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“Because ye lack a pair of them?”

Demon chucked the glass at the big, stupid, smiling blond head.

Unfortunately, said head ducked.

Clucking his tongue, Thorne brushed the shards of glass from his coat, frowning over the spilled whisky. “That’s going to be more work for someone.”

“Get out of my house.”

“No’ until ye tell me who we’re talking about.”

Demon scrubbed a hand over his face, hating the rough feel of his scars all over again. “Yer valet, I assume. Or perhaps a maid.” There were so many of them, now. He missed just having familiar faces around him. “Some servant.”

“Nay.” The bungle-shite was perpetually cheerful, was he not? “I mean, who are we talking about ye loving? Tracking down? Finding and apologizing for being an utter fool who let her get away after breaking her heart?”

Fook. It sounded as if Thorne knew exactly who they meant. Demon glared.

Thorne, of course, grinned.

Shaking his head, he began to shrug out of his coat. “Get up, ye arse.”

“Nay,” Demon barked.

“Aye,” his friend countered, slinging his coat over a chair and rolling his shoulders. “Get up and get yer blood moving. It’s better than moping about Georgia.”

Spunk-trumpets, it hurt to hear her name. “Ye want me to hit ye?”

Thorne raised his fists. “That’s exactly what I want ye to try.”

Well, why in the bloody hell not? He’d tried everything else.

With a sigh, he pushed himself up off the sofa, rolled his shoulders, settled into position…

The punch Thorne snapped at his jaw knocked him right back down to his seat once more.

“Ow.”

Demon worked his jaw and glared up at his one-time-partner.

Thorne shrugged and danced about. “Ye looked like ye needed that. Get up and face the rest of yer punishment.”

Punishment? Aye, he deserved that blow, and more, for what he’d done to Georgia.

Growling, Demon threw himself forward and the two men circled, looking for openings, occasionally darting in to land blows. Both were breathing heavily after a few minutes, and Demon had to admit he did feel better.

Well, his jaw ached and his forearm throbbed from blocking a blow, but other than that he felt better than he had in days.

So when Thorne asked, “Ye’re searching for Georgia, aye?” he didn’t hate the idea of explaining. Too much.

“Her father sent her to me to pay his debt.”

“Which ye werenae going to allow.” Thorne and Rourke had been aware of Demon’s plan to use Bonkinbone’s debt to gain access to Blackrose. “Until ye saw her?”

Another jab, another block. “Nay, she’s fooking delicious, but I was going to send her on her way. She offered an alternate way to pay his debt, and I called her bluff.”

Thorne stepped back, brows raised, clearly understanding. “Except it wasnae a bluff?”

There was a fierce joy in slamming his fist into his friend’s unprotected midriff.