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Leon’s bar is a dive. Some woke idiot with no sense of self-preservation would probably call it rustic and take pictures of the row of ‘vintage’ motorbikes parked outside, or the rusty sign creaking over the entrance as it sways back and forth in the breeze.
But that’s because they’ve never been in enough trouble to recognise the tingle of unease you get from being somewhere where bad things have happened. It’s the kind of place that’s a home-away-from-home for people with nothing better to do. People that know how to keep their mouths shut. Whatever you think you saw happen in this place, you didn’t.
There’s nothing new or particularly clever about this kind of operation. Leon recruited young people with criminal records or crappy home lives and nothing left to lose. He preyed on the already disadvantaged.
Most of the time, their prospects were already destroyed by getting involved in some dodgy dealings, more than likely orchestrated by Leon. Selling stolen goods. Hiding something illegal in their house. A crime that seemed small at the time, but once it’s on your record, work is harder to come by, family looks at you differently, and you realise it’s too late.
You’re stuck, and your only option is going to work for Leon Lennox.
If you’re related to the man, you never stood a chance.
Head down, I sprint from the cover of the trees to the back of the bar and scan the area around me. I can hear voices inside but nobody bursts out the back to attack me. A couple of old wooden sheds, that look like a stiff breeze would knock them over, stand to my left. A quick glance through the rotting boards tells me there’s nothing interesting inside.
On the right, a much more rigid structure looks promising. There is still no movement from the bar, and I wait for what feels like an eternity to make a call. When I hear someone stomping toward the back door, about to discover me, I slip inside the shed. Looks like I’m going in after all.
Scanning the space for somewhere to hide, I’m disheartened to see it practically empty. In fact, I’m downright stunned to see there’s nothing in here but a single chair, sitting in the middle of the room under a lone bare lightbulb. The concrete underneath it looks a different shade of grey, stained darker, and a hook hangs off a thick chain.
It looks like a scene from a mafia movie. Except I’ve seen interrogation rooms like this before, used for terrifying and torturing.
As the door creaks open behind me, I concede that I should have listened to Van.
Turning slowly, I look at two huge men blocking the entrance, glaring at me. The message is clear: You’re not welcome. But after stumbling in here, I might not be free to leave anymore, either. Holding my hands up in the universal sign of I fucked up, I play my only trump card, even though it pains me immensely.
“I’m looking for Natalie, and maybe a beer.”
CHAPTER 16
CHASE
“You won’t be getting either.”
Interest shines in their suspicious eyes as they look me over, trying to work out whether I’m just a complete fool or I'm hiding something dangerous they haven’t figured out yet.
I’m not sure I know myself.
“I’m a good friend of hers.” Nearly choking on the word friend, it takes all my willpower to keep my attention fixed on the men in front of me when I hear raised voices from the bar behind them. Wood slams, and glass smashes; the indications that a tussle has broken out.
The sound of fists hitting flesh has me sweating with the need to rush past them and see what’s going on, but I have to stay calm.
Neither so much as twitch. This is everyday life in Leon Lennox’s dive bar.
“I don't care who you think you are to our Nat. You’re not getting near her." The biggest one continues to eye me with distaste while the other, who I recognise as Mitch from the photos Van sent me, steps forward until he’s within a couple feet of me. "And you don’t exactly seem her type, boy scout.”
My senses sharpen in anticipation, waiting for him to lunge at me, all the while I listen for Natalie’s voice or some sign that she’s alright.
“I don’t want any trouble. I just want to make sure she’s okay.”
That’s the truth. With a frown, they look at each other, brows furrowed, then burst out laughing as though that’s the funniest thing they’ve heard in a long time.
“She’d be better off on her own,” Mitch says, one eyebrow raised. Does he mean in a fight or just in general? “Regardless, you’re still not going in. For your own protection, really.”
His taunts rub me up the wrong way and stirrings of that icy darkness begin inside me. My skin itches with the need for violence. It fills me up, consumes me, and only years of training have taught me how to not completely lose it at the slightest provocation.
But all of my tried and tested methods are failing me today.
The corner of my vision darkens when I hear a feminine shout and another loud bang. Natalie could be hurt, and they’re keeping me from her.
Both men straighten as my rage leaks into the room, and they look at me a little more closely. They can tell something is different about me, sensing the wilder side struggling to break free.
