Lilian’s POV
The Rusty Nail was everything Blackwood Manor was not.
It was loud, and it smelled of stale beer, lemon floor cleaner, and deep-fried happiness. The lighting wasn’t provided by crystal chandeliers or oppressive fireplaces. Instead, it came from flickering neon signs advertising beer brands I’d never heard of and a jukebox that was currently blasting 80s rock at a volume that made my teeth vibrate.
It was heaven.
“Booth,” Leo shouted over the music, pointing toward a cracked red vinyl booth in the corner. “Corner booth. Tactical advantage.”
“You guys never switch off, do you?” I laughed, sliding into the seat.
The booth was tight. I was squashed between Jax—the woman with the bob who, I had learned during the drive, was the team’s demolitions expert (which seemed excessiv
