Men like Shango didn’t give second chances. So yeah, there was something to lose. But Wolf had no intentions of being caught like last time. If the opportunity came, he’d kill the man.
He wrapped a black bandana around his distinctive red hair and took a quick look in the dusty mirror on the back of the bedroom door. A younger version of himself stared back. No cut and no gym logo. It felt weird.
Grim hammered on the door. “You done preening, pretty boy?”
“Guess so.” Wolf grabbed the gym bag he’d brought with him and stuffed his cut inside. His fingers hovered over the gun tucked away under his clothes. New Orleans permitted open carry, so he could take it if he wanted, but he kinda hoped he wasn’t going to need a gun tonight at least. Was it tempting fate to leave it behind?
Grim opened the door, sticking his head in. “Time and tide wait for no man, Danny Boy. You doing this or not?”
Wolf zipped the bag up, leaving the gun inside. “Nice quote. When did you learn to read?”
“I had a lot of free time after you left, since I wasn’t beating the hell out of you eight hours a day.”
“You beating the hell out of me? That’s not how I remember it. And since I’m the pretty one, I guess we know who remembers right.”
Grim chuckled and feinted at him. Wolf side-stepped, grabbing Grim's meaty fist. All jokes aside, Grim threw a hard punch, and Wolf's pretty face had definitely caught more than a fair share of blows over the years.
"C'mon," he said. "Let's go cause some trouble."