23
Ryker
Pia sat primly in the chair beside me at the table the officers lounged around. At least the music had lowered enough conversation wasn’t difficult. Not that Warden or Stone would have noticed or cared. Both sat, legs sprawled, their women on their laps, lost in their own f*****g worlds.
I had a beer in front of me rather than the whiskey my head and throat craved.
Pia brushed the back of her hand against mine where they both set atop the table, and I managed to not jerk away like an asshole. My shift in my chair betrayed my unease, though, and she mouthed a, “Sorry” to me.
I dipped my head to let her know no big deal—and Vigil caught my eye, his eyebrow raising.
A scowl dented my brow, and I slugged down a few swallows of my ice cold beer.
So f*****g weak. Why couldn’t I g
