Frank had returned, and after Vera placed her order, it was Shay’s turn. 

“Spaghetti and meatballs, I suppose. It’s about as adventurous as I’m feeling at the moment.” Shay said, handing the menu back to Frank. When the waiter moved a few tables past, Shay turned back to the conversation at hand.

“I wish I could say God loved us and looked out for us, I used to believe it… but what God would let men butcher each other by the millions?” Shay replied softly, a frown creasing his lips. “I apologize for being so grim, it wasn’t my intention. It lightens my heart to hear you say those things, you truly are a bright light in this cold winter. I just hope being a member of the Roughers works out in your favour… it was rather unjustly thrust upon-”

His gaze went past Vera suddenly, his eyes narrowing, his shoulders tensing. “Of all places in this fucking city…” he muttered. “The Adders just walked in. If it comes down to it, you’re going to have to flee through the kitchen, out back. The staff can slow ‘em down, and do not go back to your apartment. If they follow you, you’ll never be safe.” He instructed his face a grim, determined mask. “I’ll buy you time.”

In the front door walked Donald Hayes, a tall and powerfully built man with a  crooked nose that dominated a face that was coated in about two days’ worth of stubble and a body that was built like an iron worker. His hair was as long as his beard and a large scar dominated the right side of his head. His eyes were dark brown and featureless, like dark, unknowable voids. A dark trench coat and a bowler hat rounded out his ensemble. Along with Donald were men he recognized as Jonathan Locke and Curtis Guthrie. The fourth man wasn’t someone Shay recognized.

The Adders walked into the restaurant, initially oblivious to Shay and Vera’s presence, giving Shay a glimmer of hope that the two of them could escape notice. However, luck didn’t hold and as Donald was beginning to sit down, he glanced up and met eyes with Shay. A cruel grin grew on his face as he stood, followed by the remainder of his men, who noticed where their boss was heading to. Curtis was sent to watch the door, and the unknown man stood to bar the other way, leaving Donald and Johnathan to approach their table. 

“Well, well, if it ain’t the Paddy bog-trotter and Sam Addley’s whore of a sister whom I expected to have been on her way a couple weeks ago, yet here you are, riding the cock of a drunken degenerate for your next opium fix.” Donald announced, pulling up a chair and sitting on it backwards at the table. Johnathan stood off to the side, towering over Shay. 

“In case it escaped your notice, you’re drawing quite the crowd. You start anything here, Hayes, and you’ll not be able to go anywhere in London without someone recognizing your ugly mug.” Shay shot back. 
“[I]In case it escaped yer note-ush[/I], shut your fucking gob, Mick, you think I’m as fucking daft as you?” Donald mocked, crudely imitating a high-pitched Irish accent. “Sure, a lot of people are watching, but think they can keep their eyes on every street? How far do you think you’ll get before my boys pull you off the street and stick a knife in your cunt belly? And the woman, we’ll have a bit of fun with you before cutting your throat. Tell me, girl, you know the names of the men you got killed?” he demanded, staring daggers at Vera. 

Shay’s hand tightened, wishing he at least had his knife on him. There wasn’t much he could do with Donald’s goon towering over him.