A resemblance that might just require the entire bottle of tequila find its way to my belly. She’s a pretty little thing, a brunette who favors the only perfect woman I’ve ever known. “This only made me more of a bastard.” I down another shot of tequila, feeling the booze when the new waitress heads our direction. “Not the way I did before I came here, and you know it.” I run a finger down the scar on my cheek. SEAL Team Six does against a mercenary.”Īdam’s lips quirk and he leans forward, too-a big motherfucker, tall and broad, his dark hair a typical curling, wild mess. “How about I come over there and shut your mouth?” I taunt, refilling my shot glass. “You were both running your mouths and not paying attention.” “And here we have the reason you both just paid me,” Adam says, scooping up the pool of money. He laughs again and tosses popcorn in my face. The one I use right before I kill some asshole. I lean forward and give him the cobra stare. “You’re a charmer? Give me a fucking break.”

“He convinces people like you to blow stuff up while he watches.” “A Beret reckons himself a charmer,” I explain. I drop my hands to the table and give in to the need to school this fool.

“Nah,” I say, tracing my goatee and considering his level of stupidity, which is high. “All you Green Berets do is blow shit up.” “Do you get pedicures, man? Because those are some soft hands you got there. “Little bitch-ass Army Ranger,” I say, motioning to his hand. “Fuck, that burns.” He runs a hand through his sandy brown hair, leaving it a rumpled mess. “Took my money, too.” Smith, the other of the two Walker compadres, grimaces, tossing back his shot glass as well with a grimace. “Sorry bastard,” I murmur because he just took my money in a card game in the backroom of a New York City bar a few blocks from the Walker offices. It’s liquid foreplay.Įxactly why I lift my shot glass at Adam, one of the two Walker Security compadres at the table with me, and down the booze, a wicked bite following.

Tequila is the Mexican version of the middle finger, the perfect “fuck you” to someone you either can’t kill or haven’t decided to kill yet.

Savage hunger by lisa renee jones