12. Kai

TWELVE

Kai

I stepped into The Retreat, my eyes adjusting to the dim light after the snowy darkness outside. This dive of a bar, with faded posters and an air of decay, was the polar opposite of Cedar Ridge's other bar, which was more family-friendly. The Retreat was where the loggers and miners came to drink away their troubles. The walls held relics from the town's rugged history, and the air was thick with the smell of stale beer and sawdust, a faint trace of tobacco smoke hanging despite no visible cigarettes.

I was frustrated, to say the least. It had been a week since Indigo—bad-girl extraordinaire, and not in a sexy way—hinted she might hire me, but nothing had come of it. I'd been hanging around, trying to seem tough and capable, but so far, all I'd gotten were a few nods and sidelong glances. I knew I looked the part—I've made sure of it—but something wasn't clicking.

Hence tonight's plan, which was all on Zach and was about as fucked up as it was possible to get. If this shit got back to Shadow Team and the new head honcho, Ethan, we'd never hear the end of it.

I could hear the fight the moment I stepped inside, and at the center of it was a tall, slim guy with copper hair. He was throwing hits randomly, drunk, yelling his lungs out, drawing everyone's attention, cursing, his punches wide of the mark. Most of the other patrons were giving him space, watching with a mix of amusement and caution, but it was the two guys getting up into his face I zeroed in on.

Bulldog was like his name suggested, right out of a henchman's playbook—tall, wide, a thug, there was nothing clever about him—and he was laughing at the man who was beating on them with wild, inaccurate throws of a loose, sloppy fist. Viper was calmer, laughing, dodging punches with ease, but at least his hand wasn't on his weapon. Hell, neither of them were acting as if the redhead was anything but some drunk.

I sauntered over as if I had all the time in the world, bumping into Bulldog and causing him to stumble, easing past Viper and then shoving him back. Then I was between Red and the bad guys.

"The hell?" I snapped, my hand on my weapon, legs apart, knees bent .

"Out of the fucking way, KD," Viper snarled, his easygoing laughter turning into something more. "This fairy's owed a beatdown."

I pressed my other palm to Viper's chest. "Don't touch the pretty." Shit. Where had that come from? That wasn't my line, but I could take the fact he stalled for a moment in shock as a win.

Fuck the script. I'd fix that mess up later.

"‘Pretty'? Shit, KD, never took you for some kind of fa?—"

"Don't finish that sentence," I snapped before he got to finish the curse.

Viper's gaze flickered from me to the man trying to punch him and then back. "The fuck?" he cursed and attempted to shove past me, but Red sidestepped a hand to Viper's arm and caused him to tumble face-first into the bar. I tried to help Viper. My foot caught him, and he crashed into a bar stool. I heard the crack, heard his yell of pain.

"Shit, KD!" Bulldog blinked and held out a hand to help me up, which I took as I brushed myself off. We stared down at an unconscious Viper, and I shrugged and then faked surprise. "I'm gonna kill him!" Bulldog said and then reached past me to grasp Red's arm and yank him close.

I slipped between them, stumbling, the bar holding us, lurching into Bulldog's space until he released his hold on Red and was instead staring at me .

"That asshole?—"

"Leave it," I ordered, but no, Bulldog had to pull out his gun and point it at Red who was watching, wobbling a little, drunk off his ass. I took the gun from Bulldog as easy as candy from a baby, stepping back and crunching poor, unfortunate Viper's hand.

Viper groaned, Bulldog winced, hands up, staring at me with the gun, and after ensuring the safety was on, I handed it back to him.

"No guns," I muttered, and waved at the people in the bar, likely watching us. "If Indigo or Kozlov find out…" I left it at that, and Bulldog, not the brightest bulb in the box, shuddered. Throwing out the name of the Russian heading up this shitshow and that of his psychotic second-in-command was enough to have him taking a pause.

Only then he directed his anger at Red, who was still there, right next to us, looking all shocked and shit.

"Fag got in Viper's face, tried to fucking kiss him, filthy f?—"

"Take Viper and get the fuck out."

"He needs to pay. I'm gonna take him out back," Bulldog muttered, his gun hand lifting, as if the threat of retribution from his bosses wasn't enough. Next to me, Red stiffened. Viper moaned some more and attempted to get to his knees, and Bulldog's hand was tight on his Sig.

I grabbed Red by the hair and yanked him down to me, kissing him, all tongues, shoving him back to the bar, then facing Bulldog, whose mouth was wide open.

"Mine," I announced. "You have something you wanna say?" I unclipped my holster, my fingers light on the cold butt of my HK. "Wanna tell me again what you wanna do to people like him?"

For a moment, I saw a flare of disgust in Bulldog's eyes, then temper, and just as quick, he went icy chill, holstered his gun, and held his hands in front of him. "Shit, no, you do you," he muttered, then spat on the floor at my feet.

Red draped himself over me, laughing in my ear, licking his lower lip, and Bulldog threw me a look filled with so much disgust I could have laughed loud and long. Asshole. He killed people for the hell of it and knocked them six ways to Sunday until they were bloody messes, yet he didn't like a little man-on-man action of the sexy kind.

"You need to get your friend out of here." I pointed at Viper, all snot and blood, attempting to stand, his battered flight jacket with all its fake badges of honor torn and loose over one shoulder. His broken nose had bloodied his face. At least a couple of ribs were cracked—if I'd done it right—and he had a broken left arm. He wouldn't be piloting a helo any time soon.

I helped Viper stand, saw his pain, and then felt a flood of satisfaction he was out of the way now. Then with a few pats on the bits I knew had to hurt like a bitch—hell, the guy was an asshole—I hurried him and Bulldog out. Bulldog hovered at the door, tipping his chin, staring down his nose at me, and I could see his thought process had stalled somewhere around me kissing a man, and his buddy Viper ending up out of commission. I wasn't sure what worried him most.

"Beer," I asked the barman, turning my back on Red and downing half of the shitty beer in the dirty glass in one go. Then I slammed it down so hard the remaining beer sloshed on my hand as I attempted to gather my thoughts, working the possibilities, wondering if Bulldog was out there with his gun, or whether he'd taken Viper back to the hotel.

Either way, I was prepared. I grabbed Red by the arm, then let him go just as fast when he leaned on me. "You're coming with me."

"Dude!" the barman called. "He's wasted, I can't let you?—"

"I'm okay!" Red straightened, and winding his free arm around my waist.

"I'm getting him out for air," I lied.

"I called the sheriff." Oh great. "I need to tell?—"

"No one," I warned. "You're telling no one about any of this shit," I snarled, channeling all my inner pissed-off bad guy, my hand back on my gun. "Anyone asks, you tell 'em KD had it sorted. Okay?"

"Sure, sure, KD," the barman said, all placating and smiles .

But I knew as soon as I left that he'd be on the phone to Indigo, giving her a roundup of the night. Me taking a clearly inebriated man out of there to do god knows what to him was another score on the disreputable card, added to the fact Indigo had lost one of her pilots. Leaving the door open for me to take his place, queer or not.

As we reached the door, the sheriff walked in, and our eyes met. Sheriff Allinson wasn't a bad guy, but he was close to retiring and didn't want to get involved with what the mayor was doing, nor with the whole Kozlov operation on his doorstep. He was harmless, ineffective, but he at least knew why Zach and I were here in town. He frowned at me, almost said something, but I barged past him and dragged Red out of the door, my gaze roaming the barely lit sidewalk, Red quiet, as we hobbled down the road, toward his place. He unlocked the door, and I dragged him inside, and then shut it behind us.

My beaten and inebriated companion stood, straight as a freaking arrow, growling at me, his eyes blazing, and I couldn't help the snort of laughter as Red became my partner, Zach.

"What the fuck!" Zach snapped.

"It's our new cover," I smirked.

Then Zach punched me in the face.

Ouch.