I swung my gaze to Lakota as he swaggered toward me, his eyes slicing across the room. As he closed the distance between us, my heart quickened. Will he recognize me? What is he doing here?
The moment his eyes slanted in my direction, my stomach tightened into a knot.
“Better keep those eyes in your head,” a man at the bar spat. “Don’t look at our women.”
Now these rednecks are coming to my defense?
I could almost hear my heart beating with each step he took. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Recognition flickered in his eyes, and they widened just a fraction. When he averted his gaze and moved past me without a word, I realized I wasn’t supposed to know him, and he wasn’t supposed to know me. I sized up his two friends, each wearing a single braid down their back. They kept their eyes trained on the wall, uninterested in the dripping-wet woman who was gaping at them. I could smell rainwater on their clothes as they walked by and disappeared around the divider wall.
I faced forward and frowned at the bartender. “If you don’t like them, why not ban them?”
The bartender laughed and shook his head. “I got nothing against the tribes. They’re half my income. We got a bunch of old-timers living around here, though. The wall keeps everyone happy, and I don’t have to break up as many fights. Ain’t one of them complained about it.”
I lifted my root beer and gave him a mirthless smile. “That’s really progressive of you.”
The black-haired man on my right turned toward me and drummed his fingers on the bar. “Where you from?” he asked, his voice threaded with suspicion. He didn’t have the same twang as everyone else. His accent was a slow Southern drawl that told me he wasn’t local.
“Texas.”
He narrowed his eyes and smiled. “And your pack?”
“It’s rude to ask what my animal is.”
He scratched his five o’clock shadow. “I wasn’t asking. I was… making an assumption. Bitches are so easy to spot.”
Bitch wasn’t a word in my former pack’s vocabulary, but it was a common, innocuous term among Shifters. Despite his friendly banter, my head was still reeling from seeing Lakota. What are the odds?
It made sense that he was taking jobs where there were more tribes. He could easily blend into the fold. Having been raised in both cultures, Lakota would have no trouble relating to the nontribal outlaws as well.
But here, in the middle of nowhere? What kind of insidious crimes are happening at the corner of the white tree and the big rock?
Staring back at that sign was making my stomach roil. I’d always considered Hope’s family an extension of mine. Their culture was steeped in tradition, and it had never been an “us and them” situation. Racism existed among Breed, but it was between different animals or Breed types, not because of color or heritage. No one trusted Vampires, Mages and Chitahs were mortal enemies, Shifters were looked down upon because of our past as slaves, and Sensors weren’t taken seriously since their business practices were seen as perverse.
It made me ashamed to be sitting on the side I was, but something told me the resentment flowed both ways. The place had a history all its own that my brief visit and a few enlightening speeches weren’t going to change.
Jimmy returned to his seat and tossed his camo hat on the bar. “Someone tell them to keep it down,” he complained to the bartender. “A man can’t think with all that hootin’ and a-hollerin’.”
The noise on the opposite side of the wall amplified—boisterous laughter overlapping the chatter. The bartender left his station and disappeared around the corner. Moments later, the volume dropped just as fast as turning a dial down on a radio. He returned, filled two pitchers of beer, and disappeared again.
Rubbing my finger against the condensation on my glass, I asked the dark-haired man beside me, “Where are all the women?”
He shrugged. “Not many single girls in these parts.”
I chuckled. “So you keep them home, barefoot and pregnant?”
He cocked his head to the side. “Maybe a lady has no business being in a rowdy place like this.”
I glanced at the décor and sipped my drink. “I can’t say I blame them.”
“Sometimes a mated one comes in for a drink… without her mate. That usually stirs the pot. Are you tied to anyone?”
Since I really wasn’t in the mood for a personal interrogation about my love life, I kept stuffing cold fries into my mouth.
When he touched my hair, I drew back. “Hands off,” I said. “This isn’t a petting zoo.”
“Sorry. I mistook you for a peacock with that color.”
“Maybe you should buy a bottle for your mate.”
“Maybe.”
“A Shifter who’s truly in love wouldn’t be caught dead hitting on a stranger in a bar.”
“She doesn’t care what I do,” he said matter-of-factly. “We have an open relationship, and I’m always open to taking in another mate.”
While he rambled on, I couldn’t shake the image of Lakota out of my mind. My thoughts drifted back to many years ago when I’d lost my way in a snowstorm. I’d walked in circles on our property, unable to see in the darkness. I was cold and frightened—my pride and confidence stripped away. Then I remembered how Lakota appeared out of nowhere, like a knight on horseback. It was the first time I’d ever felt my heart quicken. The fates had always put him in the right place when I needed him, so it made me apprehensive as to why we were having yet another chance meeting.
“So what do you think?” the man asked.
I blinked at him. “What?”
A humored grin stretched across his face. His aquiline nose and large nostrils made his features appear narrower than most. He tucked his fist against his chin. “You didn’t hear a word I said, did you? What could be going on in that pretty little head of yours?”
“Maybe I was just coming up with solutions for the world’s energy crisis.”
A shadow appeared in the corner of my eye, and I peered over my shoulder. Lakota was facing the jukebox, his palms resting on the top as he leaned forward, shifting most of his weight to one leg. My gaze swung down to his ass, and normally I didn’t notice such a thing on men, but Lakota had a noteworthy frame. He wasn’t overly tall—just a few inches over me. I liked that. I’d always liked it when a man was closer to my level. It meant my face would fit perfectly in the crook of his neck.
Not that my face had spent much time in the crook of any man’s neck recently.
I couldn’t strip my eyes away from him. He was my best friend’s brother, and I had absolutely no business memorizing his ass.
Lakota slowly pushed a button, and the energy in the room fired up to the beat of “Cradle of Love” by Billy Idol.
He casually glanced over his left shoulder and locked eyes with mine. In that moment, something transpired between us. My entire body flushed with embarrassment, as if he could somehow sense I’d been admiring him. He drank me in, down to my shoes and back up to my eyes. I couldn’t see his mouth to tell if he was smiling, but his provocative gaze made my throat dry.
I jerked my head toward the mirror in front of me and took a swig of root beer. My hair was damp and tousled, my eyeliner smudged, and my tank top still wet. I casually swiped my finger beneath my eyes to fix my makeup, ignoring the fact that I could still feel him staring at me while Billy Idol screamed about teasing and pleasing.