An uneasy pang settles inside my chest, and I stop with the fucking kissing.
The heat in this corner booth is making me edgy.
It’s making me a lot more than edgy, actually.
“I think we’re good.” She slides away from me. “I think that might be my contact over by the bar.”
“Why do you─” It doesn’t take a fucking rocket scientist to figure out why she came to that conclusion when I see who it is she’s referring to.
“Fucking Walker. I fucking knew it.”
“Shit. I have to go over there, Stiles.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I have to.” She’s gone before I can talk her into staying, and when I get up to follow her, I’m stopped by a waiter with a tray full of shots.
“Can I get you anything?”
One of everything. “No.”
He starts to walk away, and I grab him by the arm. “Patron Silver, straight up.”
“Right away, sir.”
While I wait, I make myself scarce in the crowd of horny people and think.
Graham Black is Anonymous. More than likely.
Walker works for Black.
Who’s working for Walker?
That’s when I see him for the second time tonight.
“Dad?” He brushes past Walker. Green doesn’t even notice, but my eyes are trained on him.
I saw everything.
The way he placed a hand on Walker’s shoulder, how he slid a piece of paper into his jacket pocket afterward. And how he is now making a decided play for the back of the bar.
Exit.
I’m pushed farther into the sea of people by a bunch of drunken sex addicts who don’t know how to fucking say excuse me. As I pass by the bar area, I notice Green and Walker.
“Shit.”
I find Dad again and make a split decision to follow him.
I need to see what the hell is on that piece of paper. ’Cause something tells me that fucker’s gonna give me some of the answers I’ve been looking for.
About the moment I’m heading off, a hand tugs at my shoulder.
“Excuse me, sir?”
I was expecting Green. What I got was tequila.
Same effect, if you ask me.
“Thanks.” I take the shot, hand him a couple twenties, and continue to stalk my father.
The farther back he goes, the darker it gets. Figuratively and literally. The people back here go in and out of curtained rooms. I pass one guy who’s naked, on all fours, and has a goddamn collar around his neck that’s chained to a door.
I don’t even wanna fucking know.
I almost lose sight of Dad but find him again as he’s opening the back exit door.
I push through the crowd of people, frantic now. I can’t let him leave without knowing what the fuck he’s up to. By the time I’m at the door and manage to get it open, I stop short.
About ten bodyguards surround a dark Mercedes. Dad’s nowhere to be seen and I slink behind a corner of the building before anyone can see me.
I watch the crowd carefully for a familiar face, assuming that’s Black’s vehicle. Since, you know, Dad can’t afford that shit. All the while, I want to fucking hurl right now. Not to mention the fact that there’s nothing I can do about confronting the dickhead at the moment since that would most assuredly mean getting tackled by the linebackers he has working for him.
Jesus, I’m all for a good face-to-face chat about what a slime ball he is, but I’m not that fucking stupid, no matter what Green thinks.
Speaking of Green, I wonder where in the hell she is when low and behold, my cell phone buzzes.
I check it to see a text from her.
Where are you?
My fingers take position to tell her, and I stiffen when I hear the distinct sound of a gun’s safety being unlocked.
Cold steel presses up against the back of my head.
“Turn around, nice and slow,” the voice instructs me.
Clearly, he has no goddamn clue who I am yet. I may as well fess up. It’s only a matter of turning around before my cover’s blown anyway.
I hold my hands in the air and turn slowly. When my brother gets a glimpse of who he just caught red-handed, spying on the mayor of the city, his entire expression goes from full-on cop mode to big brother mode.
And by this, I mean he grabs me by the collar and drags me to the alleyway so no one else can see me.
Us.
“What the hell are you doing here, Jackie?”
“I could ask you the same fucking thing, Nickie.”
He’s angry and flustered. I can’t tell if that’s because he knows Dad’s here too, or if he’s not really supposed to be here right now.
As we stare each other down, looking for answers neither one of us wants to dish out, I get another text.
It’s from an unknown number. It’s nothing but an address. By the sheer coincidence that I’d even be getting something like that shit rolling through my fucking phone, I know where that address is gonna take me.
I close my eyes and have to laugh.
I have to, right?
Fucking Thomas.
“You in some kinda trouble, Jackson?” Nick asks me. “’Cause I’m pretty sure this is the last place you need to be right now.”