Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Who roofied a man?
What purpose would that serve?
I almost wanted to tell myself I’d been mistaken, but I’d watched as her delicate hand hovered over the glass of beer, and as whatever was in said hand fell into the drink as a fine powder.
Then she just as casually moved away from the bar and out the front door.
Part of me wanted to follow her, to demand to know what she was up to.
But, at the end of the day, I guess the focus always had to go to the victim. I never would have thought twice about getting to a drugged woman first.
Before I could get across the crowded bar, though, I watched as he lifted the drink and took a long swig.
“Fuck,” I hissed, shouldering through a couple of people. “Dude, yo, don’t drink anymore of that,” I said, pushing it away.
The movement drew Nyx’s attention, making her brows furrow as she made her way over.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Someone slipped something in his drink.”
“In his drink?” she clarified, confused.
“Yeah, I know. But, yes, I saw it,” I said, pushing the drink toward her. “Don’t dump it in case the cops want to know what’s going on,” I said, looking at the guy who was already starting to look a little green. “Think this guy needs to get to the hospital ASAP,” I added, reaching for him, dragging him up onto his feet.
“What’s this?” Cillian Murphy, the owner of the bar, and the leader of the Irish mafia in the area asked as he came in the front door.
“Crow says this guy was drugged,” Nyx said, shaking her head.
“This guy? You sure it didn’t go in the girl’s drink?” he asked, nodding toward the bar.
“Positive. He’s starting to sweat too,” I added. “I need to get him to the hospital.”
“Fuck,” Cillian hissed, shaking his head. “I’ll take him,” he said, grabbing the guy under his other arm and taking some of his weight. “Nyx, go track down one of my brothers in the back, and tell them I need someone to drive. And whoever is left is in charge,” he added.
“On it,” Nyx said.
“Here,” Lula said, moving away from Raff to hand a garbage bag to Cillian. “In case he pukes. He’s not looking too hot,” she added.
“Nice catch, Crow,” Cillian said as one of his younger brothers, Rian, came rushing out from the back.
With that, the trio was gone, and I was left in the middle of the bar with everyone’s attention on me.
“I mean, I don’t want him to die or anything, but he was a real creep,” the woman said as she got up from her seat. “I was hoping he would walk away so I could go to my car kind of creep,” she added.
“Hey,” Nyx called, getting her attention. “If you ever feel that way, you tell me. I will walk you to your car. Or make one of the Murphy brothers do it. Don’t ever placate a creep. Not here.”
To that, the girl nodded, then made her way to the door, but not before dropping a twenty on the counter.
“It’s been an interesting night,” Nyx said, tucking the cash somewhere under the bar. “I hope the security cameras are working, so they can locate the woman.”
There was a false note in her words, though. One that made that little electrical current buzz across my skin again.
But this was Nyx.
We trusted her.
She wouldn’t knowingly ignore a woman trying to poison someone at the bar, would she?
CHAPTER TWO
Morgaine
The chickadees told me first.
That frantic chorus of little voices trilling through the bushes and gardens.
They were met almost immediately by the deep calls of the crows, sitting stationary on the roof, waiting patiently for me to fill their tray with shelled peanuts, sunflower seeds, and mealworms—little payments for their work scaring off the crows on my little homestead.
They got louder as I finally heard the familiar crunch.
Someone was coming up the driveway.
If you paid attention enough, if you were still and quiet enough, nature had a lot to tell you.
The leaves turning upward when the rain was about to come. The stridulation of crickets letting you know what the temperature is. Toad behavior predicting earthquakes.
But my favorite always was, and would always be, the birds. Their calls could tell you so many things.
Their long, lilting songs let you know all was well in the world.
But their fast, frantic, sharp chirps?
Danger.
That was why I took care of the local birds. Planting local flowers and bushes and growing berries for them to eat in the summer; filling multiple feeders each day in the cooler months when food was in shorter supply; providing them with a multitude of different houses that I hand-painted myself, or made out of old gourds.
They let me know when my sanctuary was about to be invaded by a stranger.