Jack’s saying something. I’m not fucking listening.
I’ve never seen eyes like those—big, deep brown, shaded bylashes heavy with glittering makeup. They’re warm and a hundred miles deep.There’s a little twinkle in them, like she can hold her own.I could trip and fall right in those eyes and be happy to drown.
Slowly, she lifts her hand, nails long and buffed beige, and blows a kiss, barely touching the tips of her fingers to her full mouth.
My jaw is slack. I clench it.
She shakes her hair out, a cascade of gold and brown falling down her back. I tear my eyes from her faceand give her a glance over. Then, I go in again,because there’s something here to appreciate.
Goddamn, she is pretty. She’s all the things I shouldn’t want but do anyway. Too young for me, several leagues ahead. Her body, beneath a tight, short,fringed dress that barely reaches the middle of her thigh, is lean with some curves. Enough ass to overflow my hand, enough tits to fill it.
But it isn’t that that has me captivated. It’s whatever is overflowing those eyes, that smile, like life is just spilling out of her, glittering, glowing, warm as the first day of spring.
She could stand in the middle of the universe,and it would revolve around her, drawn to the light.
The room is a dull roar in the background.
I have no idea where Jack went, but I swear I felt him slip something into my pocket. I don’t care right now.
My boots start moving, and she’s getting closer. The world is distant, and I’m looking directly into the sun.
CHAPTER FIVE
DELLA
PRESENT DAY
I get to the bar in West Lancaster, the Brass Terrier, just as they’re closing. There’s a blonde woman wiping down the counters when I walk through.
“Can I help you?” she asks.
“I’m looking for somebody,” I say. “Jensen. He’s working on a job for me.”
She gives me a long look. Then,she shrugs, reaching over to turn offthe neon sign. “He’s at the stockyards. Fifty-five, South Ave.”
“Oh,” I say. “Can I walk there?”
“You can. Just cut through the backyards. It’s at the bottom of the hill from the water tower.”
It’s a miracle I make it in the dark, but the tower is lit up with a spotlight. All I have to do is scramble through backyards and down alleyways until I get close. Underneath the tower sits two rows of metal roofing strung with lights. I can hear the crowd before I see it—or smell it. Everything smells like livestock out here.
It’s so crowded and hectic, nobody bothers me when I slip under the caution tape around the pole barn supports. There’s a counter on the far side selling drinks. Barrels are set up at all four corners, flames flickering from the round mouths. It’s hotter than hell in here, the dust rising from the ground,choking me. Sweat etches down between my breasts, staining the front of my dress.
I have a picture of him, but it’s from twenty years ago. I don’t know what I’m looking for. Head down, I make it to the bar. The bartender gives me the up-down glance from above his handlebar mustache and leans in.
“You in the wrong place, sweetheart?” he asks.
“I’m looking for a man by the name of Jensen,” I say.
He leans closer. “What now?”
“I’m looking for Jensen Childress,” I shout.
He startles. “Jesus, you don’t need to yell. He’s in the ring.”
I follow where he’s pointing, to the partitioned section at the center. It’s surrounded by people, shoving and shouting. My heart picks up. I might have grown up scrappy, but I’m out of my depth here. The tent is mostly men, some with women glued to their sides. Everything smells like beer and way too much testosterone for my taste. I just hope there’s enough people around that nobody tries anything with me.
Slowly, I weave through moving bodies, closer and closer, until I’m standing on the other side of a circle of neon tape.
