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“Shit. Is that really her?”

An old and familiar dread climbed my throat. “They know who I am,” I whispered to Patrick, my voice wavering.

He turned and glared down at me. “Nowyou’re scared?” he asked. “Where’s that clever mouth gone?”

My face heated. “I suppose I needn’t worry. You’ll just flay them within an inch of their lives if they come too close.”

“Ah,” Patrick said, dropping my hand. “So youdounderstand.” He turned and nodded to the door that would lead to the stairwell. “If you don’t want me defendin’ your honor, you can head on up to that bed you mentioned us sharing.”

My collar felt suddenly too tight. “I suspect myhonorhas never entered your mind.”

“Oh, it has,” he said darkly. He leaned so close that his mouth hovered over my ear. “Say the word, darlin’, and I’ll carry you up those stairs.”

I could see the pulse in his throat. His scent corralled me.

“You’re an arrogant fuckin’ bastard, you know that?” I muttered contemptuously, vowels trailing.

“I am,” he admitted, backing away an inch, but only so much as to look me in the eye when he spoke. “Or perhaps I just like invokin’ that Scurry tongue of yours. It comes out when you’re mad.”

I aimed a quick jab at his stomach, which he caught easily. “Lord,” he muttered, fingers slipping around my hand again. “We need to teach you to fight properly, darlin’. Surely, they breed quicker hands in Scurry.” He gave another of those barely suppressed smiles, the ones that he’d failed to fight back. “Come on,” he said, turning to the table before us.

He slapped a hand on the shoulder of none other than Scottie, who stood the moment he turned and spied Patrick, offering him his seat.

“A full house, Pat,” he said, adjusting the vast waistline of his trousers. “We expectin’ trouble?”

Patrick gestured for me to take the seat instead. “Always expect trouble, Scottie.”

The round table hosted three other men. Two younger than me, I thought, and one older. The older one peered at me as I sat. He was large. Imposing. He sat with his legs crossed, a pipe between his cracked lips. A prominent brass-colored tooth glinted at me.

That he was a Colson was obvious. It wasn’t the eyes—they were a warm brown rather than Patrick’s blue. It was his expression. Careful, dauntless, overladen. I got the sensation I was an insect beneath glass.

“Nina Harrow, this is my older brother, Gunner,” Patrick said.

Gunner shared a look with Patrick that stretched for a long moment. “Shouldn’t she be behind a locked door somewhere?” His voice was a hoarse rendition of Patrick’s. He seemed exhausted. Irritable. Moments from rage.

Patrick merely nodded, taking a glass of nondescript liquor fromthe table and downing it all at once. “She certainly should be, brother. And yet, I’ve brought her here.” Whatever message passed between them seemed to change hands silently. Gunner sighed, smoothed his beard with one hand and toasted me half-heartedly. “Nice to fuckin’ meet you,” he said, then stood to leave. “I’ll be at the bar.”

I swallowed, my neck prickling uncomfortably. Perhaps it would have been wiser to go upstairs.

Next was a man with badly mussed hair and a boyish chin. His eyes quivered, unfocused, and mimicked Patrick’s in color—surely another Colson.

“Me baby brother, Donny,” Patrick gestured, taking Gunner’s abandoned seat beside him.

Donny stared past me as he spoke. “Milady,” he said, and he reached into the air, presumably for my hand. I suddenly recalled young Patrick referring to a brother who couldn’t see well. I gave the man my hand, and he kissed my knuckles.

“Glad to meet you, Donny,” I told him.

“Fuck me,” Donny said, dropping my hand abruptly. “Is she aproperlady then, brother? Sounds like an Artisan or some such.”

“She’s as proper as they come, Don,” Patrick muttered. “And she sounds like an Artisan ’cause she is one.”

Donny turned his head in my direction. “Scottie brought you down the tunnel then, did he?”

I frowned at the man in question. “Something like that.”

Scottie took a large swill of beer and grimaced as he swallowed. “Sorry about the knock to your noggin, hen,” he said, then looked sideways to Patrick for approval.

Patrick’s jaw ticked, and the big man put his drink on the table and looked down into his lap.