“You know what?” Luce spun back around. “I need some air.”
The other man’s eyes narrowed. “Now you’re running away?”
“IsaidI need someair,” he ground out, crossing the room and shoving past Sachi. If he didn’t leave now, the damage would be far worse than it already was. “I’m going to find somewhere to drink inpeace.”
“Typical,” the blond muttered. “As soon as anyone says something you don’t want to hear, the conversation is over.”
“I’ll be back when I can deal with this clusterfuck,” Luce continued, as if Sachi hadn’t spoken. He stormed out the doorway, leaving the other man glaring furiously after him.
Maybe it was the four bottles of whiskey, maybe it was the effect of Sachi’s uncomfortable visit, or maybe it was just the horrible results of the disastrous meeting with Foster. Whatever the reason, Luce was trying hard not to curl up in bed and ignore the world until it collapsed around him.
Instead, he found himself standing outside a rough-looking bar about ten minutes’ walk from his son’s apartment. Beside him, a portly Italian man in a leather jacket tugged nervously at his handlebar mustache.
“You sure about this, boss?” Cwall frowned, looking uncomfortable with his disguise and this plan as he gazed up at Luce with concern.
“Not really,” Luce shrugged. “But I’m desperate and drunk enough to give it a shot.”
The bar was unassuming at first glance. The worn wooden sign above the door readGeorgia’sin chipping gold cursive. A petite blonde pinup with devil horns and tail was painted lounging across it, lifting a glass at the approaching patrons and winking salaciously. Luce snorted.Fitting.
“Yer funeral,” Cwall muttered, looking away. “For the record, I didn’t tell ya shit if Fostie gets pissed.”
“Yes, yes.” Luce waved him off. “My son hasmytemper; I know better than to throw anyone in its path.”
Cwall made a noise that suggested he wasn’t entirely convinced but let the matter drop. “Well,” he patted themedallion looped around his neck. “Ya know how to reach me if ya need me.”
“Of course.”
Cwall reached out, as if to clasp the taller man reassuringly on the shoulder, but his hand stilled halfway and fell back to his side. “Good luck,” he murmured as he stepped away, turning down an alley and vanishing into a split in the air.
“Thank you,” Luce replied to empty sidewalk, nerves jittering despite the generous portion of alcohol that worked to numb his anxiety.
Then he squared his shoulders and made his way to the heavy oak door. The faint beat of some rock song he didn’t recognize pulsed under his feet. His shaking hands curled around the oxidized brass handles and he tugged hard against the sticky joint.
A rush of warm, heady air washed over him, scented with the tang of sweat and an undercurrent of liquor. His lip curled instinctively, but he tugged the outer door shut behind him and opened the smaller one ahead. It was like entering another world.
Instead of the dim lighting and faded vinyl booths he had expected, the room was awash in red neon and blacklights, with sleek metal fixtures surrounding a dance floor that pulsated faintly with white strobe. Waitresses in skintight red leather circled around, some in mini-dresses and others in pants and cropped tops, but all wearing plastic headbands topped with red horns. As he adjusted to the unusual lighting, he started to pick out the posters and signs and neon fixtures in detail.
“Oh no,” Luce groaned, eyes darting around frantically as his buzz started to give way under the shock. “Ohno.”
The entire place was a shrine tohim—or at least to the face mortals expected to see. The cheeky, grinning devil with a pitchfork and a bottle of beer painted on the menu board thathung behind the bar. A tiny flashing sign with a devil juggling shot glasses. A weird devil statue carved from wood, draped in a string of red fairy lights.
It was like a funhouse mirror that had his head spinning, even before the song switched over to a new track; some synth and pop monstrosity that grated horribly. He needed another drink, and fast.
Pushing through the swarm of bodies on the dancefloor, Luce crossed to the crowded bar at the center of the throng. “Drink,” he practically begged, reaching into his pocket for his wallet and slapping a platinum card on the counter.
“Yeah?” the bartender shouted back, looking annoyed. “Kinda need to know whatkind, man.”
“Surprise me.”
With a shrug, the young man snapped up the card and swiped it through the till before handing it back. “That’s one shot of Fireball coming up, and a Devil’s Advocate to chase it.”
Luce fought the urge to roll his eyes, casting them around the room instead. A neon standee of a twerking cartoon devil caught his attention and he rested his head on the bar. This was a nightmare. How the hell was he supposed to find his son when he was too busy dying of embarrassment?
His son. Luce sat bolt upright, startling the bartender delivering his drink, and snatched up the shot glass before him. He downed it in one toss and accepted the neon pink cocktail gratefully, spinning around and pushing back through the crowd towards the edge of the room. He was here for a reason, not to get trashed. This was his last chance to get through to Foster, he could feel it. Every day the sense of creeping dread was stronger and more persistent.
He took several calming breaths, prying his attention from the flashing dancefloor to scan the perimeter of the room. His son was ultimately a solitary creature. If he was in a place likethis, it wouldn’t be at the center of the crowd. After a moment, he spotted him. Halfway down the left wall, between two girls snapping selfies over their enormous margaritas and a couple making out rather aggressively, slouching in his seat like he wanted to become invisible.Foster.Luce smiled.
“You really need to come out with me more.” Gabe grinned at Foster, leaning over the table and resting his chin on the back of his laced fingers. “Isn’t this place so fun?”
