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“Oh shit,” one of the guys moaned.
“What the fuck do they need three guards for?”
“How are we supposed to handle three guards?” another guy asked.
Tray was studying me. “How’d you get by them?”
I smiled, saying smoothly, “It’s why I do what I do.”
“Taryn, this is wasn’t what I do.” He shot me a smug grin. His eye fell on the bottle in my hand. Pointing to it, he asked, “That for us?”
I handed it over. “It’s for the guards. Don’t use too much and don’t leave it behind.”
He lifted it up. “Thanks.”
I sighed. Why the hell was I helping him?
One of the guys hollered, “Thanks, Taryn! You’re awesome.”
“Shut the fuck up!” Tray snapped.
I turned to leave, but Tray asked, “Where are you going now?”
I turned back, but continued to walk backwards. “I got some more business to take care of.”
He frowned. “More?”
“Yep.”
“The same sort that you took me on a ride with?”
“Yep.”
I didn’t know how he knew, but he did. What perturbed me the most was that a part of me was glad he knew. I don’t know why. I didn’t understand it. But the other part of me…I didn’t like being read. Being read meant that I could be predicted. I was known for being unpredictable.
Tray just nodded, not saying anything, watching me walk backwards until I finally turned and disappeared in the darkness.
I could hear their feet shuffling against the street as they headed towards the school, in the opposite direction.
*
Holy. Shit. I did not want to go into that building.
I was standing across the alley, the Seven8 was pumping in music, sweat, and drugs. I could hear the shouts from the crowd from where I stood. There was a waiting line, trailing around the corner.
The club wasn’t normally this crazy, but apparently I had picked the best night to run an errand for Geezer.
And my errand was inside.
Oh God.
I’d rather—sit in jail. Maybe not for a week, but…close enough.
Taking a deep breath, I crossed the road, jumping lightly onto the sidewalk, seeing Ben holding back two screaming girls. He was joined outside the door by Grunt and Moan. Okay, those weren’t their real names, but those were the nicknames I’d always given them. Actually, I think Grunt really was his name. Probably not Moan though.
Moving forward, I ducked around a girl who got shoved from the line. It was kill or be killed when getting inside this club.
Drawing closer, I murmured, “Hey, Ben.” Seeing a somber look appear in his eyes, I didn’t take it as a good sign.
