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Asher gave me a thumbs-up. "What do we make her for dinner?"
"It could rain tonight," I replied. "Make her some good soup. And Asher ..."
He looked at my face and nodded. "Take it."
Grateful, I got in his Honda Accord and traced Juniper's coordinates. I could have booked an Uber, but if she was in danger, we'd need to get out of there as soon as possible.
About half an hour later, I parked the car outside The Posh Pony.
Man, I hated bars. I hated them so much that the mere sight of this one made my head hurt.
The bright neon lights outside, the admittedly cute music, and the obnoxious young people, most of them too young to even be here—everything about this place felt like a cacophonous riot of screeching. The sensory overload did me in, drowning out every sane urge for existence.
I was disoriented, even without going inside. It was like time stood still, and people all around me were moving, alive, and happy.
Only I—only I remained rooted there, an unnamed fear snaking up my spine.
I shook my head, trying to recenter myself. Juniper needed me, and I realized more than ever that she would never be "just" a target. I wanted to be there for her. Even if things went wrong, and I suspected they would.
My instincts felt fried as I stepped inside. I scanned the crowd, looking for any signs of trouble. I couldn't spot Juniper immediately, but that was likely because of how heavily my head spun.
It was like being on a rollercoaster and knowing you'd throw up because you'd made the worst fucking decision of your entire life.
Immediately, I spotted a man in the corner, furtively watching the young girl beside him. He toyed with something in the back of his hand as he tried to make small talk. From the look on the girl's face, she just wanted to enjoy her drink in peace.
I narrowed my eyes. My gut told me something was off. I moved closer to the two of them, pretending to be engrossed in my own drink.
I kept my gaze fixed on the man, who had now pulled something out of his pocket. He said something that made the girl look in the opposite direction.
While her face was turned away from him, he slipped something into her drink. I could have sworn I saw it fizz before returning to its original color.
I acted quickly. Two quick steps forward, and I knocked the drink away from the table and got between the girl and the asshole. Caught off guard, he stumbled backward and fell onto a nearby table, knocking off several glasses as he went down.
"What the hell, man?" the man yelled, scrambling to his feet. "I was just trying to buy her a drink."
My eyes flicked to the vial on the ground, now empty.
"You were trying to roofie her," I said in a low voice, my hand reaching for the gun I'd kept holstered at my hip. I'd thought twice about carrying a firearm tonight, but now, I was glad I'd chosen to follow my gut.
The man took a step back, his eyes widening in fear. "I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered.
This fucker didn't merit my gun. I could take him down with my own fucking arms. I stepped forward and grabbed his wrist.
He sneered and tried to wrench his hand free—probably still caught up in the delusion that he'd get away from this unscathed.
I twisted it harder, causing him to yelp in pain.
"What the hell, man? Let me go!" he shouted.
My eyes narrowed. "How many vials you got back there? Planning to roofie all the girls here tonight?"
The man shook his head, his eyes darting around the room. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't play dumb with me," I growled. "I saw what you did."
The man's eyes flamed with out-of-place anger. "So what? It's none of your business."
My jaw clenched. "It is my business when you're trying to drug someone without their consent."
