Page 22 of Flame and Fury

“Yeah, that’s what most people do.”

Does what he’s saying make sense? Yes, dammit, but I’m not going to tell him that. Besides, I can take care of myself. I shoulder my way past Atlas’s huge body until we’re side by side as we walk into the room.

I was expecting an office or a suite, but the space is small. It looks like it was once a hotel room, but it’s been converted into more of a meeting place. There’s a round table with chairs in the center of the room, and a sectional couch pushed up against one wall. A set of chairs with a small table between them are arranged close to the other wall. Two empty cups of coffee have been abandoned on the small table, like friends had been catching up before we arrived. There’s a small kitchenette with a coffeepot on the counter and not much else.

Windows make up an entire wall that looks out over the city of Las Vegas. Or at least they would if you could see anything except for a flurry of white. A man stands in front of the windows. His hands are clasped behind his back, and he stares out at the frozen view. If this is the Boar, he’s not what I’m expecting. For no good reason, I imagined an older man in a fancy suit, with slicked-back hair and enough charm to compete with Atlas–when he turns it on.

The man turns around and I get my first good look at him. He has dark brown hair that curls around his ears. A beard covers the lower half of his face. It doesn't look like a fashion choice, more like he hasn’t had the chance to shave in a few days. Instead of that slick suit, he’s wearing a pair of worn jeans, an old blue hoodie, and work boots.

His eyes are a piercing blue, and they don’t miss a thing as they scan over me and Atlas. He doesn’t smile, but his posture is…not exactly relaxed, but he’s not gearing up for a fight. Surprisingly, he can’t be much older than thirty-five at the most. Again, I expected an older man for no reason at all. It makes sense that he’s younger. Men like him don’t live long lives. He’s been going up against the clerics and the gods, stealing from the elites and giving to the poor. He’s a wanted man, but he hasn’t walked away from his town. Still, he’s old enough to have amassed connections and wealth on his own, if what Atlas had to say was accurate.

Now that we’re here, I’m not sure what to do. Should I introduce myself? The man saves me from awkwardly fumbling through an apologetic introduction by stepping forward and holding out his hand. He has an easygoing presence, almost calming in his manner. I find myself smiling up at him. Atlas presses in against my side. I ignore him.

“Wren Torres,” the Boar says my name with a hint of humor.

I step forward, clasping his hand and giving him a small smile. “Strange, that’s my name too.”

An easy smile pulls at the edges of his lips, and he nods. “A pleasure.”

“Do I call you the Boar, or should I call you something else?”

His hand is still closed around mine, but it’s friendly and not some pissing match. Although with the way Atlas is crowding my back, I don’t think he knows that.

“The Boar will do.”

Ah-ha! He is the Boar. Atlas clears his throat, his body pushing into mine like he’s subtly trying to steer me away. The Boar drops my hand and extends it out to Atlas.

“And Atlas Morrison. Son of Zeus.” Atlas claps his hand in the Boar’s, and they eye each other while their knuckles turn white.

Men. Seriously.

It’s my turn to knock into Atlas. I don’t mean to rub my chest all over his arm, but that’s what happens. It’s more like my soggy coat brushes against Atlas’s superior parka. Atlas gives me a look that says he thinks I’m an idiot, but he drops the Boar’s hand.

“Why don’t we sit down.” The Boar gestures toward the table in the middle of the room. I pull out a chair, just as Atlas goes to do the same, and our hands collide. I look up at him with an exasperated sigh.

“Really? You have to sit in the same chair as me?”

“I was pulling it out for you.” His words imply he’s trying to be nice, but the bitter bite to his tone says otherwise.

I gaze up at him, feeling the back of my neck heat. Suddenly, I’m thankful for this ridiculous cold. Atlas takes the seat to my right, angling his body so he can keep an eye on the door and the Boar at the same time. Yeah, I probably should’ve done the same. But honestly, if someone wants to run in and try to attack my back, my Fury is going to come out.

The Boar sits across from me, his hands clasped together on top of the table. “While I’m flattered that you’ve taken an interest in me, what exactly are you here for?”

The Boar is a handsome man. There’s a ruggedness to his appearance that leads me to believe he’s capable of fixing things. I suppose in this day and age, living in the frozen wasteland of Las Vegas, you have to be made of sturdy stock.

Atlas and I start talking at the same time. I turn toward him, and we glare at each other. I roll my eyes and look at the Boar again, opening my mouth to tell him why we’re here when Atlas does the same.

I throw my hands up in the air and sink back into my chair, glaring at Atlas. “Go ahead, you obviously have something to say.”

Atlas doesn’t bother feeling contrite. He leans forward and mimics the Boar’s posture. “There is a certain amount of trust that needs to be exchanged for this conversation.”

Really? That’s how Atlas kicks things off. I shove his shoulder.

“Just stop. It’s clear you don’t know how to talk to someone unless they have boobs, a low IQ, and are desperate to have someone flirt with them for validation.”

Atlas rolls his eyes, stunning me. It takes me a second to regain my composure. Atlas doesn’t let things get to him. An eye roll is practically a scream in Atlas speak.

I close my mouth and turn my attention back to the Boar. “Ignore him. Let me start over by saying that you’ve got a problem.”

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