Page 2 of Graveyards & Greed

“A friend,” the man mumbled, finally giving Drakos a sidelong glance. "Who the hell are you, anyway?"

“Jack Napier. I collect classic motorcycles. They say every bike has a soul. Do you feel it when you ride that bike?”

"You're fuckin’ crazy,” the man muttered, taking a drink.

LeBaron rolled his eyes and stuck his thumb drunkenly toward his friend. “I’m Eightball, and this here’s Grunge. He’s a prick even when he isn’t drunk. How about you buy us a round, then he’ll talk to you?”

Drakos nodded to the bartender, and two Bud Lights with shots of tequila hit the bar. ”Who owns the bike?” Drakos asked in a light, conversational tone. But his eyes were sharp.

“Me,” Grunge bragged. Drakos nodded, pretending to watch the stage.

I mentally shook my head. This Drakos guy looked completely out of place, but no one messed with him. I was out of place here too, but at least I’dtriedto blend in. My curiosity pricked as I watched them. What was he after? They talked for a few minutes, and I slid off my stool, my black, lace-up boots sticking to the floor. I’d decided to leave the heels at home in case I needed to make a run for it. Plastering a vapidly stupid expression on my face, I turned to Eightball.

“Hey, I’m lookin’ for some product. I hear you're the guy to talk to.”

Eightball's hard eyes raked over me with unapologetic lewdness, zeroing in on my unfettered breasts.

“What exactly you lookin’ for?” he asked, his lips curling up in a suggestive grin.

Bile climbed my throat, but I swallowed it down. “A little bump. Can you hook me up, big guy?” I let one of my dimples flash briefly as bait. Eightball leaned closer, his breath reeking of stale tobacco, beer, and onions. Drakos glanced over, his eyes quickly scanning me.

“Sure, honey. Let’s take this outside.”

Drakos stood and set his glass on the table. “Let's go look at the bike while you’re out there. You can give her what she came for, and Grunge and I can negotiate a price.” As they talked, I realized with a start that Drakos Creed was more than a handsome attorney slumming it for the night. He was on the hunt too, and we’d somehow become unwilling partners.

Eightball smirked and slugged back the rest of his tequila, then gestured toward the back door just off the restrooms. “Yeah, let’s take this to the alley.” He rubbed against me as he walked by, and I grinned wide. But the smile slipped when he and Grunge walked past.

Following these three men into the dark alley behind Titties was a colossal lapse in judgment, but I itched to make Eightball pay for all the pain and damage he’d caused, and Drakos piqued my curiosity.

Besides, Eightball was wasted and Grunge wasn’t too far behind. The bar's neon lights flickered, casting a sordid glow over the scene as we headed to the back door.

I felt the small syringe in my pocket and palmed it. “Abandon hope all ye who enter here,” I murmured absently as we walked into the alley.

Setting my thumb on the plunger, I got ready to pull it out and slide it into Eightball’s neck, when a firm hand clasped my arm.

I startled and looked up at Drakos Creed. The man could move quietly. He shook his head and squeezed my arm, then let go. The message was clear—he wanted me to wait. His intense blue eyes locked on mine, and I relaxed under his grip and gave a small nod.

Releasing the vial, I masked my irritation with a fake grin. I’d been relying on Eightball being drunk enough not to feel the needle slide in, but it was a crapshoot. I’d also let my hatred get away from me. If Drakos suspected what I was up to and decided to expose me, I’d be in a world of hurt.

“I didn't catch your name.” Drakos’s piercing blue gaze pinned mine. “I’m always curious about women who can quote Dante.”

"Oh, was that Dante?” I shook his hand off and pulled a little Dum Dum sucker out of my other pocket, unwrapped it, and popped it between my bright red lips. “I’m Harley Quinn. Should I call you the Joker, then?”

Drakos grinned, his white teeth gleaming against the dim light. The name he’d given the bikers was the Joker’s name inThe Dark Knight. He now knew I wasn’t some dumb cokehead.

“Fine. I’ll call you Lollipop—for now.” He eyed my mouth, and I crunched down on the sucker.

As we stepped further into the back alley, Eightball scowled at us, probably wondering why we were talking. A classic Harley Davidson sat in the alley not far from the back door. Heat still rose from the asphalt, and sweat gathered under my breasts. The stink of sour, hot garbage wafted from the dumpster close to the exit, and even at this time of night, the dry, hot air made it hard to breathe.

Drakos turned to Eightball. “Before you start with her, I want to discuss the bike.”

Eightball nodded toward Grunge impatiently. “Talk to him.”

Drakos eyed the bike critically. “Do you have the key?”

Grunge pulled it out. “Yeah. I told you it was mine.”

I turned to Eightball and clasped my hands together. “So? Can you sell me some blow?”

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