Robert stirred, winced and tried to drink from swollen lips. He cleared his throat several times, glancing warily at his brother.

Dion scowled at him. “Spit it out, Robert, if you’ve got somethin’ to say.”

“There was one other thin’ I didn’t mention, but you’d better know before Drake gets home.” His guilty gaze flicked to Saria’s face and then moved quickly away.

Dion stiffened. “What the hell else have you done?” he demanded.

Robert hunched more. “I was drunk, Dion.”

He sounded whiny, and Bijou took the chair closest the counter where the knives were. She’d calculated the distance and in her mind practiced drawing the chosen blade over and over until she was certain she could do so smoothly. It was evident that Saria had confidence in herself and that she knew both men very well—she spoke to them in a tone reserved for close friends one could get angry with—but Bijou didn’t trust anyone. Saria was pregnant, and as far as she was concerned, the two men hadn’t left when Saria told them to. She would sit and listen, but she’d be on alert every single moment.

“I came here last night,” Robert blurted out. “Remy had pissed me off. I was hurt, but not feelin’ it so much because of the drinkin’ . . .”

“You know we can’t drink,” Dion interrupted, fury gathering in his eyes. “Drake lives here with his wife. He’s the leader of our lair. What were you thinkin’? If Drake had been here, were you plannin’ on challenging him? He’d wipe up the floor with you. You’d already gotten your ass handed to you by Remy, and you were damned lucky you weren’t killed, but challenging Drake is just plain stupidity, especially after the beatin’ you took.”

Saria stirred as if she might say something, but Dion slammed his coffee cup down on the table and leaned toward his brother. His eyes were all glowing now, cat’s eyes, his temper rising to the surface.

“You’re not getting’ me killed, Robert. Drake is savin’ this lair. Savin’ all of us, and I’ve had enough of your drinking and your lousy friends and the trouble you’re always in. If you think I’m goin’ to be turning on Drake or defendin’ you to him, you’re dead wrong.”

Robert kept his head down, portraying an absolutely miserable man, but Bijou wasn’t buying it. He was obviously good at manipulating his brother. Dion felt responsible for him, and Robert was taking his outburst as another lecture, not an absolute vow.

Saria pushed the warmer containing beignets toward Robert. “What did you do here, last night, Robert? Perhaps if you just tell us what happened, we can figure this all out.”