The interior of the bar was exactly what Jayden had expected—it was grimy, dimly lit, smelling of stale beer and cigarette smoke. With pool tables, a long bar, and scattered furniture.
And seated inside, were twenty-four Black Cobra members, all now staring at him in awe and disbelief... and caution.
The bar was completely silent now.
Jayden walked calmly to the bar, his boots crunching over broken glass from the guard who'd crashed through the door. Every eye in the room tracked his movement. Hands moved toward weapons. Bodies tensed.
But no one moved yet. They were waiting to see what this crazy kid would do.
Jayden reached the bar and looked at the bartender—an older man with gray in his beard and the kind of thousand-yard stare that suggested he'd seen a lot in life.
"Whiskey," Jayden said. "Neat."
The bartender blinked. "Are you fucking serious right now?"
Jayden frowned. "Do I look like I'm joking?"
