Folsom (End of Men, #1)(13)

“Thank you, Folsom,” she says when I pause in front of her. The sincerity in her voice throws me and I stand there for a full minute not knowing what to say.

“Your driver is waiting,” she says, breaking the silence.

I’m at the door when she calls my name. I pause halfway out the door and see she’s walking toward me.

She dusts some imaginary lint from the lapels of my coat. It’s so distinctly maternal that a pang of something rips through me. I immediately want a drink. She folds her lips together and shakes her head sadly.

“Out of the two of them I’m pulling for Gwen,” she says, softly.

I don’t know why she’s telling me this. I hold her eyes for a minute before nodding once and ducking out the door. The car is waiting just outside, my driver leaning against the front side smoking a cigarette. When she sees me, she tosses it to the ground, shrugging. Smoking is forbidden across the Regions. Anything that shortens the human lifespan or affects fertility is strictly forbidden. She holds the door open and I slide into the backseat, my eyes still on the house.

“Back to the compound, sir?” she asks.

“No,” I say. “Take me to a bar. It doesn’t matter where.” She glances at me in the rearview mirror before pulling down the long drive.

“I have to remind you, sir, that you have your lottery drawing tonight and I’ve been advised that you should show up for the drawing sober…also, we don’t have your security detail with us…”

“Take me to a goddamn bar and don’t worry about my sobriety,” I snap.

I see her nod once before I press the button to raise the partition between us. The End Men have very few rules we are expected to abide by, and those we do have are mostly ignored. If we do our job, they are willing to turn a blind eye toward our indiscretions. The more children you father, the more favor you receive, and I’ve fathered a lot of fucking kids.

When I step out of the car, I’m standing in front of a giant fish tank. My driver stares at me sourly.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Sera,” she replies curtly.

“I’m sorry, Sera. For earlier.”

Her face relaxes at once and I smile at her, relieved that I didn’t burn that bridge. A year is a long time to spend with someone who hates you.

“What is this place?” I ask, looking up at the glass walls. Large fish swim lazily around the tank, weaving between electric red coral.

“It’s a bar. You told me to take you to a bar.”

“Yes, I did,” I say, glancing at her. I can’t tell if she’s being a smart ass, so I head toward the door, hands in my pockets. The door opens before I can reach it and two women spill out, clutching each other and laughing. Their jaws drop when they see me.

“A little early to be drunk, ladies,” I say, as I walk past them.

One of them recovers quicker than the other. “Speak for yourself,” she calls after me. They erupt in a fit of laughter, which is abruptly cut off when the door closes behind me.

Once inside I stop short to catch my bearings. The effect is similar to being underwater and would be peaceful if not for the thumping music pounding through the speakers. The light moves in blue and silver shadows around me as I walk toward the nearest stool. Overhead, fish of every color move gracefully through the water, fanning their paper-thin fins. The Red Region: the wealthiest have money to spare. I study the bottles of liquor in amazement. I’m surprised Jackal ever left this place. The last Region I was stationed in had one bar that served moonshine in glass jars. The roof was made out of tin, and if it rained there were a dozen spots you had to avoid if you didn’t want to get wet.

The bartender is jarred when she sees me but quickly hides her surprise, ambling over while still polishing a glass. Her head is shaved, and her face pierced. I like her on sight.

“Well, well, what an honor,” she says, dryly. “Welcome to our humble establishment.”

“Bourbon straight,” I say. “A not so humble pour.”

She nods before moving away to locate a bottle. She comes back with a full rocks glass and I nod at her gratefully. I take out money to pay her, but she waves it off.

“We’re just so grateful for your jizz, man. Don’t worry about it.” She does a little bow, and I can’t help but laugh. “You made it just in time for happy hour.” She points to the clock and I have to spin around on my barstool to see it.

“How bad?” I ask her.

She makes a face. “In about ten minutes at least a hundred women will be all over your dick. Lucky man.”

She winks at me, and before I can respond she’s moved away and I’m left wondering if she’s exaggerating.

I find out ten minutes later when women start pouring through the door, stopping short when they see me. I move to the far corner of the bar, out of sight, and the bartender gives me the thumbs up like it was a wise choice. I have one sip left of my drink when someone slides into the stool next to me and picks up my glass, draining the last of my bourbon.

“Only sad people drink alone.”

I turn to see Gwen grinning at me. She shakes my empty glass and says, “Buy me another. I lost my virginity today.”





EIGHT





GWEN


“Should you be drinking?” he asks me.