Borrowed Souls (Soul Charmer #1)(9)

“Right. You could wait—” He trailed off, his dark gaze fixed on two guys walking near his bike. When they moved past, any hint of comradery had been snuffed, and he continued with his stereotypically deep rumble. “Well, I’m not in the mood to fight.”

She doubted that. The boots on his feet were made for kicking ass, and she’d bet a soul rental that he had at least one weapon hidden under all that denim and leather. She wasn’t about to call him on it, though. “Kay.”

He opened the door, stepping inside, and Callie followed, dropping into The Fall with him.

She hadn’t been lying about never stepping foot in The Fall, but that didn’t mean she was unfamiliar with the bar. Its reputation was whispered about at the places she frequented. In Gem City, there were a few different kinds of places to grab a drink. First were the “dive bars,” where rich kids went to blow their parents’ money and line bartenders’ pockets with $2 tips on $1 Pabst Blue Ribbons. Then, there were shitty watering holes where actual poor people went. The dimly lit establishments served the same drinks as the dives, but the music was better and there sure weren’t any Bentleys parked around the corner. They were places you went for cheap drinks. Callie liked those kinds of bars. It wasn’t just that she didn’t have money—though, that was definitely a factor—she genuinely liked the people. The patrons at her kind of bars were respectful if you didn’t want to talk. They were fine if you refused a drink. They also wouldn’t hesitate to warn you that there were much safer places to go than The Fall.

Callie wasn’t surprised to see brick red stains on the concrete floor. The Fall was the kind of bar you went to for a fight. The blood splatters had lost their vibrant color with age, and it’s not like they would be sticky, but she still did her best to avoid stepping on them, like some fucked up version of avoiding the cracks in the sidewalk. A year ago, would she have ever thought she’d be in this situation right now? She clung to the pious belief she was only here for Josh. Family was all you had sometimes, through thick and thin. This was definitely the thin.

Callie stayed close to Derek as he moved through the room. He was big enough to silently command people to step aside for him, and she took advantage of his wake. He led them to a booth pressed against the far wall, far away from the bar itself, which was fine by her. She wouldn’t put a beer bottle from The Fall to her lips if she had a gun to her head. Even the cheap plastic cups she saw littering tables looked suspect. This was the kind of place where the bartender would drug you himself, and you’d wake in the alley without your wallet, or your kidney. No. Thank you.

“So, what now?” Callie did her damnedest to focus on Derek, and not the way the cushion beneath her sagged to the left.

“We wait.” He had a knack for short answers. Lovely.

“For?”

He’d been glaring at the entrance, but he cut a look her way that about sliced her in half. “Too many ears,” was all he said. It was enough.

She decided his silence was keeping her as safe as possible in a shithole like this. So, instead of bothering him with more questions or counting the minutes, she surveyed the room. She wasn’t the only one skipping church services that night. Most people were clustered at the bar. The conversations were physical. Sharp nods, harsh elbows, fists slamming down. Callie drew in a deep breath before glancing up at the dirty ventilation system in the ceiling and shuddering. She couldn’t afford to catch whatever plague simmered in here.

Derek’s fingers wrapped around the edge of the table. His knuckles turned white, but he didn’t move. A short, skinny guy had walked in the door a few moments earlier, and Derek watched him with an intensity that would turn most to dust. The guy sidled up to the bar, rested one elbow on the dark surface, and ordered a shot.

Callie opened her mouth to ask who he was, but Derek was on his feet. He took one step in the man’s direction, and then looked over his shoulder at her. He’d forgotten she was there; the conflict in his eyes told her as much. “Stay here.” The words cut through gnashed teeth. She wasn’t going to argue.

Derek stalked to the bar. The recognition on the skinny guy’s face was obvious. He began to fidget, tucking his hair behind his ear over and over, the length not long enough to stay put. Derek’s bulk cast the type of shadow that could force someone to forget how long their own hair was.

A voice yanked her attention away from Derek. “You’re new.”

Callie turned, intending to let whomever it was know what a piss-poor pickup line he’d used, until she saw the man who had spat it at her. He drove his knuckles into the table, her table, and leaned close. His scraggly beard couldn’t hide the worn lines on his face, or the caustic smell of three-day whiskey breath.

“You here for a good time or somethin’?” He leered even closer. Callie tried not to breathe, but the necrotic air surrounding him still found its way into her nostrils. “Why don’t you have a drink, girl?”

She bolted. Callie had spent her high school years slipping under chain link fences for a variety of bad reasons, but the skill paid off now. She slid past the man, squeezing her abs tight enough to turn them to stone to make sure her tummy didn’t graze any part of his body. She did a stiff run-walk directly to Derek.

“Give me McCabe’s new address and we can be done, Mike. It’s that easy.” Callie barreled into Derek right as he laid into the guy bellied up to the bar. She’d meant to stop sooner, but the threat of the filthy asshole behind her overrode her brain. Derek, surprised, nevertheless turned and caught her with solid strength. He curled his fingers to cup her shoulders and held her until she steadied.