My stomach still burned as the tequila settled inside me. Mixing vodka and tequila was definitely going to have me suffering tomorrow. The flavor was strong—pretty good, but so strong compared to the cheap vodka diluted with sweet cranberry juice that I usually drank.

“Come on. Anyone?”

Austin’s eyes were on Kael, who was also saying no. He didn’t need to put his hand up or shake his head. Apparently, “no” is all the answer you need when it comes from a guy.

Austin turned to Mendoza and refilled his glass. “He’s trying to get as many shots in as possible before his wife calls for bedtime.” Austin heckled him.

By the way Mendoza smiled when my brother teased him, I could see their bond. He was a nice guy, this Mendoza. I could feel it. It was never easy to predict the people I would meet through my twin, because he never had a type. Soldiers were usually involved, but that could be more of a geographical thing. Mostly strays. Mostly friendly. But every pack had a few wild cards.

“Well, she did let him come out this week,” another male voice taunted. I turned around to see the guy in the Bottoms Up! T-shirt holding his shot glass in a way that was slightly menacing. He had a square face, tiny lips, and a bad crew cut.

Mendoza laughed still, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Not like it did when he had joked with Austin. The guy in the T-shirt snickered, pointing a Bud Light bottle at Mendoza. “How many kids you got now, anyway?” This question was delivered with a straight face.

“Three,” Mendoza replied, humorless now. Something shifted in the room. I could feel it. Kael stiffened next to me. Austin inched closer to the two jerks.

“Three? That’s it? I thought I saw you driving out of the commissary with like ten—”

“You’re not funny, Jones. Neither are you, Dubrowski. Comedy’s not your thing. Now move along or get out,” Austin snapped, pointing his chin toward the door. His eyes may have been glassy, but he was fully present. He wasn’t having any of their shit.

The room was silent, except for the obnoxious intro music to the video game that was playing on a loop in the background.

“Chill, we’re leaving anyway,” Bottoms Up! said.

No one made a sound as Jones and Dubrowski set their beers on the counter, opened the back door, and left. Mendoza and Austin stared at each other for a second. I tried not to look, but I caught a glimpse of it.

“Who were those guys?” I asked Austin when the door shut.

“They’re in my new company,” Mendoza answered. “I thought they were cool and felt bad because they’re so young and just got home and don’t have any family here, you know?”