often, Peanut.”
She forced herself to smile back at him even though she nearly flinched at the pet name. She hated it. It made her sick to her stomach every time she heard it. Yet she could never seem to tell him . . .
Don’t cry, be brave, Peanut . . .
No, she wouldn’t remember.
She busied herself putting away the wine, cleaning the glasses, chatting with Jason about Thea’s long hours and anything and everything that would put distance between her and her memories.
Long minutes later, Jase said his good-byes and left. Hearing his car pull from the drive, Gypsy moved to the window and lifted the curtain cautiously to check for Kandy’s truck.
It still wasn’t there.
Where the hell was her sister and what was she up to?
It was time, Gypsy decided, that she figured out the answer to that question. And she had a feeling she’d better do it quickly.
CHAPTER 4
Two nights later, Gypsy was still trying to figure out where her sister was going after work every night. This had been going on longer than the Breeds had been in town, so she couldn’t attribute it to Loki. Besides, she’d seen Loki at the last bar she’d been in, and he’d been confused as hell when she asked if Kandy was with him.
“Gypsy Rum!” An inebriated college boy, barely twenty-one, his alcohol-glazed eyes squinting, called out the greeting as Gypsy stepped into one of the busiest band bars on the Navajo Reservation border.
“Sober up, Slim,” she ordered the kid, knowing the consequences if his father caught wind of tonight’s overjovial state. “Daddy will be after your ass in a few hours if you’re not home.”
“Fuck him,” Slim drawled, slurring the insult. “He needs a beer.”
And no truer words had ever been said, she thought, throwing the boy a wave as she contained her laughter and moved for the bar while watching the crowd carefully for the sight of her sister among the throng.
Slap Happy’s was filled every weekend with drunks, wannabe punks, biker dudes and biker babes, wicked Breeds and rogue Breeds, soldiers, warriors, male and female and every sort of desperado in between.
Tonight, she was betting it had maxed out the limit of allowable bodies, if the time it took her to get from the door to the bar was any indication.
Cops and criminals were known to share space here, as well as rogue Coyotes and Bureau of Breed Affairs enforcers along with any arm candy or wannabe sweet that could be had.
It was also one of the best rumor mills and gossip socials outside the private weekend or illegal desert parties that often sprang up on the reservation itself.
Unfortunately, patrolling Breeds and rogue Coyotes looking for trouble had managed to make the desert parties all but impossible to have. The private weekend parties had been scarce as well, due to the isolation of many of the ranches and small estates where they were held.
There were actually several scheduled in the coming weeks since news that the Bureau of Breed Affairs and the Navajo Nation were negotiating the possibility of locating a central Breed office in Window Rock. One that would focus on the enforcement of Breed Law, for both Breeds and humans, in the western states.
Until then, Gypsy was forced to resign herself to the larger, rougher bars instead to find the sister still two years away from being able to legally enter.
Loose lips and secrets discussed in the so-called anonymity of a crowd was another reason she was there tonight, though. According to one of the enforcers at the bar where Gypsy regularly met friends on Friday nights, Kandy had been seen here the night before with several of her friends. And that did not sound like her sister.
The band was taking a break for the moment, the holographic substitute band pelting out music instead to please the crowd on the dance floor.
She let a smile play at her lips as she wedged herself between two recognizable hard bodies at the bar and leaned over the teak counter.
“Kenny C,” she
She forced herself to smile back at him even though she nearly flinched at the pet name. She hated it. It made her sick to her stomach every time she heard it. Yet she could never seem to tell him . . .
Don’t cry, be brave, Peanut . . .
No, she wouldn’t remember.
She busied herself putting away the wine, cleaning the glasses, chatting with Jason about Thea’s long hours and anything and everything that would put distance between her and her memories.
Long minutes later, Jase said his good-byes and left. Hearing his car pull from the drive, Gypsy moved to the window and lifted the curtain cautiously to check for Kandy’s truck.
It still wasn’t there.
Where the hell was her sister and what was she up to?
It was time, Gypsy decided, that she figured out the answer to that question. And she had a feeling she’d better do it quickly.
CHAPTER 4
Two nights later, Gypsy was still trying to figure out where her sister was going after work every night. This had been going on longer than the Breeds had been in town, so she couldn’t attribute it to Loki. Besides, she’d seen Loki at the last bar she’d been in, and he’d been confused as hell when she asked if Kandy was with him.
“Gypsy Rum!” An inebriated college boy, barely twenty-one, his alcohol-glazed eyes squinting, called out the greeting as Gypsy stepped into one of the busiest band bars on the Navajo Reservation border.
“Sober up, Slim,” she ordered the kid, knowing the consequences if his father caught wind of tonight’s overjovial state. “Daddy will be after your ass in a few hours if you’re not home.”
“Fuck him,” Slim drawled, slurring the insult. “He needs a beer.”
And no truer words had ever been said, she thought, throwing the boy a wave as she contained her laughter and moved for the bar while watching the crowd carefully for the sight of her sister among the throng.
Slap Happy’s was filled every weekend with drunks, wannabe punks, biker dudes and biker babes, wicked Breeds and rogue Breeds, soldiers, warriors, male and female and every sort of desperado in between.
Tonight, she was betting it had maxed out the limit of allowable bodies, if the time it took her to get from the door to the bar was any indication.
Cops and criminals were known to share space here, as well as rogue Coyotes and Bureau of Breed Affairs enforcers along with any arm candy or wannabe sweet that could be had.
It was also one of the best rumor mills and gossip socials outside the private weekend or illegal desert parties that often sprang up on the reservation itself.
Unfortunately, patrolling Breeds and rogue Coyotes looking for trouble had managed to make the desert parties all but impossible to have. The private weekend parties had been scarce as well, due to the isolation of many of the ranches and small estates where they were held.
There were actually several scheduled in the coming weeks since news that the Bureau of Breed Affairs and the Navajo Nation were negotiating the possibility of locating a central Breed office in Window Rock. One that would focus on the enforcement of Breed Law, for both Breeds and humans, in the western states.
Until then, Gypsy was forced to resign herself to the larger, rougher bars instead to find the sister still two years away from being able to legally enter.
Loose lips and secrets discussed in the so-called anonymity of a crowd was another reason she was there tonight, though. According to one of the enforcers at the bar where Gypsy regularly met friends on Friday nights, Kandy had been seen here the night before with several of her friends. And that did not sound like her sister.
The band was taking a break for the moment, the holographic substitute band pelting out music instead to please the crowd on the dance floor.
She let a smile play at her lips as she wedged herself between two recognizable hard bodies at the bar and leaned over the teak counter.
“Kenny C,” she
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