Drake had been waiting for Haven to show up, and, apparently when she’d stood him up, he’d lost his misery in a case of Sam Adams. As they’d dragged him down the spiral staircase, he’d tried to fight back, but his rubbery arms and legs hadn’t done him much good. The fact that he hadn’t even asked why they were taking him in for questioning was enough for Ryker to suspect the ass was a hundred percent guilty of the charges that were about to fall on his head. Still, Drake needed to be questioned, and Ryker doubted he’d spill anything useful with his brain as muddled with booze as it was. As they passed through the Castillo de San Marcos and into Below, they were greeted by several groups of gawkers, shocked, no doubt, to see a Mystic—ex or not—being dragged like a common criminal by Ares’s general. But Ryker kept a firm grip on the back of Drake’s neck, shoving him through the crowds Below toward the street of town house–looking dwellings where Jordan Faye was residing while she trained.
