After scouring the crazed dancing and singing crowd to no avail, I move to the bar. This place, with everyone concealed behind fucking masks, is making me seriously untethered.
A goddamn security nightmare.
Once I find Rena, she will not be returning here.
I wave two fingers for the bartender. The one with face makeup resembling Gene Simmons from Kiss stops before me.
“Hey, man. What can I—” He pauses abruptly and cocks his head. “You’re Little Moon’s guy. I saw you carry her out of here last night.”
My jaw locks at his use ofmynickname for her. “Yep. Don’t call her that.”
He casts a disconcerted scowl at me, but before he can make some smart-ass comment that’s going to get his teeth knocked out, I go on.
“Have you seen her?”
A crooked smile tips one side of his mouth. “The pink-haired cutie formerly known as Little Moon? Yeah, I’ve seen her.” His eyes flick toward the entrance to the gothic room.
I’m surprised she’d hang in there when this music seems right up her alley. I kick my chin up to him, ready to head over there, but he freezes me with another tidbit.
“You aren’t the only one looking for her.” He leans forward, bracing himself with his bent arms on the bar top as the rest of the staff scurries hurriedly behind him to fill orders. “You’re kind of a dick, but I bet you’re good to her, and I like your girl.”
“I don’t need approval,” I grit out, like the dick he labeled me to
be, but I don’t have time for this bullshit. “Give me whatever information you have. Now.”
He’s not a complete dipshit because he gets on with it. “She’s here somewhere—or she was not too long ago. She mentioned she was trying to dodge some jerks. Vic told her to stay put at the bar, but she was shaken and took off when we were serving customers. We saw her head to the gothic room.”
That only enhances the venom that has seeped into my bones, urging me to strike.
“Any idea who they were?” I ask.
“She said something about it being the group that came after her a couple of nights ago, but Vic and I never saw them. One of the bouncers might know.” He pushes off the bar and moves to a lady waggling her credit card at him. “That’s all I got, man.”
That’s enough. I’m guessing the motherfuckers I killed have friends who are searching for them. And somehow, those friends know about the interest that bastard Enzo Sanford took in my girl. These are also probably the guys that Enzo was going to let gang-rape her.
My teeth chomp down on the inside of my cheek so hard that the coppery taste of the wound fills my mouth. I dart for the gothic room. It’s packed. Strobe lights whirl over the shoulder-to-shoulder horde of patrons. Most are more committed to the costume requirement. In the Rock Through the Ages room, the majority only had masks. This is like a Halloween party, full of primarily vampires.
I bet that’s why Rena disappeared inside this room. She was a sitting duck at the bar. Open. If she managed to scrounge up a disguise, she’ll be nearly impossible to find in here.
She’s always impressed me, but more with her witty comebacks and carefree air than with her prowess. I underestimated her for sure because everything she’s done since the moment that she dropped those piercings on the delivery truck has been clever and calculated.
As I slither through the sandwiched undead clientele, I’m hit with how proud I’d be of her if I wasn’t so irate that she’s endangering herself. She’s so fucking smart. But after being attacked the other night, this was a dumbass move to get back at me. Or to get my attention. Whatever her motivation was.
I try texting and calling again, like I did on the way here, but she doesn’t answer. She’s either ignoring me or she can’t hear it.
Or they already found her.
Crunch. Squeak. Blood. One minute too late.
No. I can’t drown in the worst yet.
The music is deafening, the bass reverberating through my muscles and bones and skyrocketing my anxiety. Whereas the other room sits beneath the sex club, this one occupies both stories. The black industrial ceiling is a good twenty-five feet high. So, the noise carries and echoes throughout the vast space.
I’m glad she was cunning enough to hide out here, but I’m alsorealizing how unlikely it is that I’ll unmask her. It’s going to require some sort of disturbance to halt the commotion. One that keeps her in the safety of the building though because a mass exodus would only create a more conducive opportunity for her to be snatched.
As I’m pondering what tactic to utilize for that, I catch a blur of motion out of the corner of my eye. High up on one of the walls, a few feet below the ceiling, something is moving. With the flashing lights, it takes a beat for my eyes to adjust to the outline of what turns out to be—if I’m not losing my goddamn mind and hallucinating—my Little Fucking Moon, dressed in black, head to toe, and hanging from a ledge. The only discernable feature is her willowy frame with the bulge of her backpack, but I’d know that figure anywhere.
What the hell is she doing?
