"Aimar."
"What?"
"Question."
"Ask."
I turned, leaning against the edge of the table, arms crossed as I sized Aimar up.
He was dressed sharply in a waiter's uniform—white sleeves rolled neatly under a black waistcoat, his usual annoyed look in place.
"If you woke up," I began, watching him, "completely oiled up on top of a mountain, with a black eye and... uh... a sharp stinging pain in the backdoor, would you tell anyone?"
His head jerked up in disbelief. "What type of questio—."
"Yes or no. Bitch."
"No. Fucker."
"Really?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "Wanna go mountain hiking?"
"Hahahaha."
Elijah, standing beside me, let out a heartfelt laughter. He wore the same clothing as Aimar.
"Why the hell are you laughing?" I turned my gaze on him, head tilted. "You're coming with us."
Elijah's laughter died instantly.
"Uh... I should really—"
