Ice blocked him. “You can’t go yet. I want to talk about old times.” He stepped in close to the man, put a friendly hand on his shoulder and then punched him three times in rapid succession in the gut. The punches were fast, hard, and delivered with Storm and Absinthe blocking the view from the rest of the bar.
Ice put a solicitous arm around Fred as he bent over, gasping for breath, his drink coming back up as he spewed it onto the floor.
“Freddie, you had too much to drink. Let me help you.” Ice appeared to help him as he staggered toward the darkest corner of the bar. Three men sat at the table there but moved quickly when Storm and Absinthe stood over them and just stared.
Ice shoved Fred into a chair, his back to the wall, the table in front of him—close. “Let’s get acquainted. We’re going to be friendly now. Really friendly. If you don’t want me to slit your gut open right here and let your intestines spill out into your lap, you’re going to give me everything I want. Tell me everything I want to know.”
He shoved a very sharp blade against Fred’s straining, heaving gut. “You feel that, you fuck? You gave up my woman. You went against the code. You’re a piece of shit and you’re going to answer any question I ask.”
Fred was no hero. That much was certain. On top of that, he’d been drinking heavily. He nodded over and over, sweat pouring down his face. Absinthe took the chair next to Fred on his other side. That left only Storm to block any view. Fred immediately lunged to the side, toward Ice, to get the attention of the others in the bar.
The noise level in the bar was extremely loud. It was crowded and fairly dark. Liquor flowed and music blared. Dozens of conversations took place from every direction. A few couples even attempted to sway to the music. In one corner, a woman stood on a table, her tits out as she danced drunkenly. No one paid attention to the men sitting in the corner, and no one could hear if Fred called out.
Two more people blocked the view and he looked up and groaned. He’d run into the blade of the knife and it had cut through his denim jacket as well as his shirt to score a long, painful laceration across his stomach.
Standing in front of him was a woman with a wealth of blond hair and the same blue eyes as Ice and Storm. She wore a Torpedo Ink vest over her tight tank. Beside her was a man with flat, cold eyes, and Fred recognized him immediately as an enforcer for the Diamondbacks, and no one messed with them.
“Thought we’d join the party,” Alena informed her brother. “Saw you come in.”
It didn’t surprise Ice in the least that he hadn’t seen his sister. They all tended to fade into the background, a trick they’d learned as children that had often saved their lives. The bar was packed and dark inside. The strip outside was being used for bike tricks. Across the way, in the main common area of the campsites, wet T-shirt contests and mud wrestling along with a massive party were taking place. Inside the bar, the noise level was loud in order to hear above the motorcycles used in the street tricks as well as the music blaring from multiple speakers outside. That would all be helpful if Fred got noisy.
Ice waved Alena and Pierce to the chairs at the front of the table. Pierce would not want his back to the room. That was a sweet kind of triumph, to have the enforcer of the Diamondbacks seated facing them. He didn’t take the chair. He glanced at Absinthe and Ice, realizing neither was going to give up their seat, and he stepped to one side, standing rather than sitting. Ice didn’t like him there when Absinthe was questioning Fred, but he needed to get on with it, and Pierce’s appearance would ensure no one would come near them. In any case, Pierce wouldn’t have a clue what Absinthe was doing.
“Answer Absinthe with the truth, Fred, or you’re going to be hurting,” Ice cautioned. He really didn’t give a flying fuck if Fred hurt himself, but he didn’t like leaving Soleil alone for too long. Lana’s presence might serve to bring more men around. She was beautiful, and any man could easily see that.
Fred dribbled down the front of himself, still coughing up his last drink. “What do you want?” He tried blustering, but it came out scared.
“You contacted someone to tell them Soleil Brodeur had been in the bar and that she was with a member of Torpedo Ink, didn’t you?” Absinthe asked. His voice was pitched low, but it resonated through the brain, almost as if that tone could actually shake the brain.