Page 4 of The Warrior's Salvation

"Hey, about work," I say, sipping my beer, probably my last for the night if he is leaving so early. "I got this strange email. I didn't say anything to Da because he's so upset over the strikes and the way people keep assaulting union members on the picket line…" I bite my lower lip as he shakes his head.

"They used fucking napalm, Evie. That shit sticks to anything it touches and burns. This guy is in the burn unit, begging them to cut his leg off to ease the pain. Can you imagine?" I see the rage in Jasper's eyes and I can imagine.

I have no clue why some people are so angry. Those dock workers only want fair pay and more sick leave. They're striking for a good reason and it's like the men whose shipments aren't getting put out quickly anymore are so angry they're willing to kill the striking workers. It sickens me. Nothing is so important that it's worth getting violent over it.

"I heard. I know Da is pretty upset about it, so I never said a word." I feel guilty even bringing it up to Jasper, but I'm not sure how to handle the strange email I got. If I tell Lochlan, he'll only get a big head thinking he's right, and my father is like him. Besides, he's not really running the show. He's just occupying a desk for a few days or a week until this strike is over and Da can focus on business again.

"What was it?" he asks, eyeing the beer I brought him. He'll end up taking it along to his meeting, I'm sure.

"Just someone saying the union has done evil and illegal things, that they have evidence and they'll be bringing a reckoning…" I've racked my brain a dozen ways from Sunday to try to figure out what sort of illegal things anyone may have done. The most I can guess is that they're just more angry factory owners whose shipments aren't going out on time and they want to scare us into backing down.

I personally am on the side of the members. They do deserve better pay and more sick leave. No one should have to work for pennies and never get time off.

"Don’t worry about it." Jasper tosses his hand at me in a dismissive gesture and scrunches his face as he reaches for the unopened beer. "People do that shit all the time. You're new, so you haven't been around long enough to see it. If you get another email, just delete it." The crack of the beer opening makes him smile. "I'm gonna scoot. You practice. You're really horrible."

I shove him again and laugh as he darts toward the door, stumbling a few steps to one side. He shouldn't drive, but he's older than me and stubborn. He'll do as he pleases no matter what I say, anyway.

I turn away from the door and the darts with beer in hand and see the stack of books on the foot of my bed calling to me. I have so much homework and only a few classes left to finish my degree. Graduation in a few months means finally having that damn certificate to say I'm trained to do the job I'm already doing. Maybe Da will give me a raise or a promotion. I'm not sure, but I do know it means I can work anywhere at that point.

I'll still work for Da, though, becauseyou do for family. It's what Mum says. "You do for family." Like somehow, just by being born into a family, it means they come first, loyalty to them, fidelity…

Grunting, I slump onto the bed and set my beer down on the nightstand, taking myPhilosophy of Businesstextbook off the stack and opening it. But I'm saved by the bell—or ringtone, actually. Kelly, my best friend since year eight, texts me with an invitation phrased more like a demand.

Kelly 8:47 PM: Meet me at The Underground. I need to dance…

A smattering of emojis follows her message, and I grin at my phone. I can't drive for sure, way too drunk for that, but I can Uber, and it gets me out of boring schoolwork. So I flop my book shut and strut to my closet to pick out the skimpiest little dress I have.

Thirty minutes later, I'm tugging at the hem of the slinky black minidress and my heels click on the pavement as I strut past the line of thirsty nightclub hopefuls. Not once have I had to pay a cover charge or wait in line. My curves and the fact that everyone in this city knows my father's name get me in anywhere I want to go.

"Ms. O'Leary," the bouncer says with a grin. "Come on in." He unclips the velvet rope and nods at me as I walk past a cluster of frustrated-looking women who are next in line.

"Thanks, Fridge," I say, patting him on his thick bicep.

This is our usual place, and I can't wait to find Kelly and get another drink. The music pulses so loudly, I can't hear myself think. I spy Kelly at the bar slipping some cash across the smooth waxed surface as she hovers over two fruity pink drinks. She sees me and grins, gesturing wildly for me to join her.

Her wild red curls have been tamed into a braid, and she takes one of the glasses and begins sipping while I yank the mini dress's hem back into place again.

"Any action yet?" I shout over the din of the beat.

"Just got here," she returns, nearly choking on her drink. She laughs and pushes mine at me, and I pick it up and drink it in three big swigs. I don’t want to stand by this bar talking. I want to dance, and I want to find a hottie to help me work off some of this pent-up sexual energy I've been carrying around with me for two days having to drool over Lochlan O'Rourke with no relief.

"Let's go, then!" I tell her, grabbing her wrist. She puts her drink down hurriedly and sets the empty glass on the bar, and we are already bouncing to the beat before we get onto the dancefloor.

The crowd is thick. Men and women surround us as we thrash around to the music. As usual, Kelly is flirty and a little seductive. She grinds on me a little as she makes eyes at some men. They like watching her do that. And with the mood I'm in tonight, if they begged for a threesome, I might just take them up on it.

Two songs pass and a third starts, and I'm getting thirsty again. But a handsome blond man with his hands in the air and his shirt open in front dances our way. He's hot, in his mid-twenties, maybe. His eyes lock on mine, and all I see are the corded abs he's put on display.

Nudging Kelly aside, he takes her place and dances far too close for comfort. He's good-looking, but not like Lochlan. Still, I don't mind a quick fix to my problem, and if he's game, maybe I am too.

The skull and crossbones tat on his right pec is sort of hot too—the sort I imagine Lochlan might have. Men like him always have tattoos and scars. He's a bad boy, probably used to shooting people or beating them to death. And while I don't know what he looks like shirtless, I can imagine it's much like this sexy man in front of me. I can't fight the temptation to reach out and touch his sweaty body, and he doesn't shy away.

"Wanna go somewhere quieter?" he asks, shouting in my ear. It vibrates me to my core. I glance at Kelly, who has found her own handsome man to snuggle up with on the dance floor.

This one, whose name I don't even know yet, has my legs spread, knee between my thighs as his pelvis thrusts up and down my leg in beat to the music.

I don’t really want to leave the club, but I'm not a sex-in-public sort of girl. I glance around looking for a solution, but my slightly drunk brain doesn’t see one. I'm not about to get in a car with him, and he's not following me home, so I'm not sure how to make this ache between my legs go away unless he's gonna rub me off in this dark club with gyrating bodies surrounding us.

A realization that I'm either going to fuck him here in public or I'm going to have to pass on his offer begins to sink in. His hand grips my hip, and I can feel his swollen dick through his jeans rubbing my leg.

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