17. A blast

17. A blast

Rogue's POV

I turned to my left and quirked an eyebrow at Igor, 'So you were saying I'm not safe in the city!' I spoke, making sure I sounded cynical even on the link.

He was enjoying the company of the bikers, who called themselves The Drifters. Not to mention that they welcomed us royally with loud hooting and some shots fired from their guns in the air. I was given a special treatment and called a king. The clubhouse's whores were plucked from the bed of whomever they were entertaining and presented to me.

I refused them with a smile but relaxed myself and accepted the alcohol I was presented with. It was homemade, they said, but whatever it was it tasted good.

Igor grinned sheepishly as he raised his glass of whiskey, 'The Drifters are different. Calling them clever would be fair. They know who to respect and keep distance from, and who to mess with. You fall in the former list.'

'But weren't you skeptical about me visiting them? All bikers are nasty. Didn't you