"And what are you doing here?" Saxton asked.
There was a long pause and eventually, Blay swung his eyes back up as he wondered why Qhuinn hadn't replied.
Oh. Right. Saxton wasn't addressing his cousin.
"You going to speak up there, Blay," Qhuinn prompted with a frown.
For the first time in. . . God, forever, it seemed. . . he went to fully meet his best friend's stare. Although it wasn't like he needed to brace himself. As always, those mismatched eyes were trained on someone else: Saxton was getting a once-over that would have rendered lesser males several inches shorter. But Qhuinn's cousin was either unaware of it or possibly didn't care.
"Do answer me, Blaylock," the male murmured.
Blay cleared his throat. "We're here to help a friend. "
"Admirable. " Saxton smiled, flashing a set of fangs that gleamed. "You know, I think we should go out sometime. "
Qhuinn's voice was mostly edge. "Sure. Sounds great. Here's my number. "
Just as he recited his digits, John, Trez, and iAm came back in. There were some introductions and conversating, but Blay stayed out of it, polishing off the Coke and putting his glass in the washer.
As he came
around the bar and passed the guy, Saxton reached out. "Good to see you again. "
On reflex, Blay clasped the palm that was offered. . . and after the shake, he realized there was a business card in his hand. As he covered his surprise, Saxton just smiled.
While Blay tucked the card into his pocket, Saxton turned his head and glanced at Qhuinn. "I'll be giving you a call, cousin. "
"Yeah. Sure. "
The good-bye-ing was considerably less friendly on Qhuinn's side, but again Saxton didn't seem to give a damn or didn't notice--the latter being hard to believe.
"Will you excuse me," Blay said, to no one in particular.
He left the restaurant by himself, and when he stepped out under the porte cochere, he lit up a cigarette and leaned back against the cool brick, bracing the sole of one boot on the building.
He took the card out as he smoked. Thick, creamy stock. Engraved, not embossed--naturally. Black, old- school font. As he lifted the thing to his nose, he could smell that cologne.
Nice. Very nice. Qhuinn didn't believe in the stuff. . . so he just smelled like leather and sex most of the time.
As he tucked the card inside his jacket, he took another drag and exhaled long and slow. He wasn't used to being looked at. Or approached. He was always the one doing the focusing and Qhuinn had been the target for as long as he could remember.
The doors burst open and his boys walked out.
"Man, I hate cigarette smoke," Qhuinn muttered, waving away the cloud that had just been exhaled.
Blay extinguished his Dunhill on his boot heel and tucked the half- finished length into his pocket. "Where we off to?"
The Xtreme Park, John signed. The one close to the river. And they've given us another lead, which is going to take a couple of days to set up.
"Isn't that park in gang territory?" Blay asked. "Aren't there a lot of police around?"
"Why worry about the cops?" Qhuinn laughed in a hard burst. "If we get into trouble with the CPD, Saxton can always come bail us out. Right?"
Blay glanced over, and this time, he should have braced himself. Qhuinn's blue-and-green stare was boring into him and, as it registered, that old, familiar thrill licked into his chest.
God. . . this was who he loved, he thought. And always would.
It was the thrust of that stubborn jaw, and the dark, slashing eyebrows, and those piercings up his ear and in his full lower lip. It was that thick, glossy black hair and the golden skin and that heavily muscled body. It was the way he laughed and the fact that he never, ever cried. It was the scars on his inside no one knew about and the conviction that he would always be the first to run into a burning building or a bloody fight or a car wreck.