Borrowed Souls (Soul Charmer #1)(35)

Cowboy Boots wasn’t dressed for a night of Bollywood fun, but then she wasn’t either. Still, he would have fit in more deep in the desert than in the middle of Gem City. His black jeans were worn at the knees and tucked into his boots. He’d looked strong, until Derek stood next to him. It was hard to look tough next to a huge man in leather, though. She should know.

The source had knocked his shoulders back and puffed out his chest at Derek’s approach. What kind of man wouldn’t be scared of Derek? What kind of man was Cowboy Boots? Ford might not run away, but he had a league of hangers on and weapons she’d never heard of in his arsenal. Callie had been introduced to more mobsters and criminals in the last few weeks than she’d ever known existed. Despite her growing circle of associates, Cowboy Boots didn’t look familiar in the least. That was a good thing. Right?

She couldn’t hear their conversation over the live music and the hum of intermingling people, but with each passing second Cowboy Boots deflated a smidgen. Ford wouldn’t have folded that quickly. Callie’s scale for who was dangerous had certainly shifted, and under the new ranking Cowboy Boots wasn’t much of a threat. As long as he feared Derek enough to talk, she was in the clear.

Everyone else in the restaurant-turned-nightclub was in clusters, groups of friends, couples on dates, while she sat alone at her table with an empty beer bottle. Derek and Cowboy Boots had edged closer to one another, but the latter’s wide-eyed expression suggested he was giving up the goods. Derek didn’t need her right now. She did, however, need another drink. She left the comfort of the pillows and walked to the bar tucked in the back of the room. The hallway to the restrooms was to the right. Good to know.

Callie had brought her empty with her to the bar. An old boyfriend had once taken her to a place so fancy they got pissed if you bussed any of your table. She’d discovered the hard way when their shitty waiter wouldn’t bring him drinks, and she went in search on her own. Her boyfriend had been mortified, but it was more disgusting that they called out her lack of class. Callie avoided that kind of snobbery now. The bartender here didn’t mind. He gave her an impersonal smile as he collected the empty.

“Another?” he asked.

She nodded, and he diligently pulled one from the fridge and popped the cap for her.

He’d already moved on to helping another patron as she took her first pull. The alcohol didn’t work fast, but the habit helped her muscles ease anyway. Enjoying a night on the town could still be possible. The Charmer, by way of Derek, wasn’t making her collect souls tonight, and no one had turned her fingers into icicles in almost twenty-four hours. Hell, she even had a decent buzz going.

But a full day of non-suckage was never in the cards for Callie.

Nate’s breath hit the side of her face before she heard him. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Callie cringed and hoped he didn’t notice. Why would one of Ford’s goons be at a belly-dancing bar? Oh right, fate hated her. “Hey,” she mumbled. It was better to acknowledge him than risk him reporting anything back to his boss. At least this time it wasn’t a secret she was being watched.

“Didn’t know you were into shaking that ass. If I had, I’m sure we could have worked out some other deal.” Nate spoke as if he, and not his boss, was the one holding her brother hostage.

Sure, he’d been in the room when she’d met with Ford, but not at his side. She struggled to remember if she’d ever heard Nate speak when Ford was in the room. She didn’t think so, and she certainly hadn’t pegged him as someone who was allowed to make decisions. Then again, she did not know mob dynamics at all. Chances were, angering one angered them all, like bats or some shit.

“I don’t dance,” she said with all the manners she could muster, trying to shut down the skeeze. She shuffled-stepped to the side and angled herself to better face him.

He grabbed her upper arm and tugged her close again. “Aw, don’t disappoint me.”

Her stomach twisted. She needed to shift the conversation, and fast. Deflect. Humor. Whatever. “They haven’t even made it to the audience participation part of the night. Until then I know nothing.”

“I know some girls who could teach you a thing or two.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m good.” Her voice held steady, despite the sensation of liquid lead bubbling behind her kneecaps. Walking away now would be smart, but the desire to be smart didn’t outweigh stark reality: If she ran, she wouldn’t be the only one hurt.

“You could be better.” His eyes darted to her chest. He was picturing her naked on a pole, and she couldn’t stop him.

“I should get back.” If only her legs would work.

“You on a date?” His accusation was sharp, but it cut deeper because she wished the answer was yes.

“No—”

He cut her off. “You ain’t got time for dates. If you got time for dates, then you got time to be getting our shit. Unless maybe you don’t care so much about big brother.”

She held up her free hand to protest, but he ignored her and continued. “Maybe I should tell Ford you lied about needing time to get the essentials for the job.”

“I didn’t lie,” she snapped. The fear churning in her stomach had coalesced into straight-up fire. “I keep my promises, and when I’m done helping your boss you are never going to see me again.”