Given a soft push, I was suddenly standing in front of Clayton Ferguson. Tall, broad, with a few tattoos of his own running up his arm. He frowned at me as he looked between my form and whatever was behind me. “You good, Atlas?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Thanks for the food. Ox sent it?”
“Yup,” he said casually and plopped the bag into my hands. “Just call me Errand Bitch.”
I laughed nervously and peeked over my shoulder to see if maybe Harper wasn’t watching. He was. Not just watching either. He was monitoring closely as he stood there staring with his arms folded. When he saw me looking, he pointed bossily to Clay as if telling me‘you better do it.’
I ducked my head as my stomach sloped, nerves taking over my entire abdomen as I turned back to Clay.
I didn’t know what to say, how to demand things. I’d always just taken what I was given and been happy enough with it. I had no practice with telling others what I actually wanted.
I probably would have stood there awkwardly looking at my feet forever if Clay hadn’t started to move away.Andif the pointedsound of a throat clearing behind me didn’t sing through the air like a weapon.
Taking the plunge, I stepped after him, “Um, Clay?”
“Yeah, what’s up?” he asked, hands sliding into his pockets as he turned back to face me.
“Um,” I fidgeted. Looking up and away from him several times. “Speaking of calling people names… could you… You can’t call me Atlas anymore, okay? It’s not my name.”
Dark eyebrows pulled together as he surveyed me, his mouth twisting to the side as if he had to think about something. “I know that’s not your name. It’s my nickname for you.”
“Oh,” I said, ducking further.See I knew it! I told him!But when Harper’s face came into view again, it was stern, his head shaking disapprovingly. I turned quickly back to Clay. “It’s not a good nickname. Can you please find a new one?”
Again, he turned his face as if he was giving it serious thought before finally he let his features relax and shook his head. “Tell you what? I’ll think about it.”
He gave me a pat on my shoulder and apparently that was that. Something in my gut felt like this was unfinished somehow. Like I hadn’t completed the task the way Harper probably wanted me to. When I met his eyes, the feeling intensified.
I was just about to slink back over to him when Clay asked, “Who’s your friend?”
“A client of mine.”
“He got a staring problem or something?” he asked gruffly.
“No, he?—”
Too late. Clay, confrontational as ever, was already lifting his head and calling out, “Do I know you from somewhere?”
I opened my mouth to say something, ready to defend Harper more than I was ready to defend myself, when Harper’s voice beat me to it, coming out sharp and menacing. “No. But you know her name, don’t you?”
“Yeah?”
“Then fucking use it,” Harper said, his tone not a nice one. “She’ll even spell it out since you seem to be struggling so much.”
My eyes widened. Clay’s head snapped back, his eyes slicing over to Gus in sharp slits.
Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!
Today was going so smoothly! I didnotneed a Clay Ferguson fight to ruin that. Not when none of his brothers were around to keep him in line.
I rushed forward to preemptively put myself between the two men, hoping to be a calming presence. But before things even escalated that far, Clay’s shoulders seemed to relax and his head lilted to one side.
“Montez?”
It was Harper’s turn to snap his head back, obviously taken by surprise at Clay knowing him by name. “Who the fuck’s asking?”
I thought for sure Clay would be offended by my client since he was offended by the wind simply blowing wrong, but no. The man actually smiled, sauntering past me with his hands motioning toward himself. “It’s Ferguson, man. Long time no see.”
I was sure Harper wouldn’t know what the heck Clay was talking about, because how could they know each other? Well enough for Clay to call him by his middle name, even? But to my shock, recognition quickly passed over my client’s face and a second later the two were engaged in that weird boy handshake that I guess they just knew inherently.
