Page 63 of I Never Stopped Loving You

“I’m only fucking with you, ol’ man. Chill out,” I taunt, downing the last sip of the small drink.

They could at least give a guy a decent pour here. The song changes on the juke box, and the sound of a small argument breaking out fills the air. The bartender shouts over to them right before the sound of a chair cracking over someone’s head grabs our attention.

The fight is over within a few seconds when the larger of the two men punches the other in the jaw, laying him out flat. Two men, I’m assuming the knocked-out guy's buddies, pick him up and drag him over to a booth in the corner. They toss him onto the seat before rejoining the group to play some pool.

“So, what brings you here tonight? Was it for the lively entertainment or just the drinks?” I ask as we both turn back around and watch each other in the dingy mirror behind the bar.

“Like you. Just passing through,” he says as he holds the glass again with his two hands clutched around it.

His thumb lazily runs up and down the glass. You can see where the grime build-up from not being rinsed correctly is starting to rub off. Nasty. Remind me to brush my teeth and gargle bleach after this.

“Heading to see your family?” I ask curiously.

My curiosity doesn’t fail. His body visibly stiffens at my question. His jaw clenches, and his grip tightens on the glass.

“Nope. Don’t have any family anymore.”

“Sorry to hear that,” I tell him, trying to keep the venom out of my words.

“I just don’t understand what someone like you would be doing in a place like this,” he says, swirling his finger lazily in the air as he gestures to the crowd around us.

“I told you. I’m just passing through and wanted a drink.”

“You don’t belong here,” he growls softly.

It’s as if he doesn’t want to offend me, or maybe the other bar patrons. Who knows?

“Another?” the bartender asks.

“No thanks. I’ll be leaving. Thanks for the company, ol’ man. Maybe I’ll see you again someday,” I say as I stand and turn to face him once more.

I hold my hand out for James to shake, but he just stares at it like it’s a weapon. Which, honestly, my hands could be considered weapons from how much blood I’ve spilled with them alone.

“I don’t bite,” I tease before I reach my hand closer to him.

“Sure, boy. Maybe you’ll see me again someday,” he huffs before taking my hand in a tight grip.

I walk back to my car and wait. The cool night air rushes into my lungs as I finally escape the stench of that place. I can still smell the cigarette smoke clinging to my skin. It’s disgusting.

I pull out my phone and call Monty while I wait. This fucker still hasn’t gotten me any new information, and I’m going to strangle him the next time I see him.

“Sup, fucker?”

“I found him.”

“I know. I’m looking at your little green dot. It’s right next to the little red dot. What the fuck are you doing in a place like that, Anderson?”

“I didn’t choose to be here. I just followed him,” I growl as I rub my temples. This man gives me a headache.

“Well, just watch yourself. It’s not a bar known for their beer and burger specials, if you know what I mean,” he laughs before a bubbling sound can be heard, followed by his deep inhale.

“Are you seriously getting high right now? What about what I asked you to do?”

“Chill. I still have the trace going, and it’s tracking his movements all the way back to when he got the phone, okay?”

“I need to find her, Monty.”

He’s been helping me with this ever since I got his charges dropped. I asked him about his trade, told him Willow’s story, and he was hooked. Apparently, the fucker is a big softy for true love, so he’s making it his mission to help me find Willow. He doesn’t know everything I do, but he has helped me track down a few of these motherfuckers.