AllFreeNovel
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Seven awful days.
Mom has been catatonic.
Dad isn’t eating.
No one is sleeping.
I haven’t been back to my dorm. Haven’t been to my classes.
Finding Freya is all that matters.
And the men inside this bar know where she is.
They have to.
I tuck the keys of my Porsche into my pocket and walk across the cracked blacktop toward the front of the bar.
There’s no bouncer. No one checking IDs. It’s a shitty bar in a shitty part of town filled with shitty people. A person would have to be crazy to go in if they didn’t belong.
Crazy. Or desperate.
The front door is propped open, and I step through into the low-ceiling space filled with cigarette smoke and the scent of stale beer.
I dressed in a plain T-shirt, a dirty pair of hiking boots, and my oldest jeans, hoping to blend in, but I still feel eyes on me.
Ignoring the instinct to turn and run, I keep my head up and move toward the bar.
It’s definitely a rough crowd, but it doesn’t look like a straight gang hangout. There’s too much variety in the patrons to have them all be part of the Corsican mafia. Maybe the intel I picked up wasn’t as good as I thought. Or maybe it is. I’ll find out soon enough.
With each step I take, the tension builds in the air.
There are pool tables on my left, low tables on the right, groups of people standing where there’s space, and more standing at the bar.
A few people bump my shoulders, but I don’t react to them. I just keep moving.
I don’t know how to fight. And I don’t know what sort of weapons these guys might have. All I have is a switchblade in my pocket that I bought at a truck stop.
But I won’t let that stop me.
When I reach the bar, the bartender is already staring at me.
I stop in front of the scarred top across from where he stands.
“You lost, kid?” the old man asks.
“Not lost. Just need information.”
He huffs. “Information isn’t free.”
I take my wallet out of my pocket, fatter than usual, pull a hundred out, and set it on the bar top. “I need to know who likes to take girls from Comet.”
The bartender lifts a brow as he slides the hundred across the bar and shoves it into his apron.
“Well?” I prompt.
He lifts a shoulder. “Never heard of Comet.”
I grind my teeth. “The nightclub.”
