He drilled his eyes into me. “You’re already in harm’s way, baby. Remember where they found Nadine’s body.”
My tummy did a flip over how he called me baby, while acid settled in my throat. “She might’ve been in the wrong place at the wrong time.” The shelter wasn’t exactly in an upscale neighborhood.
“Please don’t get cocky or let your guard down,” he said.
I gave him a two-finger salute. “Yes, sir.”
He cringed as he climbed out, mumbling the word stubborn.
I wouldn’t disagree. I grew up on my own. None of my foster parents had ever cared if I came home or not. So someone worrying about me was nice, but foreign. I still hadn’t gotten used to how Ted worried over me. Not only that, I didn’t listen to Ted most of the time. While I would do anything for Dillon in the bedroom, I wasn’t going to change who I was as a reporter.
With my messenger bag strapped to my body, I hurried out into the sticky night air. I couldn’t wait for the cool fall weather to arrive.
When I ponied up to Dillon, he immediately took hold of my hand. “Stay close.”
I scanned the area, wondering what he saw that gave him a reason to warn me or feel protective. Then again, a crowd full of rowdy bikers might be a problem waiting to happen.
Music pumped out as Dillon and I waltzed into a packed house. Men wearing short-sleeve T-shirts and leather vests chatted at tables and booths scattered about. Some sat at the bar, watching a baseball game on the large-screen TV, while others hung out around the pool table, which was located in the large alcove on the other side of the bar. Everyone was so absorbed in what they were doing that they didn’t give us a passing glance.
I didn’t know if it was the music that was loud or the voices that were trying to talk above the music. It didn’t help that the ceilings were high with fans hanging down from the beams every few feet or so.
I detected the light scent of fresh paint as we settled not far from the bar. If a fire had shut the bar down, I didn’t see any evidence of it.
I scrutinized the women, in particular their necks, to see if any of them had a hummingbird tattoo.
About six women lounged next to their men in the bar area. None of them were Grace unless she’d bleached her hair blond, and I would have guessed the age of these women to be about twenty-five, not twenty. Two other women sat on high stools in the poolroom, and like the women in the bar area, they didn’t appear younger than twenty.
Dillon’s hand stiffened in mine. I followed his line of sight to an average-sized girl with short brown hair. She had her back to us as she perused songs on the jukebox. Dillon darted toward the girl, when a biker with a huge gut stalked toward me, sizing me up as if I were his next meal.
Ew!
I suddenly realized my attire was completely out of place in a sea of black vests, chains, piercings, and longhaired men. The women weren’t any different in the wardrobe department. Even Dillon fit right in, sans the vest. Me, not so much. I stuck out like a red herring, but I didn’t really care. I liked my denim capris, Chucks, and my signature cotton T-shirt with a scarf. I thought for a minute about removing the scarf and showing off my scar, because in this club, I was right at home.
The biker, who had a scar on the side of his face, grinned, showing off his gold tooth. “Hey, darlin’, what brings you here?”
I giggled. “Is that your pick-up line?”
He puckered his lips then moved them back and forth as though he were sucking on a lemon. “You sure are a pretty one.” He reached for my scarf, but I swatted his hand away.
Dillon was back at my side. “Are you trying to pick up my girlfriend, big guy?” He snarled at Gold Tooth, who matched Dillon in height but nothing else. If I had to wager which of them would win in a fight, I would’ve liked to have bet on Dillon, but Gold Tooth had the girth and the linebacker arms that could put a hurt on Dillon.
The voices around us died. All eyes in the immediate area waited for a brawl. Some men pressed their hands on the table, ready to attack.
Gold Tooth lifted his meaty hands, which were encrusted with oil or black crud. “Not my gig.” After he walked away, the voices hummed again.
I plastered on a gooey grin. “So I’m your girlfriend now?”
Dillon glanced down at me, his snarl ebbing. “I want to check out that girl at the jukebox.”
I peered around him. “She’s not there.”
He whipped his head around then frantically searched the room.
I started to scan the heads. “Was that Grace?”
A petite waitress with her dark hair up in a ponytail bounced up to us. “There’s a free table near the pool hall.”
“We’re looking for someone,” I said.
Dillon’s eyes darted in all directions. “A brown-haired girl with a hummingbird tattoo on her neck.”
The tray of beer bottles she was holding shook slightly. She tossed a look over her shoulder toward the pool hall. “Check with Dominic. He’s the guy bending over the pool table right now.”
Shock and awe leaked from Dillon’s expression like it had at the tattoo shop. “Is the girl here?” he asked in a high-pitched voice.
My heart did a few extra laps around the track. I tried to put myself in Dillon’s shoes and wondered how I would react if I found someone after they’d been missing for a couple of years. My mom didn’t count since I didn’t even know her. If I were in Dillon’s situation, I would probably freak out too.
“You’ll need to talk to Dom.” She dashed away as though she knew a secret and would get beaten if she told us.
Dillon and I skirted around tables and chairs as the other patrons’ eyes bore holes into us. I could almost feel the heat of their stares.
The tall and slender guy who had a military haircut, long sideburns, and diamond earrings in both ears lifted his hazel eyes from the cue ball and focused on us. Then he straightened before a short guy with a pool stick flanked him on his left, and a beefy biker with a low ponytail took up a position on his right.
The two twenty-something women, one with a row of piercings up her right ear, and the other with stark gray eyes that had a storm brewing in them, didn’t move an inch.
“Are you Dom?” Dillon asked.
Dom gripped the pool stick, his angular jaw as hard as the cue ball. “Who’s asking?”
Dillon’s shoulders lifted. “Does it matter?” His tone bordered on angry. “I’m looking for a girl with a hummingbird inked on her neck.”
The expressions on the faces of everyone in the poolroom were blank. No one winced or shuddered or reared back like the waitress had. No one said a word. The women didn’t even react.
“We have a lot of ink in this bar, but I don’t know anyone with a tattoo like that.” Dom’s nostrils moved rapidly.
The man was lying.
Dillon clenched his fists. “Let’s try this again. Do you know a girl by the name of Emily?”
The girl with stark gray eyes jerked as if she had Tourette’s syndrome.
Dom studied Dillon, not giving his hand away.
Dillon lunged at Dom, and all hell broke loose.
22
Dillon
My hand went around Dom’s thick neck, while his compadres pulled guns on me. I’d left mine in my desk once again. I didn’t need to kill anyone. What I needed was to squeeze Dom for information because the fucker was lying. Body language was a beautiful giveaway, and rarely could one hide the truth from me unless I was naive, and I was far from being blinded. Gang life had taught me several things. One, always know my surroundings. I’d counted two exits and roughly fifty bikers of all shapes and sizes, not including the two waitresses and two bartenders. And I was one hundred percent certain that all the bikers had some type of weapon on them.
The girl who had piercings up and down her ears, and long-ass legs that disappeared underneath her frayed shorts flew off the stool and started to head toward the bar.
“Oh, no. You’re not going anywhere,�
� Maggie growled behind me.
“Your girl is badass, man,” Dom squeaked out as his face reddened.
Another thing I’d learned in a gang was to trust that my brethren had my back. I trusted that Maggie could take care of herself like she’d been boasting about, and I had complete confidence in her that she did have my back.
“Craig, Bert,” Dom choked out. “Put your guns down.”
The short guy and the big guy had death glares on their scraggly faces, not acquiescing.
So I dug my fingers into Dom’s neck harder. “Guns don’t scare me. I don’t give a fuck if the entire bar has guns trained on me. I came here to find my sister, and I’m not leaving until I get answers.”
He knitted his eyebrows. “Why didn’t you say so?” he barely got out.
Craig and Bert lowered their guns.
The women let out a collective sigh.
I slowly released him.
Dom rubbed his neck as he coughed. “Man, you got one hell of a grip.”
I stole a look over my shoulder at Maggie, who was lowering the knife in her hand. When she met my gaze, she gave me one of her ball-busting smiles. I breathed a little easier, knowing she could fend off attackers, although I should have known that anyway since she’d been in a gang, one that had a staunch and deadly leader who had taught her and his underlings how to fight and protect themselves. I was sure Ted had as well.
“So, Emily is your sister,” Dom said as more of a confirmation than a question.
My attention swiveled back to him. The girl who reminded me of Lizzie, with her black hair and gray eyes, threw her arms around Dom.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he cooed as he kissed her forehead. Then he tipped his head at the archway. “Everyone out.” His statement was directed at everyone but Maggie and me.
I found a stool and patted the one next to me as I eyed Maggie. She tucked her knife into her messenger bag as she sat next to me.
When his friends were gone, Dom pressed the palms of his hands against the edge of the pool table.
“Where is she?” I asked
“You do look like Emily,” Dom said. “It’s the eyes.”
“Spare me the small talk. And my sister’s name is Grace.” My voice was gruff, and my tone was rude. The shock that had ripped through my body when Syd told me about Grace, and then again when my old man said he’d seen her, was gone. In its place was pure rage that ate at the lining of my stomach like a parasite that was hungry and multiplying by the second. It was directed more at Grace than anyone.
Dom crossed his dirty denim-clad legs at the ankles. “I haven’t heard from Emily in two weeks.”
I vaulted off the stool. “Say that again.”
Dom hunched his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I meant Grace.”
I pinned him with what I knew was a scowl that would win a spot in the Guinness Book of World Records. “No, asshole, you said two weeks. You saw my sister two weeks ago?” I’d heard him clearly. I just had to torture myself again and again until those parasites chomped on every organ in me.
“Dillon.” Maggie said my name as though she were my mother, scolding me for being rude, much like my mom had done when I’d smarted off to my old man.
“So you’re the one she looked up to, the one she trusted.” Dom delivered the words in an even tone.
His words were nothing short of a dagger piercing my heart over and over again. I began pacing, moving away from Dom before my fist connected with his large nose. I circled the pool table, snagged the eight ball, and rolled it in my hands.
Maggie rushed to my side. “You need to breathe.”
I was trying to make sense of what I was hearing.
I haven’t heard from Emily in two weeks.
You’re the one she looked up to.
The one she trusted.
He was only regurgitating what he knew and what Grace had told him.
I’d failed her.
The pool table separated Dom and me, and if it hadn’t weighed a ton, I would have flipped the fucker over.
Dom’s words were on repeat in my head.
Maggie’s small hand rested on my back, rubbing lazy circles, hoping to soothe the raging lion inside me.
I tossed the ball on the table, and it landed with a loud thwack. Then I shoved my hands through my hair and paced again. Maggie gave me a pitying look. I wanted to tell her I didn’t need her pity. I was the one at fault. I was the one who had left Grace. I was the one who’d forced her onto the streets of Boston. The only thing that made me not lose my shit even more was that she was alive.
I came to an abrupt halt at the archway and looked into the club, scanning for that girl I’d seen at the jukebox. My old man had described Grace as having hair shorter than mine. That girl at the jukebox had had short brown hair, almost cut into a style that mirrored Dom’s. But from where I’d been standing, I couldn’t tell if that girl had had a hummingbird tat.
Not looking at Dom, I said, “Describe Grace to me.”
“Aside from the tat on her neck, she has others on her arms, much like you do. Her hair is short, cut over her ears, long on top, and she’s beautiful, if you ask me.” He sounded sad, as though he were remembering a lost love.
The girl at the jukebox hadn’t had tats on her arms. “Are you in love with my sister?” I returned to Maggie’s side. I was doing the math in my head. Grace was twenty. Dom appeared to be in his twenties, around my age, I would guess. “When did you meet my sister?” I shouldn’t be trying to play big brother and beat Dom’s head in for liking my sister. I had no business deciding who Grace dated. I’d lost that right the day I left for the merchant marines.
“Grace is alive, Dillon,” Maggie muttered. I got the impression she was trying to convince herself more than me.
Dom rubbed his chin. “I met Emily about nine months ago. Actually, I found her stealing food from a grocery store. She was filthy, bruised, and her hair was caked in blood.”
I hated to think what had happened to Grace. The way he was describing her reminded me of Nadine.
Dom pressed his lips tightly together. “I gave her a room, a warm bed, and food.”
Maggie and I rounded the pool table, then Maggie hopped up while I stood.
“I tried to ask her where she’d been,” Dom continued, sitting on the edge of the stool along the wall. “Who messed her up? But she wouldn’t talk. I tried to get my sister”—he pointed a finger at the entrance—“Fi, the girl with black hair, to talk to her. But Fi struck out too. I’ve never touched your sister. I’ve never slept with her either.” He touched his chest. “I swear, man.”
While I believed him, Dom and Grace sleeping together wasn’t why I was boring holes into him. “Continue.”
He lowered his shoulders. “All I did was give her a bed to crash. She came and went. After about a month, she started leaving money on the kitchen table before she left in the morning. On a few occasions, she would hang out with Fi and me here before the fire gutted the joint. She was always quiet. Kept to herself. As long as I knew she was safe, I didn’t question her. Where she went during the day, I couldn’t say. How she got money, I don’t know.” Dom sighed heavily. “I’m worried about her.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “So if she hardly spoke, then how do you know about me, and how do you know she trusted me?” Something wasn’t adding up. He sounded as though he knew her but didn’t know her. He was leaving something out.
He gnawed on his lip. “I overheard a phone conversation. She mentioned your name and another name.” His forehead creased. “Duke, if I remember correctly.”
Motherfucker.
“So you’re saying she was talking to Duke?” My gut coiled like a rattlesnake ready to sink its fangs into someone.
He shrugged his wide shoulders. “Don’t know. Why? Is he related to you?”
Maggie listened intently.
“My brother,” I said with venom laced in those two words. I would fuck up Duke so badly if he knew where Grac
e was. “So you said you overheard her on the phone. Do you have her cell phone number? Or any idea of how to get a hold of her?”
“To my knowledge, she doesn’t have a cell phone,” Dom said. “She used the phone at my place. And no. I have no clue where to find her.”
I could try to choke more info out of him, but I got the impression he wasn’t about to tell me anything else.
“Do you know or have you heard of the Black Knights?” Maggie asked. The woman was relentless, both in and out of bed.
Dom snarled. “Who hasn’t? Do you think Grace is tied up with them?” He sounded as though he’d asked a question he knew the answer to.
Then again, my mind was a jumbled junkyard of this and that, and I was beginning to wonder if I would ever think clearly again.
Maggie shrugged. “Don’t know. I’m doing a story on the gang. I work for the Boston Eagle, by the way,” she said proudly.
Dom twirled a ring on his pinky finger. “Word on the street is Miguel Rivera is their leader. He has a team of men who meet women, promise them a red-carpet welcome, douse them in glitz, clothes, and money, then wham! They’re being pimped out or sold.”
Maggie’s foot dangled and moved furiously. “Mmm. I had to pull teeth to get that info.”
I stretched my neck to look at her. “Come again?”
“Ted told me in confidence. I guess it’s not a secret anymore.” She regarded Dom. “It sounds like you know Miguel’s ways firsthand.”
He shuddered. “Fi’s friend escaped from one of his soldiers.”
I shook out of my shock for the moment over the news that Maggie knew the name of the leader of the Black Knights but hadn’t bothered to tell me or bring it up when Denim had been on the phone. I could’ve warned him to back off. Maybe then he wouldn’t have gotten hurt. But that discussion was for later.
I stabbed a thumb in the direction of the bar area. “The girl with your sister?”
“No,” Dom said. “Hannah is Craig’s girl. Fi’s friend doesn’t live in the state anymore. She went back to her parents.”
“Do you know where I can find Miguel?” Maggie asked.
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