I liked this man. If I had interpreted overheard conversations correctly, he had been Saint’s prospect once, and it made sense. He was quiet. Observant. Intuitive.
My favourite things.
I gripped the bottle, noting that he’d given me one that had not been chilled.He really does think I might use it as a weapon.
Cute. Intuitive, Decoy might’ve been, but on this, he was wrong. The pugnacious brother—Wheeler—would understand me if I wrapped a glass bottle around his skull, because I would be just like him.
But I was not like him.
I was like nothing he’d ever known.
Considering my options, I opened the bottle with the heel of my hand on the edge of the bar. Decoy swept the top away before I could blink, and I decided I liked him even more. “Tell me,” I murmured. “What usually happens if brothers disagree? Do they fight?”
“Sometimes. In the ring. It don’t happen often, though. If you lose, you gotta fight one of the council at a later date, and no fucker wants to do that.”
“Who is the best fighter on the council?”
“In the ring? Cam.”
Zero hesitation. And I believed Decoy. I’d never seen Cam box, but his fists were made for it. His stance. The brutal way he fucked. It all fit.
Saint was like me: a product of survival. No rules. No roots that he wanted to keep. Of them both, it was him I’d fear most.
If I could fear him at all. There was something alluring about succumbing to Saint Malone.
Maybe one day I would.
You are distracted by this man.
I was. It was strange how Saint could fill my thoughts when I’d made all the room I possessed for Cam, so certain I had nothing else.
Bemused, I returned my attention to Decoy. He still hovered close by, as if Saint had left a piece of himself behind. “Who is the best fighter of the group that believe I am something else?”
Decoy regarded the group behind me again. “Eric. Then Leon. The others are useful, but bitches when they take a punch.”
“Which one is Eric?”
“The massive one.”
I had seen bigger men, but Decoy’s description was easy to interpret. I set the warm beer bottle on the bar, forcing my fingers to loosen their grip. “And what is the protocol for resolving disputes?”
“You’re asking me?”
“You are here,” I countered. “Should I ask them?”
A ghost of humour flickered in Decoy’s flat expression. “If you want to fight one of them, you can call a challenge. Nash runs the ring. He’ll set it up.”
“Tonight?”
“If that’s what you want. Just don’t lamp anyone in the bar. Only Cam’s allowed to do that.”
Allowed. An interesting word that I disregarded immediately. Whatever I was in this world made no sense to these men, and I did not care. But I bowed to no one, not even Cam.
I was wearing black sweatpants, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a bomber jacket. I removed the jacket and laid it on the bar. “Look after this for me?”
Decoy nodded. “I got you.”
With no other brother I trusted in the room, I believed him. And despite not needing his back up, I appreciated the sentiment. I was a lone wolf, but the pack mentality Decoy possessed made the journey across the bar less lonely.