Ramsey wasn’t wrong. That was exactly what had tipped Nate off to the possibility something could be seriously wrong.
“You got any cash on you?” Ramsey asked next.
“Couple hundred bucks, probably.” Nate didn’t pull his wallet out and check, but he was pretty sure. “And I can sign anything anyone wants.” He always carried a sharpie in his pocket, next to his wallet.
Ramsey gave him a sharp nod of approval. “Good.”
“You think we’re gonna need it?”
“I don’t know what we’re going to need, but I’d rather know what our resources are ahead of time. I’m not a Leaf, but I’m still a hockey player and we’re in Canada. Might have some pull too.”
“Plus you’re you,” Nate said, grateful, not even for the first time, that this was true.
“Yeah?” Ramsey glanced over and there was an uncertainty in his eyes that Nate didn’t like. As if somehow Nate might notlikethat Ramsey was Ramsey.
And that was complete bullshit.
“To be clear, I’m so fucking grateful you’re you,” Nate said, reaching over and squeezing Ramsey’s knee. Nate could feel the heat of him through his slacks.
Ramsey’s face softened. “It doesn’t bother you?”
“The opposite, actually.”
Nate didn’t have any more time to expound on that theme because before he could, they pulled up at the curb at the Pussy Palace.
Nate grimaced at the name—at least the Wild Leopard had atheme—as they got out of the cab.
Ramsey handed the driver a wad of cash, and for a half a second, Nate considered telling Ramsey that he’d pay him back, since Jordan washisproblem. But the single swift look Ramsey shot him made it clear that he better not offer.
And it occurred to him that maybe Ramsey had already accepted that Jordanwasn’tjust Nate’s problem anymore.
They’d become a team, a partnership, and as they walked up to the entrance it felt like it.
It was quiet outside, which was a relief. No cops yet.
But on top of the unfortunate name, Nate could immediately tell that this establishment was not as classy as the Wild Leopard. It was in a dodgier neighborhood, down a darker side street, and the outside brick edifice had the remnants of graffiti that had been half-heartedly scrubbed off.
The bouncer at the front door looked them up and down and Nate had been clocked many times in his years as an NFL player, but never this obviously. He’d also never been sized up and priced out quite like this before.
As he approached the guy, he was painfully aware of the Rolex on his wrist. He didn’t look back and see if Ramsey had tucked his diamond-encrusted chain into his sweater, but Ramsey wasn’t a rookie at this. The guy could take care of himself—and if he couldn’t, he’d be the kind of person Nate would want to have his back in a fight.
Speaking of fights though, the bouncer looked like he’d fight dirty, with a knife to the ribs, or surreptitiously slipping on a pair of brass knuckles.
“Yo,” the guy said flatly. “You here for Atkinson?”
Well, they hadn’t been exactly slipping under the radar.
“Yeah,” Nate said.
“This way,” the bouncer said, and as they followed him through the dark doorway, Nate was tempted to ask what was going on, to get some kind of clue what they were walking into. But before he could, Ramsey reached out and took his hand, squeezing it once. Saying, Nate was pretty sure,not yet. He was becoming more and more fluent in Ramsey, but then after, Ramsey still didn’t let go.
Ramsey either didn’t care that they’d get clocked or maybe it was more he cared how much of a united front they presented.
Apprehension bloomed at the base of Nate’s stomach as the bouncer led them deeper into the club, past the bar, past the worn-looking stages with their cheap strip lighting and the dancers on the chipped brass poles.
Even though Nate checked every guy they passed, none of them were Jordan.
Ramsey’s grip tightened on his. Nate couldfeelhis anxiety, even as he presented a cool, collected front, his expression a smooth mask that gave nothing away.
