Samael had been intrigued enough to follow Latoya to Shiloh’s Best, but he had no plans to get drunk in front of her, nor to drink from anything she wasn’t also drinking from. Maybe she wasn’t going to hand him over to the police, but by now there were plenty of underworld thugs who’d like to know his name too.
Latoya downed the shot and smacked her lips. “So, Mr. Mask, what made poor Mr. Woods need to die?”
“You knew him?” he asked.
“Oh yeah. I had a friend who got raped by, like, six men in an alley. Woods got them off with tiny fines by arguing the guys hadn’t raped her, they just hadn’t ‘paid her for services.’ Real fucking upstanding citizen.”
“Mmm…well, that’s not all he did.” Samael drank his shot and dramatically shook his head, making Latoya giggle. “He’s connected to someone I’m after.”
“Ah. A vendetta?” Latoya looked like she understood the concept completely.
“What’d the dude do, kill your family or something?”
Samael threw back his head and laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Something like that.”
“Huh. I was kind of hoping you were Batman—y’know, out to kill the evildoers!” She poured her seventh shot and smirked at Samael as she swirled it around the bottom of her shot glass. “That way, you could kill me too.”
Samael somehow felt that he was being challenged…or perhaps that Latoya was playing a game of some kind with him.
He leaned back slowly in his plush, white chair and stared at the woman across from him. She met his gaze without faltering or losing her smile.
He decided to answer her dare. “Do you need to be killed?”
It was her turn to laugh, as though he’d said something unbelievably ignorant. “Brother, are you joking? What haven’t I done, eh?”