I slowly spun around, taking in the businesses around the corner, trying to figure out if he could have had a destination other than the bar. But everything looked closed, even the diner.
Time to find Razor.
I sent a text to Carter, telling him I’d found the car, but there was no sign of James, and I was headed to the bar.
As I walked toward it, I worked on a plan to get information. Since I couldn’t just walk up to Razor and ask him if he’d seen James, I was going to have to get him talking. That meant I had to gain his interest.
The bar was dimly lit when I walked in. I gave myself two seconds to let my eyes adjust and search for Razor. There were about twenty men and a handful of women in the room, most of them at the tables and booths. None of them looked like him.
I stifled my disappointment as I headed to the counter and hopped up on a stool, several feet away from two men, the only other customers sitting at the bar.
All the bottles on the wall in front of me made me realize this was a moment of truth.
I’d known I’d have to face this issue, but now it was staring me square in the face. I couldn’t order ginger ale or club soda. I needed to fit in, and that would post a neon sign over my head.
Dammit.
What did this mean for my sobriety? I was surprised at the sting of tears, but I blinked them away. I had to focus on finding James.
A bartender who looked like a linebacker with a big bushy beard headed over to me. “What’re you havin’?”
I scanned the shelf behind him, then came to a decision. “A finger of McClellan.” I reasoned if I was drinking expensive Scottish whisky, it made sense that I’d drink it slowly.
He cocked an eyebrow. “The good stuff, huh?”
“That and a bottle of water.”
He gave me a curt nod and walked away.
I sat back in my stool, slowly scanning the room like I was a woman on the hunt for a man. I was halfway around the room when I spotted Razor in a booth talking to a man sitting across from him. I didn’t recognize the guy, but I pulled out my phone and set it on the counter. I needed to get a photo of him.
The bartender returned with my drinks, sliding the whisky onto a napkin and setting the unopened water bottle next to it. “Ain’t seen you in here before,” he said, giving me a slow once-over.
“That’s because I’m new to Little Rock,” I said, shooting him a don’t fuck with me glare.
“Where’d you move from?” he asked, still studying me.
“Memphis.”
“What made you move to Little Rock?”
My expression hardened. “What is this? Twenty questions? What the fuck does it matter where I moved from?” I nodded to the glass. “I’m here to enjoy a good whisky and check out the local men.”
The sharpness was deliberate. Meek women didn’t pop into biker bars alone. I had to prove I belonged here or possibly be harassed. Or worse.
It must have worked because he lifted a hand in surrender as a grin spread across his face. “Fair enough. Enjoy Scotland’s finest.” His gaze flicked to the glass as though he was waiting for me to prove my point.
Steeling my back, I reached for the glass. I was terrified to take a sip. If I started, I wasn’t sure I could stop. But if I got shit faced, I wouldn’t have the wits to find James.
I lifted the glass up anyway, letting a small sip of the amber liquid pass over my lips. The rush hit hard, warm and familiar. I lowered the glass, trying to make it look natural while I clutched the tumbler like it was either armor or a snake waiting to bite.
He seemed satisfied and sauntered to the other end of the bar.
I needed to take a photo of the guy with Razor, but I couldn’t just snap one. A selfie would be the best way to get it, especially since they were directly behind me, but I doubted selfies were the norm here. Then I remembered the tube of red lipstick in my jacket pocket.
I slipped it out, then opened my camera phone to selfie mode and held it up to reapply my lipstick, making sure I had a good glimpse at the two men in the booth in the upper corner of the frame. It was dark enough it took a moment to snap the photo.
The man with Razor glanced up and his face darkened. He leaned over the table and said something to Razor. I lowered my phone to my lap and quickly sent the image to Carter in a text. Then, to be safe, I deleted the image and put the phone to sleep, all while acting like I’d just finished primping.
