11
Sam
“Come on,” I grab Layne’s hand as we leave Nash’s house. Laurie, Declan, and Parker are still drinking the nasty smelling liquor Declan scrounged up from who-knows-where. I almost feel sorry for Nash, and then I remember how his claws felt in my chest.
A little drunken Irish singing might be good for the lion. He can always throw them out.
“Where are we going?” Layne asks, tromping beside me. I lead her to a bike—an old Triumph Declan’s been working on. He made me swear on my liver I’d get it back to him in one piece.
Wavering strains of “All for Me Grog” reach us. I doubt Declan will notice if we’re a wee bit late.
“A motorcycle? Really?” Layne lights up.
I hand her a helmet. “Have you ever ridden on one?”
“No, but I’ve always wanted to.”
“Hop on, sweetheart.” When she’s s
