Page 6 of Sworn to Consume
The second she pulls away, I’m already inside. It’s barely 8 p.m., and this bar is already packed. Dim lights, slow music, and voices rising louder than the bass.
“Please tell me I can make this bar my open buffet,” I mutter to Myko, rubbing my temples. “I swear, I don’t know how to handle this hunger lately.”
Hopefully, he doesn’t share that one with Bay, as he only growls back at me in a warning.
I glance around, scanning for Kayla—and then I see the reason for the early chaos. An ‘All You Can Drink Thursday’ sign is proudly hanging over the bar. Seriously?
A drunken free-for-all.
And thatson of a bitchthought it was a good idea to bring myminorsister here?
I bite the inside of my cheek hard to regain control. I can't afford to lose it now. Not in public. Not where my mother would drown me alive for causing a scene.
Inhale. Exhale.
“So you’re a soccer player? What team?” Kayla’s voice cuts through the noise from the right.
I move fast, slipping into the nearest chair without revealing my face. I can’t let them see me. Not yet. I promised Bay.
“You don’t watch soccer much, do you?” the fucker laughs. “You’d recognize me right away if you did.”
Oh,really?He thinks that’s impressive?
She’s heir to theMal-El royal bloodline,and she’s giggling like he’s some kind of god?
She needs lessons.Seriousones.
“Hi there, handsome.”
A raspy, drunk voice drags me back to the present. I turn toward it.
A dark blonde girl sways beside my table, clearly—just like Kayla—too young to even be in this place, using my table for balance.
“Are you here alone?” she asks, followed by a hiccup.
Gods. Not now. I take a slow breath.
I need tospeakto the bar owner after this—letting minors in this freely means someone is protecting him. And that someone?Isn’tone of our famiglia.
“Am I not pretty enough to get your attention?” she pouts. “I asked you a question...”
Shit. She’s loud. Too loud. She’s going to draw attention.
“You should take a taxi home.Now.” I pull a hundred-dollar bill from my wallet and slide it toward her, hoping she’ll take the hint.
She gasps like I just pulled a gun. “I’m flirting, not giving services,” she snaps, eyes wide as they flick from the bill to my face. She wobbles forward, barely catching herself. Her breath hits me—and it reeks of alcohol, sharp and sour, making me curl my lip.
Ihatealcohol. I hate strong smells.
She opens her mouth again, but I cut her off with a sharp wave of my hand.
“For fuck’s sake—you’re a minor. Go home. Study something. Stay out of places like this until you actually understand what it means to approach a man in a bar drunk.”
Another hiccup slips out, followed by a hiss of displeasure.
She doesn’t like the truth.
Too bad.
