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“I’ve got nothing but time. Raincheck on the rum.”
“Gotcha, Nadia. See you.”
* * *
The phone stays silent the rest of the night. I figure tomorrow I’ll reach out to Diego in the daylight where almost kisses and hot looks don’t exist.
At least that’s what I tell myself. I know they do especially when it comes to Diego.
“Stop thinking about him,” I mutter, as I get ready for bed, before changing into PJs and braiding my hair.
I slide into bed and reach to turn out the light, not in the mood for reading, when my phone buzzes.
Heart beating fast, I snatch up my phone. Jay’s name’s on the screen. “Jay?”
“Nadia, I-I-I’m sorry.”
I grip the phone tight. He sounds miserable and scared, like he’s trying not to cry. He also sounds for all the world like a little kid.
“Where are you?”
He rattles off an address. It’s on the edge of town where warehouses and factories live, and there are the kind of places I’ve never been to. I suspect, the sort of places that would give an underage kid ink without bothering to check for ID.
It’s a five-minute drive, and I’m already up, throwing on sneakers and grabbing my coat.
“What happened?”
There’s what sounds like a scuffle. My heart jumps up, forming a lump in my throat, hot and bitter, and my stomach churns.
“Means the little bastard fucked up, bitch.”
The phone goes dead.
Fuck. Fuck. I race to the study and throw open the bottom draw. Pulling out the gun I took from him, checking it for a clip and making sure the safety’s on, I throw it in my bag and run out the door.
Once in the car, I hook my phone up to the car. “Call Diego.”
The phone starts to ring, and I take a corner a little too fast, fighting like hell not to burn rubber to get there.
He doesn’t pick up and frustration threatens to swamp me.
Diego doesn’t have a message for voicemail. The moment it beeps, I say, “It’s me. Jay’s in trouble. I’m heading there to get him out.” I repeat the address and end the call.
Maybe he’s drunk. Or he left. It doesn’t matter. The only reason I called is I’m not stupid. If he’s around I need him in my corner. If he isn’t . . .
I’ll make do.
I pull up outside a strip club and for a moment I stare at it, realizing I’m some kind of sheltered idiot. I had no idea there was one in town, but it makes sense.
“A little something for everyone.” I swallow down the hysteria and grab the gun.
What the hell am I doing? I’m not a movie star. I can’t go in there brandishing a gun.
Not without knowing the situation. So, I shove it in my glove box and my bag under my seat. Nabbing the phone, I lock the car, straighten my coat, and try for all the world not to look like someone’s crazed mom in her coat and cloud PJs.
The music hits my ears before I even reach the place. Red neon flashes the name of a beer, and green the name of the bar Dive.
Someone thought hard about that.
