“Yeah well, sex has a way of doing that to a person.” I couldn’t decide if I was frustrated that he’d let his guard down or proud that he’d done what it had taken to get answers out of her. It still felt wrong. Every damn thing felt wrong about the club, from the way my clothes were pressed against my body to the music they were playing.
Chase held up his hand and motioned for the bartender and laughed with Mil, every once in a while touching her knee with his hand.
His smile faded when a figure walked up to them. I didn’t recognize him; he was tall, clean-shaven, and had dark hair. His suit was expensive, from what I could tell, and he seemed distant but friendly.
Chase eyed me across the bar, lifted his drink one last time, and grabbed Mil’s hand as they were led to a back door.
“Shit.” I pushed away from the bar then, remembering Trace, doubled back and pointed at her face. “You. Stay.”
“Staying.” She raised an eyebrow.
I glanced up, made eye contact with Frank, and then motioned for Luca to follow me.
Trace froze and I turned back to her. Recognition flared in her wide eyes, but she was looking over my right shoulder. Something hard pressed into the small of my back, and the cold steel of a gun filtered through my shirt. Well shit, didn’t see that coming.
“Let’s go.” the voice said, the gun pushing harder into my back.
Grimly, I nodded and reached for Trace. She held my hand as we all walked out of the club. Nobody noticed — or if they did, nobody cared that there was a gun pointed at me. Just as it seemed nobody noticed my smile was tense or that Trace looked like she’d just swallowed a bug.
I caught Luca and Frank in the corner of my eye and stretched my neck to the left, which was the usual sign for them to follow. They slowly walked toward us but feigned disinterest. I couldn’t look directly at them so I wasn’t sure if they recognized who was escorting us out, or if they were getting ready to put a few bullets in our captor’s chest. Out of the corner of my eye, though, they seemed not to be interested.
Once we were out in the street, I was pushed into Trace’s arms and heard the click of a gun. Shit.
Turning, I guarded her with my body and looked into the eyes of our captor.
“You should have stayed in Chicago,” Sergio said, his voice sad. “Why, Nixon, is it that you can’t just leave things alone?”
“But you’re a ghost…” Trace’s voice wavered. “You help us!”
Not to mention the fact that he was blood. Did he have a death wish?
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I spat.
Sergio laughed and scratched his head with the tip of his gun. “You mean other than saving your pathetic life?”
“What?”
“Ten,” Sergio said in a cold voice. “Ten men. All with guns trained on you and your little mafia princess.” He licked his lips and closed his eyes, cursing into the night sky. “It’s bad, Nixon.”
“Bad?” Trace repeated.
“How bad?” came another male voice I recognized as Frank’s. Luca stood next to him, his expression grim.
“Bad enough,” Luca muttered, “that one of our ghosts had to come out and play, I imagine.”
“The footage. From the night Chase and Mil were attacked at the hotel.” Sergio shook his head. “There were marks on the insides of those men’s wrists.”
My head snapped up as every nerve twitched with awareness. “What kind of marks?” I glared at his hand. “And put your damn gun away.”
“Oh, sorry.” Sergio put the gun back into his jacket. “I needed to make it look like I was capturing you guys before you got your heads blown into what I can only assume is the worst techno music to ever be produced.”
“Thanks,” I said through clenched teeth. “The marks?”
Sergio clicked through his cell phone pictures and finally settled on one of the bodies; he expanded it until the fuzzy mark came into focus. It looked familiar, like a face I couldn’t quite place it.
“Think hard,” Sergio said. “I’m sure it will come to you.”
“Let me see.” Luca snatched the phone and then did something I’d never seen him do in my entire life. He showed fear. He handed the phone back to Sergio and looked at me straight in the eyes. “We’re all going to die.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chase
“Hey,” I joked. “These clothes are new. Be careful.” I tried to appear like I didn’t have a clue in hell why we were getting escorted out of the club at gunpoint and into a waiting black Escalade.
“Get in,” the man said gruffly, shoving me against the car before opening the door and pushing both me and Mil inside. I stumbled over her and let out a loud laugh. I figured the more I played the stupid role the easier it would be for me to snap his neck and get Mil the hell away.
“You’ve grown,” came a gravelly feminine voice.
“Tanya?” Mil said surprised. “Was this necessary?”
“Keeping you alive?” Her laugh was evil. It sounded like something out of a horror story, as if someone had crushed her voice box and then played Frankenstein with it, putting it back together but completely tattered. “I believe so.”
I swallowed. Her face was covered in moonlight. She shifted in her seat, and I got a brief glimpse of cold grey eyes and salt-and-pepper hair. The car didn’t move. So clearly we were doing this little meeting on the street as if that was safe.