Chapter Eleven
Greyson
Life had pretty much returned to normal. My house was now in order, and I was back to work. But the feeling of being punched in the gut still lingered. The sleepless nights. The breathlessness. The constant body aches. No matter what I tried, it was always there—this haunting feeling in my chest, weighing me down.
I worked overtime, trained extra hard at the gym, and fought to get my head back on straight. Nolan had been absolutely right. Either that, or my male pride just got the best of me. Even if Finley and I weren’t meant to be, I needed to talk to her once more and make sure there were no hard feelings. If I was lucky, maybe we'd even discuss how I could keep Maple in my life.
After work, I decided I’d drive over to the club. It was more neutral territory than her apartment. I could say what I needed to say and leave on my terms. She couldn’t bar me from the door or throw me out.
When I got there, that sleazy manager in his baggy suit was lingering near the bar, flirting with one of the cocktail waitresses. I strode toward him as anger built inside me. I would always hate that these men got to see Finley’s bare skin and curves...while I never would again.
I took a deep breath and stopped beside him.
“Can I help you?” he asked, clearly annoyed that I’d interrupted them long enough for the waitress to scurry away.
“I’m here to see Stormy.”
He squinted at me. “I remember you.” Then he shook his head. “I’m sorry to tell ya, buddy, but Stormy’s gone.”
I blinked. I'd been prepared for her avoiding me, but this was ridiculous. “What do you mean, gone?”
“She skipped out on her shift yesterday. Hasn’t shown up for today’s, either.” He looked down at his watch and frowned. “This isn’t the type of job people put in a two weeks notice and want references for...when girls are done, they just split. That’s it.” He shrugged. “Sorry, man.”
Fuck. A sinking feeling formed in my gut and I took a step back.
“Layla’s nice. She’ll take good care of you.” He tipped his chin toward a girl who was approaching from the left. It was the redhead I remembered from the first time I was here.
“Hi, handsome. Want some company?” she asked, her voice lifting in a sweet Southern accent. That was exactly what she'd said back then, too. Guess she's got a routine worked out.
“Yeah, sure.” I took her hand and led her over toward the lounge area, where I hoped it would be quieter. We sank down into the plush chairs, and just as I had hoped, the thumping music from the DJ’s set wasn’t quite so loud back here.
Layla leaned closer. “So, what would you like, darling? A lap dance to start?”
I pulled my wallet from my back pocket and peeled off a couple of twenties from the stack. “Did you know Stormy?”
Her eyes lifted from the bills I was holding and narrowed on mine. “Yeah, I knew her.” Her tone was laden with suspicion.
“Well, Finley,” I clarified, “she was my friend. I knew her husband, fought alongside him in the Middle East.”
Understanding flashed in her brown eyes and she nodded somberly. “You’re Greyson.”
I nodded.
“Hold on. There’s someone you need to talk to.” She rose to her feet, only a little shaky in her high heels, and scurried away into the darkness.
What the fuck was going on here?
* * *
An hour later, I had gone through Finley’s apartment in meticulous detail, being sure not to miss even the smallest of clues. I could have tried to talk the landlord into opening the door for me, but I was a damn fine lock-pick and it’d be a shame to waste all that training.
The club's house mom, Ginger, had told me about a customer named Brant who seemed to be fixated on Finley. Her friend Layla backed up that story, sharing an ominous encounter from a couple weeks ago where he’d waited for her in the parking lot. I remembered driving up right after that, and how Finley had tried just a little too hard to seem unruffled. I didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but the facts were that nobody had heard from her in days, and my soldier's instincts smelled trouble. And I wasn't the only one; Ginger seemed to think Finley hadn’t just quit – that there was foul play at work. I tried to come up with an innocent explanation. Maybe she'd cut and run after things between us went south. Maybe she'd headed to Florida for a visit with Marcus’ parents. But nothing added up.
And when I got to her place and saw her car there, but she wasn’t – I knew it was something bad. Her place was picked over, and it looked like someone had packed quickly. I’d been in enough hostile situations to recognize one, and while nothing really looked out of place here, all my hunches were up. The only things missing were her undergarments and some of Maple's clothes. Their dresser drawers were left open and messy.
I sat down on the end of her mattress. I’d never been inside her bedroom before, and it was pretty bare-bones. One twin-sized bed and a narrow dresser, making me think she’d sold off her marital bed and furniture. A framed photo of Marcus stood on her nightstand. I picked it up and looked down at the half-lidded eyes of my friend as he smiled back at me. If she really had split town, she never would have left this behind.
“I’m going to find her, buddy,” I promised.
After locking up behind me, I dialed my boss, Jerry Barton.
“I’m listening,” he answered on the first ring.