Flint was the only one of my pack mates still hanging out at the Seven Sins after my trip to the marina. The local motorcycle club, a group of mostly retired adventure thirsty guys had staked out their usual tables near the bar. The upside down copper kettle pots Jemma had hung as 'rustic' light fixtures over the tables reflected their mostly bald and shaven heads. They usually spent a mild fortune at the Seven Sins, so Jemma was always glad to have them. Especially on slow nights like tonight when even the Wynter Fare were scarce.

Flint lifted his chin to motion me over. As bad as I was at keeping quiet about things, Flint was equally good at prying shit out of me. And man did I have some shit to tell. But I'd promised Rikki I wouldn't say a word, and I was going to keep that promise. Fortunately, tonight something else had happened that had Flint's full attention.

I headed to the table in the back corner where Flint was nursing a bottle of whiskey. Reagan, one of the Wynter Fare who regularly liked to hang with Flint, had fallen asleep with her head on his lap.

Flint caressed her cheek, causing her lashes to flutter, but she didn't open her eyes. "I didn't have the heart to wake her. Apparently she had a rough week. Some big merger fell through and corporate was coming down on her. Those big business jobs kind of make our jobs look like working in an ice cream shop."

I picked up the whiskey bottle. "Yeah, if the ice cream shop was serving wraith venom and goblin blood."

Flint's eyes widened, and he motioned to the sleeping woman in his lap. "Big fucking mouth to go with that big fucking head."

"She looks dead to the world." I gulped back some whiskey. As I lowered the bottle, Flint stuck a folded piece of paper in front of me.

"It's from Rafferty. He and the pack were in the Seven Sins tonight, drinking a few beers and waiting for their shift to start. Some unexpected visitors showed up."

"Mayhem?" I asked as I opened the paper.

"Yep."

Rafferty had hastily scribbled a few lines. "Keep an eye out for five assholes on bikes. No idea who they are. Jemma wouldn't let them in the club, but something tells me they'll be back. Something not quite right about them. Raff." Rafferty, Tracker, Zander and Colt were the four Boys of Wynter who rode on the nights we had off. We rarely crossed paths, but we left messages with Jemma whenever necessary.

Jemma saw me open the note. She dropped a white hand towel over her shoulder and crossed the room to sit with us.

I scooted over. "Take a load off, beautiful." The lines around Jemma's almond shaped eyes grew deeper each year. All the creases added character to her face. She had, after all, been a guardian angel before she'd been banished to the mortal world, and angels might have been a little pious and way too snooty, but they were always lovely to look at. And this fallen angel was no exception. Tonight I'd seen another angel on earth, who had nothing to do with the angel's realm. And I'd vowed to help her, only I wasn't exactly sure how.

"So you don't know these guys either?" Jemma brought my attention back to the note.

I shook my head. "Nope, all I know is that Kay was gushing about them the other night."

Jemma rolled her eyes. "Kay, that woman is all kinds of crazy."

"Tell me about it." I folded up the note and took another swig of whiskey. "I'm planning to avoid her from now on."

"That might not be a problem," Flint said. "I saw her walk out to meet that Mayhem club on their third circle around the bar. Jemma was standing sentry with her rifle. Wilder and I walked out to stand with her. They took a few laps around, but they had bandanas pulled up around their faces. I agree with Rafferty though. Something isn't quite right about them. I can't put my finger on it."

"They make the hair stand up on the back of my neck," Jemma noted.

Flint pointed at her. "That's it. Raised my hackles right up. I made eye contact with the biggest one. He had these weird eyes that looked flat and lifeless and mean. And they were pale in color, almost white as if he was blind. But he was looking right at me."

Jemma leaned back against the seat. "Kay climbed onto his bike too. The one with the dead eyes."

"Stupid woman. I told her she was messing with fire and that she was going to end up hurt."

"Yeah." Jemma whistled low. "She's a loon. I think the other girls are trying to find a way to get rid of her. Maybe she just found her own way out. If she's hanging with those guys, she's not stepping foot inside this bar again."

Flint leaned forward, momentarily forgetting the woman using him as a pillow. Reagan moaned and yawned and went right back to sleep. "Jemma, what if we let them in?"

Jemma laughed. "No thank you."

"I mean when we're all here, of course. Then we can check them out and see just what they're up to."

Jemma shook her head. "Nope. The last time you four had a brawl in this place, it took me weeks to clean up the mess. Let's just leave them out there. Eventually, they'll get bored and move on."

Flint sat back, disappointed his idea didn't go over well with Jemma.

Jemma moved onto another subject. "I hear Mirra found some rich movie director." She patted my arm. "Sorry about that, Max."

"Nah, nothing to be sorry about. We had a good time, and I'm going to miss her. I'm happy for her. It's the fucked up part about living half our lives behind the ugly plasma curtain."

A mewling sound rolled up from under the table and Reagan sat up. Her lashes looked too heavy for her eyes as she struggled to keep them open. My eyes widened as I noticed a yellow spot on her cheek. I kicked Flint under the table, motioned with my head to Reagan and discretely touched my cheek to let him know his sleeping lady friend had glowing wraith's blood on her cheek.

Jemma was already on the move with her white towel to wipe it away. "Sweetie, you have a little dirt on your face." Jemma wiped off the wraith blood quickly and shot Flint an admonishing glare for being so careless.

Reagan absently brushed a strand of hair off her face. "Sometimes you boys talk about the strangest shit. What's a plasma curtain?" she asked groggily.

Now it was my turn for Jemma's admonishing glare.

Flint laughed and put his arm around her to draw her against him. "You're hearing things, sleepyhead. I'm going to take you to my place so you can get some real sleep."

Jemma snorted. "Right. Real sleep."

I looked over at her. "You sure are in an uptight mood tonight."

Jemma rubbed her forehead. "Yeah, sorry. Those strangers on the bikes have given me a headache." She stood up from the table. "I'm just glad it's a slow night." She headed back to the counter.

Flint tapped my foot with his. "Where were you tonight?"

I hadn't expected the question and I was terrible at lying, especially to Flint. "Nowhere."

"But you're all clean and spit-shined like you prettied yourself up for something. Even put that stupid ass long hair of yours in a braid."

I picked up the whiskey again. "Exactly. I went home and showered off the—" I stopped myself and looked over at Reagan. Her lids were heavy but she was listening to the conversation. "Road dirt. Not all of us can wear slob as well as you, Flint."

Flint's gray eyes squinted to slits. He was trying to figure out what I'd been up to but no matter how smart he was or how good he was at knowing what I was thinking, he wouldn't have been able to guess this in a million years. I was still having a hard time believing it.

After a long moment of scrutiny, Flint was just tired and drunk enough to give up the quest for information. "Yep, Max, you're right. Not everyone can pull off slob with finesse like I can." He pulled Reagan closer and kissed the top of her head. "Let's go, sleeping beauty. Time for rest and relaxation."