8 – Black WingIt turned out the locals weren’t exactly looking for a fight, at least not where Mathews and her crew were concerned. Maybe it was Perry’s size that dissuaded them, or that Red was wearing two custom, chromed-out blasters—he had permits from the local magistrate’s office—or that, despite trying to hide their presence, Frederick’s security goons lurking in the background threw a definite chill on the bar’s atmosphere. Flint wasn’t there; he’d left with Frederick’s mother, but there were three others that Hector clocked right away, and Frederick confirmed with a grumble about his overbearing family.All in all, they just had a good time at the bar. Hector drank too much—he had to fit in, didn’t he?—and he rationalized enjoying himself as a means to an end; success in the rift would mean incredible short-term gains, both with regard to potentia and income. Improving his wealth and power meant improving his odds of figuring out who betrayed him and murdered the Contis. With that in mind, he felt some team building wasn’t frivolous or a waste of time. At least that was what he told himself when Bobby ordered another round of shots.While they waited, most of the team gathered around an arm-wrestling table, watching Perry challenge members of the local IG units and other rift raiders. Paige leaned close to Hector, speaking into his ear so he could hear her over the clamor. “Do you think we’re going to die?”He looked at her sharply, surprised by the question. He wondered if she was drunk; her breath smelled like mint and carried an eye watering amount of alcohol fumes, after all. “What? Not tonight, anyway; I’ll cut you off before you get that far.”She laughed, licking her lips and reaching up to rub her nose—flushed from the booze. “No, I mean in the rift, dummy!”Hector tilted his head, considering. The truth was that there was a damn good chance she and some of the others might (...)