Page 23 of Cold Foot King
But with King? How could she argue with anything he’d just said? Those were the admissions of a bad monster who was a good man. She could understand him a little better just with that one pop. It felt like he’d socked her right in her mind.
Okay.
Okay.
She blinked hard and searched for her anger, but it was gone. A man who praised her for being a badass, but was telling her she would still have a quiet enforcer behind her, forcing respect if anyone stepped out of line on her? She wanted to be stubborn and snap at him to leave her alone forever, but hewasleaving her alone. He wasn’t being controlling. He was telling her to go to a bar by herself and…how had he put it? Just breathe?
Rook hadn’t let her go anywhere alone.
Completely mind-fucked, she turned toward a lit-up sign at the edge of the tree line that read Moody Lantern. Shuffling her feet to draw a line in the snow behind her, she made her way slowly toward the little bar, thoughts loud and swirling around in her head.
He’d liked it? She understood. She’d been wrestling with the same confusion. She hadn’t wanted to admit it to herself, much less out loud, but he had found the courage to admit to a horror.
She glanced back, but he had already disappeared into the hotel.
If they both enjoyed it, was it wrong at all?
King was very different than she’d thought.
There were a few shifters hanging outside, but they were polite enough—just nodded as she offered a two-fingered wave. Inside, she took a few moments to stomp the snow off her boots on the mat and look around. It was warm in here, and there was a fire going in the huge hearth. The bar was small, made up of just two rooms—one with the bar top, and one with a couple pool tables. The tables were full, and the chatter from the pool players was laid-back and jovial. Cigarettes hung from mouths, the clack of the cue ball hitting another was loud, and the music drifting to her ears was thanks to a grizzled, bearded man sitting on a stool on a small stage in the corner, picking at a banjo.
Just breathe.
A smile stretched her lips, and she exhaled a breath.
The bartender was a tall woman with a curt nod as a greeting as Katrina took a seat in front of her.
“I know what you are,” the bartender said. “There’s rules here. No fighting. I’m already up to my eyeballs in cleanup tonight.” She gestured to a broken table and chairs near the window.
“Geez. It’s a little early for that.”
“You shifters put us through it,” she said in a monotone as she poured a beer from the tap into a frosty glass.
“I’m Kat,” she said. “I won’t be breaking anything. Today has already been weird enough.”
The woman snorted. “Yeah, prison breaks can be a little draining, I can imagine.”
Surprised, Kat asked, “How do you know about that?”
“The town signed off on this little experiment.”
“Why would you do that?” she asked, but the bartender made her way down the bar with the beer and set it in front of a tall man with strange eyes that she recognized from the meeting. He lifted his beer to Kat, then drank and went back to ignoring her. Perfect.
“Because we voted at a town meeting, and it seemed like the right thing to do. I’ve heard rumors about experiments on your kind in Cold Foot Prison for years. Someone needed to break that place wide open. The bad ones are still locked up. That was the deal. Damon wasn’t allowed to let monsters in our town. Plus he paid us enough to keep the town going for a few years. Money talks. I got a raise. Of course I voted to let you freaks spend a few days in town.”
She smiled and nodded. “Fair enough.”
“What are you drinking?”
Kat glanced over her shoulder at the busted table and chairs, lying there in splinters. “Definitely not shots. You know, you could save yourself some trouble by refusing them shots. We’ve been locked up. Some of us aren’t going to have any chill.”
She snorted. “I learned my lesson.” She canted her head. The woman was weather-worn, with deep wrinkles etched into her skin, and blue eyes that had come to life through the conversation. “You know, it’s nice to have a woman in here. Deadhorse is mostly men. It’s oil workers filling up that hotel most of the time.”
Kat held up her hands. “My cellmate painted my nails in prison. If you need a touch of feminine, I have arrived.”
The lady laughed and introduced herself at last. “I’m Ruth.”
“Good to meet you, Ruth.”