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So many voices. All trying to be heard over the others and the live music coming from the stage, which was like a beacon in front of a mass of dancing bodies.
It was too loud.
I resisted the urge to go back outside, knowing the noises wouldn’t be any easier to handle out there on a night like tonight, and forced the same blank stare I maintained around the Holloway property as I made my way to the bar.
A man and two women stood behind the large wooden bar, the women dressed in tight pants and revealing shirts. Men from my side of the bar followed their every move with lust-filled eyes as the women made drin
ks, while girls tried eagerly to catch the man’s attention.
But his eyes found me, narrowing as he pushed away from the bar to stalk over to where I was standing.
Before my fear could take hold at the thought of being recognized, he stopped in front of me, his lips twisting into a sneer as he gave me a once-over.
“You old enough to be in here?”
I opened my mouth to tell him I was twenty-four, but paused. It wouldn’t have mattered right then if I was thirty or an eighteen-year-old trying to pass off as legal. I’d only ever driven a handful of times when the boys had snuck me out to teach me, so there’d never been a reason for a driver’s license. And my parents had so rarely let me off the property growing up that Mickey had used it as an excuse to stop me from getting an ID.
I’d been well hidden and protected even before they’d faked my death.
Instead of trying to convince the man of my age, I hurried to tell him exactly why I was here. “I just want to use the phone.”
“Sure you do. And I just need a million dollars.”
I didn’t let my emotions slip through. I didn’t scream at him, begging for the phone because it was an emergency.
There weren’t emergencies in our world.
There were tragedies that were repaid.
Despite the raw terror still pushing shards of ice through my veins. Despite the flashbacks from four years ago assaulting me again and again . . . I simply gripped my bag like it would give me the strength to continue on, and forced myself to stare blandly at him.
Lifeless eyes.
Lines and circles.
I blinked, chills skated across my skin, and I sucked in a calming breath as the bartender and bar came back into focus once again.
“Well?” he asked when I didn’t say anything or move. “Unless you’ve got ID or a million dollars on you, you might as well get on out.”
“I just want to use your phone.”
“Look, I don’t need cops in here because I served underage kids. Get on out of here.”
“All I want is to use—”
“Jesus Christ, Zeke. Let the girl use the damn phone,” a girl huffed as she stalked up beside him and slammed a phone down on the bar in front of me. She gave me a tight grin. “Keep it short, then head out unless you plan on showing some ID and buying something. ’Kay, sweetheart?”
I nodded as I murmured my thanks and reached for the phone. I eyed the man as I hurried to punch in Kieran’s number but looked away when his glare found me again.
When the call went straight to voicemail, I quickly hung up and dialed Beck, the only other number I had memorized. Then called again. But he never answered.
I started punching in his number a third time when the phone was ripped from my hands.
“All right, that’s it,” Zeke grumbled. “Whoever you’re trying to get hold of isn’t there. I don’t need you keeping my phone busy all night.”
“I—”
“Now I told you to get on out . . . so turn that underage ass around, and get the hell on out. You hear me?”
