a few other Cirkus Freaks had already gathered at their regular table. They looked like they’d been drinking for a while and planned to continue for a good while longer.
“We’ll get rid of them,” Roman said.
“To toilet paper!” Ben was saying, toasting the others with a glass of Mac’s bourbon as Dorothy and Roman approached. “And sugar! And real liquor.”
Eliza and Donovan both echoed, “To real liquor!” and clinked glasses, sending bourbon sloshing over the sides.
Beneath her hood, Dorothy frowned. She’d been thinking of the dead, black world they’d just returned from, and it took her a moment to remember what they were celebrating. It came back to her quickly: wooden crates stacked on damp carpet, dozens of Cirkus Freaks watching as Eliza unloaded bourbon and peaches and bullets, courtesy of the very man who’d stared out into that black, dead world and smiled. She felt vaguely ill.
“We need the table,” she said with a sigh, and lifted her hands and pushed back her hood, revealing her scarred face.
Ben didn’t move but stared at her, huge-eyed. He didn’t seem to realize that he was still tipping the bourbon toward his mouth until he’d poured it all over himself.
“Watch it,” Roman snapped, as Ben muttered, “Damn,” and slammed his glass back down on the table, grabbing for a stack of cocktail napkins. He apologized and started to stand, but Eliza put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.
“We just got here,” she said, and lifted her drink to her mouth. “We hoped to celebrate your great success and enjoy a little of Mac’s liquor.”
Dorothy felt the corner of her lip curl. It had been a long time since any of the Freaks had disobeyed a direct order from her.
And now Eliza was staring back at her, head cocked, like she was daring Dorothy to argue.
“Celebration’s over,” Dorothy said in her best Quinn Fox voice. “Get back to work.”
Eliza released a small chuckle and looked from Ben to Donovan, eyebrows raised in disbelief.
Ben seemed less inclined to argue. “Quentin and Matt’s team are on duty tonight.” He was still sopping up the spilled bourbon now and sending vaguely disgusted glances at Dorothy’s face that he seemed to think she didn’t see. “We don’t have anywhere else we need to be.”
“Are you saying there’s no work to be done in the Fairmont?” Roman asked, cool. “Nothing that could use your attention?”
Ben’s ears turned red. Donovan was already standing.
But Eliza stayed seated. Her eyebrow twitched as she added, “Mac’s men get a day off now and then.”
“Is that what you want?” snapped Dorothy, her anger getting the better of her. “To work for Mac?”
“Why the hell not?” Eliza said. “Being a Freak hasn’t gotten me anywhere.”
“Mac doesn’t generally allow women in his employ to carry firearms,” Roman reminded her. “I’m not sure you’d enjoy the work he’d expect you to do.”
“Better than this Robin Hood crap,” Eliza said, and pushed her chair back hard, its legs squeaking against the sticky floor.
Dorothy heard her mutter something under her breath as she and the others made their way to the door.
Dorothy bristled. A better leader would go after them, restore the peace, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. Her mind was occupied with other things just now. She was suddenly aware of each minute that passed, each second. She could feel that nightmare world she’d just seen creeping closer and closer, a wave that was going to crash over them.
She dropped into a chair and reached for Eliza’s discarded drink, downing the remains of her bourbon in a single swallow. She wanted an explanation for where they’d just been. The Freaks she could deal with later.
“So what was that?” she asked, voice hoarse.
Roman looked toward the door. “The beginning of a mutiny, I think—”
“You know I’m not talking about them.”
He lifted Ben’s glass of bourbon to his mouth and then seemed to think better of drinking it and placed it back on the table instead. “That was our future,” he said.
“It was the real future, then? Not some trick to freak out Mac?”
Roman lifted his eyes. “How would I go about creating a trick future?”
His sarcasm struck a nerve. “Don’t,” Dorothy warned. “Don’t you dare turn this into a joke. All this time you knew what was coming, and you never told me. Why?”
She punctuated the question by slamming her hand against the table, causing the remaining bourbon to tremble and slosh against the glasses.
Roman leaned back, his gaze trained on her. The bar’s dim