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in. Loud music drifted through the bar from an old Jukebox in the corner, and the place was full, standing room only. She was bumped immediately, but Kane shoved the stumbling man away from her and guided her through the crowd up to the bar.
    And there he was—Weston Novak. He wore a genuine smile, his fist around the neck of a beer bottle, his camouflage baseball cap low over his dancing eyes. His teeth were bright white and straight, and the dimple was there, just faintly. He still hadn’t shaved and looked like a rough ol’ country boy. He’d changed into a black T-shirt and an open blue flannel shirt over holey jeans and clunky work boots.
    But when she followed his smiling gaze, the grin fell from her lips. He was talking to a blond-haired woman. She was tall and leggy in a short skirt and sipped on a cosmopolitan. Weston rested his hand on her waist, and the woman ran her silver painted nails down his arm seductively. Slowly, the woman leaned in and whispered something against his ear, and damn everything, Weston was leaning into her. They were definitely going to kiss. Avery couldn’t do this, couldn’t watch him hook up with another woman. Envy blasted through her, stealing her breath. When she ripped her gaze away, Kane was looking at her, and without a second of hesitation, he bolted forward, dragging her with him. He shoved his way between Weston and Silver Claws and told the bartender, “Can I get a drink for my girl?”
    “Hey!” Silver Claws exclaimed.
    Weston looked pissed, up until the point he arched his gaze to Avery and froze. Slowly, he dragged his attention down her throat to her chest, waist, hips, legs, and then back up. How had he done that? How had he made her feel like he was touching her with just a look?
    His eyes went hard again when he looked at Kane, who was ordering a couple of shots of whiskey. Whiskey? She was more of a panty-dropper fruity-frou-frou drink kinda gal herself.
    “And a Sex On the Beach,” Kane added. Good man.
    “H-happy birthday,” she murmured to Weston over the noise of the crowd.
    Behind Weston, Ryder and Alana and some other giant people she didn’t recognize whooped and lifted their drinks.
    “She said it!” Ryder crowed. “Drink up!”
    “What did I say?”
    Weston took a long swig of his drink and set it down too hard for her taste. “Birthday. Maybe keep that quiet so our livers can stay intact tonight.”
    “Fuck you, man, she didn’t know,” Kane gritted out. He handed Avery a full shot glass.
    “I haven’t done this before,” she said over the music.
    Kane’s grin transformed his face, and instantly, his nervousness from earlier seemed to fade away. “You’ve never shot whiskey?”
    “I’ve never shot anything.”
    “To a night of firsts,” he said, tinking his glass against hers, then he turned and bumped the bottom of the glass on the table before he threw his head back and finished it in one gulp.
    Okay then. Avery bumped the glass on the counter and drank it like Kane had done. And oh, it burned all the way down. She coughed and grimaced, her knuckles against her lips.
    Ryder cheered from a few bar stools over while Avery chased the shot with the Sex On the Beach. Kane threw a few bills onto the counter for the bartender.
    “Thanks for buying me these.”
    Silver Claws had moseyed around Kane and was now hanging around Weston’s neck like a trampy necklace. Avery wanted to peck her eyes out, but at least Weston looked uncomfortable and was trying to pry her off him. She wasn’t deterred, though, and when the woman leaned forward and whispered something in Weston’s ear, green fury snaked through Avery’s veins.
    “You aren’t an oyster,” Avery gritted out.
    “Excuse me?” the woman asked, her baby blues sparking with anger.
    Well, now she was in it. The Bloodrunners had gone quiet, and Weston was looking at her like she’d lost her mind. She had. She hated the way Weston was trying to get rid of this woman, but Silver