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He hesitates for another half second, then reluctantly rattles off the name of some bar in a part of Halston I’ve always steered clear of. He gives me a few other sketchy locations I can check if I don’t find them there, then sighs again.
“Hey, listen. I know it’s none of my business, especially since I never told you any of this, but… be careful, okay?”
“I will,” I promise, even though we both know it’s a lie.
Then I hang up and drop the phone, glancing down at the scrap of paper where I hastily scribbled the addresses he gave me. I’ll start with the most likely one tonight, then work my way down the list. And if I don’t find what I’m looking for, I’ll start from the top all over again.
I won’t stop until I find the Reapers.
Because they’re the only chance I’ve got.
7
RILEY
If the Reapersare going to be at the bar Tai mentioned, it’s not going to be until after dark, so I have several hours to kill before I can begin my search. It’s hell waiting around all day, trying not to think about what Chloe is going through, but I distract myself by doing as much research on the gang as I can. When seven o’clock rolls around and the sky starts to darken to an inky indigo, I finally head into the bathroom to get ready.
If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s get men to say yes to me. But these aren’t just men. They’re ruthless men. Criminals. Killers.
My hand shakes as I apply eyeliner, jerking the small brush across my eyelid in a jagged black line.
“Dammit,” I mutter, dropping it into the sink and squeezing the edge of the counter until I get ahold of the trembling. I have to be in better control than this.
I tilt my head to inspect the damage, then make quick work of fixing it. After spending the last couple of years on stage, I can do my makeup in my sleep, but tonight, no amount of makeup can hide the truth.
My eyes are too wild. I feel strung out, and it shows.
I do the best I can anyway, going a little heavier on the concealer than usual to try to hide the slight puffiness around my eyes from crying.
Finally satisfied, I head into the bedroom to get changed, then survey myself in the full-length mirror on one wall.
I smooth my hands down my thighs, twisting to the side to get another angle. I decided to go with something that walks the line between badass and sexy, and I feel like I’m dressed for battle as I take in my black leather pants, motorcycle boots, and fitted white shirt with a distressed calfskin jacket over it.
Something still isn’t quite right, though, and it takes me a minute to realize what it is.
My mood ring. Fuck.
My hands start shaking again as I unfasten the small teardrop-shaped blue gem I slipped into my nose piercing after my crying jag this morning. It’s a sentimental piece of jewelry, something Chloe gave me right after I moved her out of our dad’s house, but it reminds me too much of her, and I can’t afford to cry anymore.
Stepping toward the dresser, I open the chipped music box I can still remember our mother humming along to and riffle through my options. There’s only one that fits.
I fit the black faux-diamond skull into my piercing and step back to get the whole effect in the mirror.
“Uh-oh,” I can almost hear Chloe saying, laughing as she gives me shit. “That one? Looks like you’re pissed off and ready to do something about it, sis.”
She’s right.
Or she would be right, if she were here.
With one more backward glance in the mirror, I turn on my heel and head out.
The dive bar I go to first is the one Tai told me would be my best bet, since apparently the leader of the Reapers spends a fair amount of time there with his seconds. Unlike the West Point Gang, the Reapers don’t wear flashy jewelry or, like some of the other small-time gangs in Halston, make their members get tattoos to show their affiliation.
That doesn’t matter. If they’re as dangerous as their reputation says, I’m sure I’ll be able to figure out who they are.
I pull up outside the place, taking in the flickering neon sign in the window that readsClancy’s.The bar isn’t anything special, clearly a dive that’s been around for a long time and seen better days, and the door sticks a little as I yank it open and step inside.
Music pours from the speakers, providing a background for the hum of conversation and clinking glasses. Several grizzled looking men are hunched over glasses of whiskey or beer at the pocked wooden bar, but I ignore them, scanning the rest of the place quickly.
