and laughter around him faded into silence. The man reached for a girl’s breast.

A snarl ripped from Patrick’s throat. He clamped his hand around the man’s wrist just as his fingertips brushed the front of her gown. He wrenched the man’s arm behind him and grabbed the back of his coat.

“I’ve already warned you once this week, Roger.” The man was drunk and hadn’t even seen Patrick coming. Not wanting to make any more of a scene than was absolutely necessary, he marched Roger toward the back of the room, looking around for the bouncer who was supposed to deal with these kinds of disturbances.

“What are the girls for, then?” Roger tried looking back over his shoulder and stumbled. Patrick pushed him through a pair of black velvet curtains into the dimly lit corridor that led to the backdoor.

He slammed the man, face first, against the wall. “You know the rules, Roger. You can look all you want, but no one,”—Patrick leaned in close and growled the words directly into the man’s ear—“and I mean no one, is allowed to touch.” Just as the two men reached the backdoor, the bouncer rushed past and pulled it open.

Patrick shoved Roger forward, but he stumbled once again, grabbing onto Patrick’s arm to try to stop himself from falling. Pain erupted, like a lance through Patrick’s shoulder and he felt the stitches tear through his skin as he threw the man’s unsteady form through the open door.

“Next time you touch one of our girls, I’ll make sure your arm is broken before you’re thrown out.”

As soon as the door slammed shut, Patrick turned on the bouncer. “Where the hell have you been, O’Connell?” His shoulder searing, Patrick wanted to yell and stomp his feet and throw things, but since he wasn’t a toddler, he opted for the more socially acceptable option of shouting at the nearest subordinate, instead.

“Sorry, Boss. I was desperate for a piss.”

“You’ll be lucky if Ash doesn’t sack you.” The man was five or six inches taller than Patrick, and twice as broad, which was quite a feat, but in that moment, he had the look of a puppy who’d been kicked. Ash was fiercely protective of the Lady Ravens, and O’Connell was going to be on the receiving end of his ire. Patrick turned and started back down the hall. “Now get out there and do your job!” With his good shoulder, he pushed through a door halfway along the wall and climbed the narrow staircase behind.

Warmth trickled slowly down his arm. He needed to see what damage he’d done, and even more than that, he needed a drink.

As he neared the top of the stairs, there came the sound of sprinting footsteps. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough warning for Patrick to avoid what he knew was coming. Ash swung around the corner of the landing and his eyes grew wide as they met Patrick’s. Although Ash’s feet stopped, his body lurched forward. This was going to hurt. Patrick threw his arms wide and planted his feet, saving Ash from what would have been a nasty tumble down a flight of stairs. In return for his efforts, a large hand slammed directly into his freshly injured shoulder. Patrick’s mind screamed in pain, but he tamped down the actual sound, only a loud grunt escaping as he pushed Ash back onto his feet.

Patrick stumbled down one step, grasped the wall for support, and inhaled deeply. Holding his breath and urgently tapping his foot, he forced himself to master the pain.

Ash stood, mouth agape before finding his voice. “Did he hurt you? Did I hurt you?” The words came out in a rush.

Ash had obviously seen most of the fiasco from the balcony that overlooked the gaming floor and was on his way down to intervene. “Where in Hades was O’Connell?” he asked, anger growing in his voice.

“Ash.” The word was quiet, but it was the most Patrick could muster through the haze of pain.

“I’ll kill him!” Ash’s eyes darted about looking for the best way to get past.

“Don’t sack him yet.” Patrick just wanted to sit down with a large glass of brandy.

“What do you mean don’t sack him yet? If he’d been doing his job, none of this would have happened. I should…”

Patrick was losing patience. “Ash!” The shout finally got his attention. “I’m going to need someone to sew up my shoulder. Can we at least take care of that before you disembowel O’Connell?”

Ash nodded. “Yes, of course. You’re right.” He hadn’t even noticed the ridiculous hyperbole. “I’ll send him to fetch the surgeon. He ought to at least be able to do that right.”

“Good. Now move, so I can get to the brandy.” Ash quickly pressed himself back against the wall, suddenly realizing he was in the way.

Two hours and three glasses of brandy later, Patrick was feeling much better. He’d even gotten through the surgeon’s torture with only a bit of grumbling.

He held up his coat toward Ash. “Help me with this, will you? I need to get back downstairs.”

“Don’t be daft.” Ash snorted. “The only reason you’ll be going downstairs is to leave.”

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