Page 4 of Cole

I took a few deep breaths to steel myself, then wiped my hands on my skirt and straightened my shoulders. I’d prepared for tonight. I wasn’t going to let myself down.

I strode into the bar.

The music was ten times louder inside. So loud the floorboards vibrated beneath my boots. I looked around, taking in the multiple levels to the place. There was a stage at one end, and the band that was playing was getting raucous applause. Seats dotted the middle of the space, and a long bar ran down the length of one side. Bikers, if I went ahead and judged a book by its cover, were everywhere. Circling the pool tables and clustered around the bar. Some were dancing, and others deep in conversation on that upper balcony. Excitement sparked in my gut. I was really here. I was really doing this. After years of spinning my wheels and going nowhere, I was finally taking my destiny into my own hands.

The vague sense of eyes on me tugged my gaze to a booth. A woman was watching me, with dramatic dark bangs, and a bloodred lip that put my own attempts to shame. Careful not to stare for too long, I lowered my head and focused on the bar. It looked weird as hell not to have a drink in hand at a place like this.

I approached the bar and waited for a break in the crowd. Standing in silence while everyone else was there with a date, or friends, made me positive I stuck out like a sore thumb. I’d have asked a friend to come with me, if I hadn’t been sure that they’d have tried to talk me out of coming.

Finally, I was able to slip between bodies and reach the bar. I pressed my middle against the smooth wood and smiled at the bartender as she made her way toward me.

“Yeah?” she asked when I failed to speak.

“Oh, I’ll take a beer,” I said as confidently as I could.

“ID,” she muttered and held out a hand.

I handed over my license and waited for her to check it. Whether it was stupid as hell to give out my real name when I was supposed to be here undercover remained to be seen. It wasn’t like getting my hands on a fake ID was easy. I had no idea where I’d even find someone to make me one, anyway. While my journalistic dreams might be daring and edgy, my real-life experience was tame, and utterly over-sheltered, and dull.

She handed it back to me, along with a beer.

I paid up and left a tip on the bar, then turned around to look for my target, beer in hand, casual as I could manage.

“Are you in the right place?” a voice asked.

I turned back to the bar. The bartender was leaning against the bar just beside me, looking at me with interest.

“Is anyone?” I asked, keeping my expression steady. Damn it, I knew I was sticking out, but brazening it out was my only option at this point.

She smiled and chuckled. My answer seemed to have caught her off guard. “Are you waiting for someone?” she asked.

“Nope,” I answered, taking another drink.

“Are you looking for someone?” She was still watching me curiously.

I smiled at her. “Just… looking, I guess.”

She chewed on my answer for a moment before responding, “Well, be careful. This crowd doesn’t take to ‘just looking’ very well.”

“I will keep that in mind,” I said, setting the bottle back on the bar. I wasn’t sure whether I was just being paranoid, but even my voice stuck out like a sore thumb in here. I sounded like a prim librarian who had gotten lost on the way to the bookfair and ended up in the most dangerous bar in Hade Harbor.

“The name’s Ronnie, by the way,” she said. “Veronika.”

“Thanks for the beer and the advice, Ronnie.” I attempted a smile at her and got one back. I relaxed a notch at her acceptance of my presence. Maybe I could do this after all.

Two men sat at the other end of the bar, one nursing a tumbler of spirits, the other a beer. The one on the far end was muscular, the kind of muscular that looks out of place anywhere other than in a bodybuilding gym. He had an intense scar running down the side of his neck, and he never lifted his eyes. The other had a leaner build, covered in tattoos, slowly surveying the room. He had the presence of someone you wouldn’t want to take on in a fight. They didn’t talk much, and everyone else in the bar seemed very aware of their presence. Neither was the boss around here, I knew that much from my research, and the poking around I’d done locally before coming here, but possibly they were both high up in the Harbor Hounds.

“Are you sure you’re in the right place?” a female voice said from behind me.

I turned around slowly, hesitant at the acid in her tone. It was the girl from the booth with the bangs. She was gorgeous in a way that screamed drama and danger. She wore a tight black dress, high heels that she seemed at home in, and eyes lined in a deep shade of maroon. She stared daggers at me, as if I were a stain on her favorite shirt. Completely unwanted and unwelcome. Her lip curled up at the corner when I didn’t answer.

“We don’t do tourists in here. You don’t belong here,” she said scornfully.

“I thought it was ladies’ night,” I said coolly, turning back around on the barstool.

She stepped closer and leaned across the bar right next to me. Her face was inches from mine, but I refused to let myself move out of her way. You never gave an inch in a pissing contest, at least according to my hockey-playing friends.

“You’d better watch yourself in a place like this. The guys in here will chew you up and spit you back out again, sweetheart,” she said with a sneer.