Page 19 of The Assassin
Odin cocked him an arrogant grin. “You and he fucked last night. I saw you stumbling into the guest bedroom. My staff weren’t happy with the mess they had to clean up in the bathroom.”
Ardan raised his chin and set his mouth in a firm line. “I’m sure they’ve seen worse in this house.”
Odin laughed and the sharp sound made some of the men on the ground huff and groan. He poured himself a drink—straight rum—then raised it in Ardan’s direction. “I can’t argue with that. Drink?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you?” Odin leaned forward slightly, like he wanted to tell Ardan a secret, but Ardan didn’t move. “You’re an alcoholic, huh?”
“Yes, well, it takes one to know one. I’ve learned to live without, but you bikers can never seem to get enough.”
“Part of the life.” Odin shrugged and took a sip, grimacing. “That tastes like shit.”
“Could be your own mouth.” Ardan waved his hand in an impatient gesture. “I thank you for the hospitality, Odin, but you have your job and I have mine, and I need to move. If I could have my weapons back—”
Ardan didn’t get to finish. Loki stumbled into the room, nearly tripping over one of the Lords in the process. He glared at the man on the ground and brushed his long blond hair off his pixie face.
“Loki, get the assassin his weapons,” Odin grunted out, taking another sip of his rum.
Loki’s narrowed glare switched to him, but he stalked behind the bar and crouched. A few seconds later, after the sounds of beeps from a safe, Loki rose and passed Ardan his knife and Glock before he turned on Odin, throwing up his hands in disgust.
“This place is disgusting, and why are you drinking already, Israel?”
Ardan kicked his foot up on the stool beside Odin and raised his eyebrows at Odin’s real name while he shoved his knife into his boot.
Odin made a noise of frustration. “You’re beginning to sound more and more like your father every day.”
“Do you blame me? He was probably as worried about you as I am now.” Loki crossed his arms, the playful attitude Ardan had seen last night gone. “I don’t care if you want to kill yourself though. It’s your life, but your son is concerned. You remember him, right? He’s blond, wears glasses because he’s blind?”
“I don’t need you reminding me about Damian,” Odin grunted.
“Well, I’m going to leave this family quarrel to you both,” Ardan said, his voice breaking up whatever moment these two were having while they glared at each other. He shoved his Glock in the back of Santiago’s jeans, before covering it with the baggy T-shirt. The chances of him finding his holster were slim. “Thanks for letting me stay the night.”
“Welcome.” Odin gave me a two finger salute. “If you come back into Pleasant Beach on business and don’t ask again, Murphy, I’ll slice your innards open, got it?”
Loki quirked an amused smile Ardan’s direction, like he didn’t quite believe Odin. Either he was attempting to be funny, or he really had no idea what his adoptive father could do. While he certainly wasn’t as scary as Sloan, Ardan had seen Odin once during his playtime and he didn’t joke about that kind of torture.
“Absolutely. I apologize for my disrespect and I hope this doesn’t affect your business with Mr. Killough. He was unaware of my rudeness.”
“Clearly.” Odin snorted. “Killough doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d let that shit stand.”
“He’s not.”
Odin waved his hand in a get lost gesture. “Don’t let it happen again. Now go get your mark,outsidemy city.”
Ardan tilted his head toward Loki, who raised his hand in goodbye, before Ardan spun on his heel and walked out the front door. He’d already called an Uber, and the young man standing outside his small beaten-up Toyota looked like he was about to jump out of his skin. He shoved his glasses up his nose, blinking around at the massive house and bikes lining the driveway. His hands were clutched in front of him, and he tilted his head up to the sun, the freckles splattered across his nose looking more prominent with the brilliant light on them.
He startled, giving a wobbly smile when Ardan stepped down the stairs. “Good morning.”
“The main street.” Ardan walked straight past him and opened the passenger door, slipping into the car. As beat-up as it looked outside, inside was clean and almost appeared new, with a shiny black dashboard and a jangly disco ball hanging from the rearview mirror.
The driver’s door opened and the young man got in. Straightening his mirror, he glanced at Ardan nervously. “Where to on Main Street?”
“Café Cate.”
He nodded and started the ignition, the car rumbling to life. The few conversations he tried to have with Ardan were cut short by a sharp glare and he quickly learned to keep his mouth shut. By the time he parked in front of Café Cate, Ardan noticed his palms sweating and he was trying to inconspicuously rub them on the thighs of his jeans.
Ardan simply nodded his thanks before he stepped out of the car and shut the door so hard the entire body of it rattled. He didn’t have to look hard to find Mancini, sitting in the corner of the café with a tablet clutched in his hands, probably reading the latest news.
