“Killian, are you sleeping?”
Tiana startled from her doze with an embarrassing snore.
Roland stared at her, dressed down in a simple shirt and jacket, with pants tucked into ball breaking boots. His hair was slung into a bun at the back of his head, rubbed full of dirt an unappealing shade of brown.
He was good enough to eat.
“Next time you should use beet juice on your hair,” Tiana yawned, stretching her arms above her head, leather armor tugging painfully across her chest beneath. The stretch felt too damn good to care. She smacked her lips. “I always find a thug with pink hair terrifying, personally.”
“Where are we going tonight?” he asked gruffly, looking a bit peaky himself, jaw rigid as he held back the mirror yawn to hers.
“It’s better if you don’t hold it in,” Tiana advised, winking.
He glared at her, but as soon as she turned away, strolling, she saw him open his mouth in a terrifying chasm, shaking himself like a dog after.
It was good to know she’d tired him out too. Only, she was still damn sore, and quite frankly, still rearing to go. If only he was game enough to go after her brother, maybe she could swing it.
Stifling the disturbing but alluring thought, she pushed her hood back, running fingers through the dried grease. “We’re meeting up with Opie and Asha with plans to drink ourselves into an unsightly stupor.”
“Do you lot do anything but drink?”
“Aye,” she said. “Occasionally we puke, then drink.”
Roland merely shook his head, his strides a bit difficult for Tiana to keep, even despite the lift her shoes gave her.
“When do I get to see Blood Alley?”
Tiana snorted. “When I think you could survive it.”
“I can survive anything.”
“Oh, you poor, naive little princeling. If I was trying to get you killed and myself hanged, I would bring you there. But if you want to know a secret, most of the time it’s where we go to sleep, drink and fart. Honestly, your princely nerves would be on absolute edge.”
“That’s hardly frightening.”
“You haven’t smelled Opie’s farts,” Tiana said darkly.
“You mean he hasn’t had the pleasure.”
Opie sprang from a doorway, yelling, “Boo!” at Roland, hands in the air, an unlit cigarette jammed in the corner of his mouth, held securely between his front teeth.
“Ah,” deadpanned Roland.
Tiana fought a smile into a smirk, unsurprised when a moment later, the door to their apartment building opened and Asha stepped to the stoop to survey them and the street beyond.
“Asha, I totally got him!”
“Asha, were you waiting inside until he was done?” asked Tiana.
“Yes.”
“How long were you waiting?”
“Long enough to plan his murder.”
“Well enough to get away with it?”
“Cleanly.”
“How clean?”
“Squeaky; with time to plan my escape, map out my journey and set down plans for my beach house of seven bedrooms, the floorplans and where I wanted to import each bit of furniture from.”
“Curtain hangings?”
Asha shrugged, ignoring Opie’s pout. “It was next on my agenda.” Her eyes flicked to Roland, eyes gleaming. She smirked. “Hello, Luther. Good to see you.”
“Hello, Asha,” said Roland, meeting the clash of Asha’s sunshine yellow eyes with a smirk.
Opie howled. “Poor prince Roland! Ditched for the scum of the Sludge, Luther Ciclo!”
“I’m sure you could always comfort him, Opie,” suggested Tiana. “I can figure a way to get you two in touch if you’d like?”
Roland shot a glare at her, which she ignored.
“Hmm,” Opie considered. “Does it involve me getting arrested?”
“Not all plans involve you getting arrested, Opie.”
“All of mine do!” he chirped. “But I’ll consider your lame plan of not getting arrested.”
“I swear you enjoy it,” muttered Asha, closing the door and locking it.
“They feed you, you can stare at some good looking, arrogant guards, and one of them, big hairy bloke, he taught me how to win each hand at poker.”
“Oh, yeah, which one was that?” asked Roland.
Opie put his finger to his nose, wiggling his eyebrows. “If you want to learn, young one, you must first be arrested and then, and only then, do you deserve to know how to properly cheat at poker.”
“It isn’t winning if you cheat.”
Opie gasped; Asha chuckled and Tiana shook her head.
“Luther, who hurt you?”
“Pardon?”
“Please don’t tell us poor baby Luth grew up in some harem full of crazy, gods-loving, people bettering, nincompoops?”
“Do you mean a church?”
“Shh! Don’t even say the word!” He rounded on Tiana. “Where the hell did you even find this lunatic, Killian?”
Tiana shrugged non-committedly. Better for her to be vague. They’d accept that easier. It was in character. And being in charge, she hardly was expected to explain herself. Which, parts of her hated it, because she did truly care for both Asha and Opie and knew neither of their lives had been filled with trustworthy people and she herself was one they did trust.
“Which bar are we looting tonight?” asked Tiana, pushing the conversation away from that.
“The Sevenths?” Opie suggested hopefully, finally nicking a match from his sleeves and lighting it like it were a magic trick.
“A brothel is not a bar.”
“Sure it is, you can get a drink and lay down for a nap—only there, it is a much more delightful experience than passing out underneath a table.” He hesitated. “Well, unless you’re Asha and all you like to do is sleep under tables.”
Asha rolled her eyes and said to Roland, “That was one time.”
“And Opie spiked her drink with dust.”
Opie feigned offense at the accusation.
Asha, on the other hand, had her knife out in a flash and it pressed under Opie’s chin in a heartbeat. “What?”
Opie held up his hands, Roland halted, hand on his sword, tense. Eyes darting from the two of them and to Tiana to see if there was anything their leader would do. As if.
“Aww, come on Asha, I’m falsely accused. I’m innocent I tell you. Innocent!”
Asha merely stared at him, eyes bright and narrow.
Opie winced and muttered. “It was only a pinch and you and that girl had just broken up—”
Lightning quick, Asha slashed her knife across Opie’s face.
Opie yowled in pain, dropping to his knees. “Asha! You sliced my cigarette!” He held the severed nub in his cupped hands, mournfully gazing up at his roommate.
Asha stuck a finger in his face. “Don’t. Drug. Me.”
“But what if—” She lifted her knife threatening and Opie flinched, promising, “Fine, fine, fine! Just not the cigarette!”
Mollified, Asha stepped around him and came to Tiana’s side, the pair of them continuing on their stroll.
Weakly, behind them, they heard Opie ask, “Luther, do you think we should bury it?”
“What?”
A sniffle. “You know, have a funeral.”
Tiana didn’t hear the answer as they turned the corner.
“He’d been trying to help,” she said, grinning. “Of course, to most people, fixing a broken heart isn’t solved by drugging your friend unconscious, but with Opie, I’m sure it came from a loving place.”
Asha growled. “My heart was not broken.”
“You did seem pretty cut up—”
“I was not!” she snapped.
Tiana held up her hands, realizing Asha was actually mad. “Sorry, didn’t mean to poke you. I thought you’d find it funny.”
Asha scoffed. “Drugs aren’t funny.”
“Asha, you sell them.”
“Yeah,
but I don’t laugh at them.”
“Look—”
“Please, shut up, Killian. It’s a shitty story and moral of it is, I don’t do drugs. Got it?”
“Aye, Don,” Tiana said, smirking.
Asha whorled, an apology already on her lips, but Tiana waved her off. “Down, doggie. I was kidding. It was my bad for prying. Yeah, I’ll be your Don someday, Asha, but you’re still my friend first. Well, technically you were Tiana’s, but you’re mine now.”
They began walking again, already hearing Opie babbling in their wake.
“Have you heard from her recently?”
“Tiana?”
“Aye.”
Tiana blew out a breath of air, feeling instead as if Asha were asking her if she’d heard from Killian lately. She supposed to answer was meant to be the same either way.
“No.”
“Do you think she’s fine, you know, wherever she is?”
“I’m sure whatever she’s doing, she’s making the best of it.” Tiana nudged Asha’s shoulder. “Don’t tell me you miss her. She’d hate that.”
“Just isn’t the same, is all,” Asha muttered.
“I swear to the gods, Asha, if you cry, I’ll cry and will be forced to think the world’s ended and that I would have a chance with your Prince Roland.”
“Prince Roland and I would never have worked.”
“You’d have made great babies, though,” said Tiana, grinning.
“You know,” said Asha, glancing behind them. “I think Luther and I’d make better ones.”
Tiana didn’t know why this panicked her and joking about Roland didn’t, but before she could help it, she’d blurted, “He’s interested in Opie.”
Asha did the closest thing she could to tripping, too graceful to do even that.
“What?”
Tiana cleared her throat, torn between wild laughter and hitting herself. “Yup,” she finally managed. “Big ol’ crush on our Opiate.”
“Really?”
Tiana nodded.
“Damn,” muttered Asha.
Tiana slapped her friend on the back. “Next time, tiger.”
“Just make sure you bring one in who’s just as pretty,” she said sulkily. “I want cute babies.”
“I’ll try my best.”
Asha sighed. “Still, what a shame. He’s in for some disappointment.”
“And why is that?”
Asha snorted. “Because Opie’s convinced he’s in love with you, Killian.”
Chapter 16
Roland was having a hard time competing with Opie. Frankly, he wasn’t sure why he was doing it, perhaps it was because he’d spent hours pouring over this lunatic’s file and now whenever the Red League’s mad dog poured him a drink, he drank it.
“If you aren’t careful, he’ll drink you under the table,” Killian said, smirking, eyes sparkling with amusement.
“Do you wear optics?” asked Roland, leaning in close to Killian and squinting into the man’s eyes.
“Whoa,” said Killian, leaning back and swatting at the air in front of his nose. “Your breath could wake the dead.”
Roland grinned and whispered to the gangster. “I will beat Opie,” he said.
Killian scoffed, glancing to where Opie was now clambering onto the bar, singing a ballad to the wench behind the counter, clutching his heart and kicking in legs in some sort of inefficient jive.
“Opie’s been drinking since he could talk,” said Killian, pouring a glug of red wine into his goblet. “What makes you think you’ve got what it takes?”
“Because I’m a prince,” he said, then thought about the idea of shouting it. Then thought better of it. Then snorted. “You look like a woman.”
Killian didn’t look offended, but amused. “Is that what you say to all the blokes?”
Roland stuck a finger in his face, to which Killian deftly avoided.
“I’m serious. You’re pretty.”
Killian smirked. “And you’re dead drunk.”
“Hey, Opie!” shouted Roland, surprising himself with how abruptly it erupted from his chest. It felt like he was a young man again, out with his men, one of them, drinking themselves to near death nearly every night, smiling at women who more than smiled back. Not that Roland wanted to smile at any woman other than Tiana. He tamped down the rush of sadness of her not being there. He’d like it if she smiled at him about now. If she laughed with him. If she made fun of him.
If—
“Whazupmyfriend?” slurred Opie, thumping onto the bench beside Roland. The slender man slammed two pitchers of ale on the table, froth drenching the side at his fingers. “I brought more ale!”
“Did you drug it?” asked Roland seriously.
Opie’s entire face split into a grin and Roland couldn’t help but mirror the look. They both picked up their pitchers and hit them hard, spilling liquid all over themselves in a rainfall of beer.
“Drugs!” they said together.
“Oi!” said Asha, “Not funny.”
Opie snickered turning to her, throwing up his mug in cheers to her, the now half-empty mug. “Come on, Asha, forgive me. I’m a dying man!”
“Keep talking like that and you will be,” Asha warned darkly, turning back to the man who was leaning against the wall, hand playing with her braids.
Roland watched her for a second, distracted by the calculated way she was looking up at the man, her other fingers dipping into his coat pocket.
“See something you like, Luth?” asked Killian.
Roland turned to Killian, surprised by the annoyance in the man’s tone. When he looked over, however, Killian was grinning.
“I should do something.”
Killian raised a thick brow. “Do something? Like what, storm over there and slap manacles on her?”
“Kinky,” Opie chimed in. “Didn’t know you were into that sort of stuff, Luth.”
Roland looked at the smaller man in bewilderment.
“Into what?”
Opie laughed in his face. “Oh, Killer, where’d ja fine one so green? Saints, I can see the damn fields in his eyes.”
“Into what?” he repeated, this time at Killian.
Killian’s lip twitched as he casually slurped his wine.
“Whips, chains, leather and pains,” sang Opie, slapping his shoulder. “You son of a pistol whip, you. I’m likin’ you more and more. You should hitch your wagon to mine and come rough up a few Draggins.”
“Draggins?”
“The idiots in the corner over there, glaring at Opie,” supplied Killian, pointing with his chin at the men who were, in fact, stabbing Opie with their eyes.
Opie waved one finger back at them.
“They couldn’t pray their tribute and you know Roland, I’m a fair man,” said Opie cheerfully. “And I says, either give me what I’m askin’ or I’m gonna send Asha in and she’s gonna send you out to me in a pretty little box.”
“And?”
Opie chortled. “They called my bluff, said I was a little shit stick and shoved me out the door.”
“What about your other men?”
“What other men?” asked Opie quizzically. “I went in there myself.”
“Yeah, straight into their den,” muttered Killian, although he looked bemused.
“Weapons?”
“Me bare hands and three cigarettes.” He frowned. “I did lose two of those, dicks. I shared my cigarettes with them. In good faith, too!”
“Well then why are they glaring at you?”
Opie looked over in surprise. "They’re glaring at me? Killian, look, they’re glaring at me!”
“Yeah, Opie, because you went back to their den in the middle of the night and lined the place with dust and explosives.”
“It was just a bit of good-natured fun,” said Opie with a shrug. “Hey! Luther, you’ve still got ale in that mug!”
Roland grinned and in one motion, poured the beer down his throat. Opie made a noise of delight, lurching to
stand and pounding one foot onto the table and clapping and hollering his name as he stomped.
Well, not his name, another name, a random name, but in that moment, Roland was fine with it being his.
* * *
“You’re going to regret that in a couple of hours,” said Killian as Roland settled onto the tin roof beside him, the sun poking the first straggling rays of morning on the horizon.
“Regret what?” he groused, wiggling to get comfortable before finally ripping off his sword and tossing it to the ground below. Which, of course, was foolish as a moment later he heard the plop as the ocean ate it whole.
“Regret that,” laughed Killian, grinning so hard the corners of his eyes creased in thin lines of mirth.
“Shit!” Roland cursed, scrabbling up to go to the edge of the roof, staring over the edge, he thought about jumping over the lip and going after the sword.
“It’s just a sword, Roland.”
“It was my father’s sword,” he said to Killian, staring at the water and already feeling dizzy as it pulled and pushed in its nighttime dance. It also made him feel vaguely nauseous. He sat down on the lip of the roof, legs dangling over the water.
“Your father’s sword?” repeated Killian, still standing. Roland could see the slight man had his hands on his hips, surveying the ocean same as him.
“Yeah, it’s the only one I carry. I tried picking other ones over the years, because it’s foolish to only depend on one sword, but none of them quite felt right. I asked my father about it once, before he died, and he told me my mother gave it to him.”
“So it’s your father’s and your mother’s?”
“Aye.”
“Were you close?”
“With who?”
“Your parents.”
Roland sighed and leaned back, still thinking of his sword, but distracted by both the liquor and the night and the question. He hadn’t thought about it in a long time.
“The first years of my life were with my mother, actually. I grew up in this cottage deep in the countryside. It was just me and her, some chickens and our dog, Mock.”
Deception: Rogues of the Red League, Book 1 Page 12