CHAPTER 1
MARIETTA
Ilink arms with Symphony and Bailey as we cross the parking lot to our favorite bar, the Leaky Skull. It’s opening night after a three-month remodel, and we’re excited to see it.
Jenna catches up after locking the door to slip her arm around Bailey, then lets out a big whoop. “The four whores of the apocalypse are back together and ready to drink!”
We let out a cheer as we walk in lockstep, like we’re the jeans-and-sweater version of the Rockettes, ready to give a high kick.
The others all wear brightly colored heels that peek out from their fashionably frayed hems. Me, though, I’m five-ten and awkward about my height. I’m in silver rhinestone flats.
“Rhett is going to kill me if he finds out I’m here,” Bailey says, leaning forward to look at the rest of us. Her dark hair ripples forward in a shiny curtain.
“Oh, you newlyweds,” Symphony says. “Is Rhett already cramping your style?”
“He wouldn’t dare,” Bailey says. “I would cut off his balls.”
We all laugh as we squeeze between two jacked-up trucks, dropping our linked arms to get through.
“Where did you tell him you were going?” I ask.
Bailey turns sideways to shimmy between two oversized side mirrors encroaching on the gap. “The same wine bar we were supposed to try four months ago when we landed here the first time.”
Symphony looks at the narrow space with concern but holds up her boobs for a moment to avoid wedging them between the mirrors. She’s our group’s most well-endowed. “Can you imagine stodgy ol’ grumpy-face Rhett at a bar like this?” she says.
“God, no,” Jenna says, scooting through. “Do you think they made it more respectable after the remodel?”
“No chance,” Symphony says. “And based on all the motorcycles out front, the clientele isn’t any different, either.”
I walk between the trucks with minimal effort, being closer to a string bean than anything with curves.
When we’re all on the other side, Jenna waves at our surroundings. Several tall lights have the parking lot lit up like it’s day. “They sure have cleaned it up. It’s not nearly as edgy.”
I glance up at the neon sign of a skeleton drinking a beer. “At least the logo is the same.”
We all pause below it, like we’re paying homage to a work of art.
“Our lives sure have changed since the first time we came here,” Symphony says.
I nudge her with my elbow. “You landed your biker boy. Bailey got married. But Jenna and I are same ol’, same ol’.”
“True words,” Jenna says. “Maybe I’ll play the role of Marietta and jump on the bar to show off my tits.”
My face burns hot. “I won’t do that tonight.” Embarrassment makes my ears ring every time I think about what I did here a few months ago. I caused a ruckus by flashing my nonexistent boobs. The bar’s owners, Diesel and Merrick, had to sneak Symphony and me out the back afterward.
“You better not,” Symphony says. “Diesel will kick our asses if we stir up trouble in their bar again.” She reaches for the door. “You all ready?”
“Ready!” Bailey calls.
The previous scarred, metal door has been replaced with a heavy iron one. There’s a darker, more menacing skull twisted into the detail work.
“Scary,” Jenna says with a laugh.
When Symphony opens it, the noise assaults us. There’s a thrash metal band playing, same as all the other times we’ve come.
The counter runs along the back wall, lined with mirrors and booze bottles. It hasn’t changed. I scan it, looking for the man I want to see, but only Vicki and Jake are behind the counter, pulling beers.
Where is Merrick?
