Night Game (GhostWalkers, #3)(36)

“Maybe James needs his father to object to his choices to make himself feel more important or to enjoy her humiliation.”

“And prove to himself that he was above everyone else. He’s a rat bastard,” Flame declared.

“We don’t know for certain,” Gator pointed out. “And for the record, have you ever referred to me as a rat bastard?”

“Yes, several times, but in a different way. He’s a slimeball rat bastard. You’re just a plain old garden variety man-type rat bastard.”

“Thanks for clarifying.”

“Anytime.” She smirked at him.

“Flame?”

“I’m going now.”

“Put the knife away.”

She glanced down at her hand. She’d pulled the knife without even being aware of it when Comeaux had nearly plowed into her. She held it low, blade up, close to her body, already in a fighting stance, light on the balls of her feet, “You don’t like it?”

“It’s sexy as hell, cher, but I don’ want these men to get the idea you’re a wild woman. I’d be in a fight every night. Go home where I don’t have to worry about you.”

She turned her back to the club and slipped the knife away, glancing over her shoulder at him. “You mean they’d like it if they knew I carried a knife.”

“They’d be lining up to marry you.”

She flashed him a tentative smile, the first time she looked less than assured. “You’re a little bit crazy, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Keep that in mind before making any decisions to cheat on me after we’re married with several children and you think life is too tame.” The moment the teasing words slipped out, he knew he’d blown it. A man named Whitney had taken her past from her and as far as he knew, the man had probably taken her future as well.

Her smile faltered for all of a microsecond and then it was back in place as she stepped aboard the airboat. Have fun, Raoul.” She waved toward the brawling men. Ian stood taller than most of them and stood out easily fighting at Wyatt’s back. “I know you’re dying to join in.”

“You want me to escort you home, cher?” He didn’t want her to go. He wanted to hold her, keep her safe somehow. Change her life. Change her mind about him.

She shook her head regretfully. “I’m not falling for the gentlemanly act. You just want to know where I live.”

“Where do you live?” He watched her start the boat, his heart beating too hard and the urge to stop her so strong he was afraid to move, afraid he might actually try to stop her. She was heartbreaking and she was lethal.

She froze, turning her head so that her gaze met his squarely. “Did you plant a homing device on the airboat?”

“Of course.” He flashed her a cocky grin and forced his body to move away from her, back toward the fighters. Behind him he heard her mutter something rude that sounded suspiciously like “rat bastard,” but he didn’t turn around. As he waded through the combatants, he heard the airboat retreating down the canal.

“Bout time you showed up,” Wyatt called, grinning unrepentantly at him. He took a solid punch on the jaw that made Gator wince.

Gator spun around the man who’d hit his brother and landed a one-two punch combination that dropped him to the ground. Ducking a wild fist he shoved someone hard and managed to make it across the last couple of feet to Wyatt.

“So if you had to choose between being slimeball rat bastard”—he jerked his head aside to escape another fist and lashed out with his foot, dropping his opponent—“or a common garden variety man-type rat bastard, which would you choose, Wyatt?”

Catching one of the two men driving his brother backward, he tossed him aside and went after the second man. Wyatt bent over, catching his breath, grinning as Gator easily dropped his adversary. “Watching you fight is a thing of beauty, Gator.” He rubbed his sore jaw. “I’d be the slimeball, bro. I wouldn’t want anyone thinking I was common, you know?”

Gator hit him square on the jaw, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. Wyatt crawled over to the wall and fished around until he found the beer he’d brought out with him. Sitting on the ground he leaned his head back and grinned. “Guess that was the wrong answer. You didn’t score, did you, bro?”

“Shut up before I break that bottle over your head.” Gator shoved another victim out of his way and stomped inside.

The club was in a bit of disarray and he righted a couple of chairs on the way to the bar. “Great night, Delmar,” Gator said. “I could use another drink. Most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

“The boys needed to release a little frustration. You got yourself a beautiful woman there, but she goin’ to bring you trouble. Lots of trouble, that one.”

Gator grinned at him. “She’s got a knife. A great big knife. I make her mad enough she shows me that knife.”

Delmar whistled softly. “You’re one lucky man, Gator. Don’ go blowin’ this one. I never understood why all the women find you so purty.”

Gator tossed back his drink and put the glass on the bar, winking at the owner. “I’m charmin’, that’s why. Catch you later.”

Delmar snorted his derision. Gator stepped away from the bar, hesitated and turned back “Answer me this, Del mar. If you had to choose between being a slimeball rat bastard, or a common garden variety man-type rat bastard, which would you be?”