“Good. Signal if you need me.”
I flash a wide smile in case anyone’s watching us and start laughing as I stand like we’re not going over a routine exit strategy. We’d come up with this plan a long time ago when we realized my sister was hanging out at some rough places.
“Can I help you?” the bikini-clad bartender asks as I approach. I tap my chin as I gaze behind her, acting like the typical party girl about to go binge drinking. I went to college with many of them, so I know the look well, even if I never partook in their detrimental life decisions.
“Yes, can I please have a margarita on the rocks, but can you put it in that bigger glass?” I point to her Long Island tea glasses.
“It won’t be very strong unless you want a double.”
“If you’ll fix it normal and then top it off with Sprite, that would be perfect.”
Her brow raises, not impressed in the least bit with the changeup. Less alcohol means less money in her case.
I lean in. “I want my date to think I’m drinking, but still have my wits about me. You know, just in case. This is our first date.”
“Ah, that’s a neat trick and smart, to boot.” She winks and goes about making my drink. She sets it on the bar, and as I go to dig out my cash, she holds her hand up. “It’s on the house.”
“Wow, thank you!”
“Ladies drink free as long as it’s not something crazy. The boss doesn’t like to advertise that, though. If we pretend that we’re giving it to a pretty woman for free on the down low, then you’re more likely to tell your friends.”
Laughing, I nod. “I appreciate the honesty.”
I grab the cup, taking a sip. It’s the Sprited-down version of a margarita so I can do recon and not get tipsy. If I weren’t looking for my sister, I’d have a top-shelf double margarita in a heartbeat, especially with Richardson watching my back. I love tequila, but unlike Madison, I don’t indulge often. It’s also a relief knowing I have Richardson around to watch over me if I feel the need to. He’s not interested in me sexually, so I feel safe with him. I can drink without worrying I’ll be unexpectedly taken advantage of by anyone meaning me ill will.
I’m headed back to our table when my hip brushes one of the biker’s arms resting on the back of the plush chair. I pause, feigning shock, even though I did it on purpose. “Oh! I’m sorry about that, are you all right?” I ask, meeting his stern stare.
“Of course, I am, darlin’,” he rumbles, and I glance to the patch on his breast.
“Plague?” I ask. “Wow, how’d you get that name?”
He chuckles, his dark features lighting as he buys into my act. “I like to party, and by the looks of it, so do you. Long Islands aren’t for weak drinkers.”
My smile grows, pleased that the big cup did the trick. “I like to call it my frog drink. It’s loaded with more ta-kill-ya than anything.” I wink to sell the lie better. Politics and acting go hand in hand, so it’s no wonder I’m pulling this off with flying colors.
“I’ll have to give that one a try sometime. Though I usually toss back tequila straight, no need to pussy around when you know what ya want.” It leaves him rumbling with a growl, and I have no doubt in my mind that he’s no longer talking about alcohol. This is where I have to be careful. It’s okay to be friendly—a little flirty even—but if I lead this man on, I’m liable to be raped.
The other bikers’ lips curl with amusement at my term for tequila. The two of them flash cautionary glances over at Richardson, seeing what he makes of this exchange. The oldest of the group speaks up. “You’re trouble, sweetheart, aren’t ya?” His green eyes sparkle, enjoying my attention on their group. He doesn’t strike me as the mean type. The other two are a bit rougher around the edges, but this one doesn’t project that. With the way he gazes over me fondly, I suspect he has a thing for younger women. He’s probably pushing somewhere between fifty and fifty-five. I’m not usually drawn to men that much older than me, but he’s extremely handsome.
“I mean, I could be, but it depends on who’s asking.” I giggle, offering him a wide smile. He doesn’t want to hurt me, just have a good time. It’s the other two that have me on edge. The guy in the middle—Blow, according to his patch—he’s got that just fucked hairstyle, kind of a messy fauxhawk. He wears cocky arrogance all over his perfect features. His plump lips would no doubt be amazingly soft if they were to touch my body. That won’t ever happen, but I can fantasize. It’s the only safe option with him, as this guy screams bad boy.
“Oh, yeah? What brings you in tonight?” I check the flirty older guy’s breast patch. Apparently, his name is Whiskey. Somehow it seems to fit, and I don’t even know him. “You looking to party? We can make that happen. Drop the guy with the stick up his ass and call up a few friends.”
I ignore the dig at my security and go for sweet. “I like your name, Whiskey,” I compliment, and he flashes me teeth, pleased with my praise. I use that as my in to find out what I really want to know. “Actually, I’m already here looking for a friend of mine. Maybe you guys know her?”
“What’s her name, baby?” Plague rumbles, drawing my eyes back to him. His irises are the color of melted dark chocolate. He has short black hair and tattoos peeking out everywhere—some even dot his face in various spots.
“Well, she’s even crazier than I am. Uh, she kind of looks like me…her name is Madison.”
The biker in the middle sits up, his back jolting straight and shoots a dark look at Whiskey. His tense response garners my attention. It’s like a red flag and has me hoping she’s not been hurt by them or anyone else.
I glance to his breast patch again, making sure I got his name right the first time before I ask outright, “Do you know her?” I meet Blow’s hard glare straight on. My sister’s whereabouts are too important to me to be intimidated by this biker.
He stares up at me for a beat before eventually growling. “I may know someone who does… Depends though, who the fuck are you?”
“Alice Compton, her sister.”
Chapter 5
Doubting yourself is normal.
Letting it stop you is a choice.
- Mel Robbins
Found the bitch sniffing around again. She’s here. Right now.
I read the text from Blow three times before it clicks. He’s talking about the woman from before. Alice, something or other. I can’t remember the last name I wrote down, but her first has stuck with me.
Bring her to me. I text back, not giving a fuck if they have to knock her unconscious to get her here. I want to see this woman for myself and find out why she’s so desperately searching for her sister. I’d understand if the chick was underage, but she’s midtwenties, plenty grown to make her own damn decisions.
Whiskey texts me next. Alice is at BJ’s again.
I know. Blow hit me up. Bring her to me.
He replies while Blow leaves me hanging. She’s got a man on her. Looks like a date, but I’d bet it’s security.
Bring the fucker along. I’ll slit his throat myself if he attempts to step in.