At the mention of the Adders unwanted arrival, all color drained from Vera’s pale face. With shaking hands, she managed a glance over her shoulder to the kitchen, where Frank had disappeared into. For a minute, she almost breathed a sigh of relief, [i]almost[/i]. Shay, himself was rigid, like a coiled spring, or rather a snake poising to strike. A part of her wondered if he developed his grimness from the war, for his instructions were curt, and void of notable emotion.

“Fuck.” She hissed through clenched teeth.

       Like a wet mangy dog begging for scraps, so came Donald Hayes and his cronies. Every fibre in her body burned with deep seated hatred, and she checked subconsciously if she had pocketed her Smith & Wesson revolver; which proved a mere fruitless attempt as her coat hung over the back seat of her chair. His loathsome words made her nauseous, and sent her mind racing for some form of a comeback, either one to dissuade the growing tension, or to trigger it. For once, she wished that Sam were here, and suddenly her mouth went dry with regret. Sam had always protected her, and now with Donald Hayes seated at their table, how she desperately wished he was here to do something. Whoever the cronie that hung over Shay, Vera's outer-extremities were lifeless without the flow of blood to them. Even her heart beat so loud that she could feel the very vibrations coursing through her limbs, throbbing and trembling with each pulse.

      Then, a fire ignited in her core. She relaxed, and leaned back in her chair, she looked like the spitting image of a cat toying with its prey before the kill. “I have to say, Mr. Hayes, I can't say that I do. Not that I care. Though, for my own benefit, I [i]should[/i] take into account the rest of your gang that still lives. That way, if I ever see your boys hanging around like the slimey blokes they are, I can put a bullet in their head myself. After all, you made a mistake of poking at the wrong Addley, I had nothing to do with that Jepson boy's death. That's all my brother’s doing.”

       And like a cat toying with her prey, she moved with purposeful eloquence, raising the wine glass to her lips, her eyes became icy blue slits. When she set her glass down on the table, she licked her lips slowly, and spoke softly, “I've no intention of riding cock, though I suppose a strong Irish one like [i]his[/i],” she nodded towards Shay, “would suit me just fine. Always did have a hankering for men like him. Though I have to say, riding cock for a fix is something I've never had to do, always bought it myself, with no help from anyone else. Now that I think about it, please tell Matthew I said hello, and tell him that I won't be in need of his services anymore. He’s such a nice lad, eh?” 

         Shay’s mention of drawing attention proved true, as several heads turned in their direction, and a hush fell over the restaurant. Vera’s free hand began to toy with her fork, a potential weapon in case she needed to jam it in Hayes’ eyeball, after all, he was so tantalizingly close, she could smell his thick, musky cologne. 

“Now I would play nice for tonight, and make off to your table. The owner is making his way over here.” She said with a lift of her brows, gesturing towards a man dressed in a red-button down shirt, green tie, and black dress pants that made his way with great haste towards their table.