Page 79 of Property of Player

I climb off and stare at Sleaze accusingly. “Where is everyone?”

He swings his leg over and takes his helmet off, then reaches for the strap under my chin, popping it free, taking the helmet. He hangs it off his handlebar.

“Don’t know. Maybe Prez sent ‘em somewhere. Come on.”

The third prospect opens the steel door for us, and we walk in.

It’s dark inside, and my eyes take a moment to adjust, but I don’t see Player. My shoulders droop. I suppose I expected him to come and greet me with a big hug and kiss. Maybe he’s in that meeting with Gage.

A glass bangs on the bar top, drawing my attention, and I see Cici climbing off a bar stool.

“Taylor.” She comes over and gives me a hug.

“Where is everyone?” I ask.

“What do you mean?”

“Didn’t the club return? They said Player sent for me.”

Her eyes shift to the two men, and her head tilts. “You didn’t tell her?”

“Hey, I told her what I had to get her to come along with us. What Player tells her is his business,” Sleaze says, moving to the bar. He twists and points at the third prospect. “Booze, lock the fucking door.”

Booze moves to it and drops a heavy crossbar into place.

I pin Cici with a look. “What the hell is going on?”

She lifts a shoulder as if it's no big deal. “We’re on lockdown.”

“Lockdown? Why?”

“I don’t know. Daddy didn’t tell me. Just said to get my ass to the clubhouse and wait for him to get back. I guess they had a threat. Sometimes they overreact.”

“When are they going to arrive? Is it today?”

She laughs. “I don’t think so. They were just pulling out this morning.”

“So we could be here for days?” I practically shriek.

“Guess so.”

“I can’t be stuck here. I have a job helping my sister with The Rusty Pelican.”

Cici shrugs. “Guess she’ll have to manage without you. Lockdown means nobody gets in or out.”

“I know what lockdown means, Cici.”

She hooks an arm through mine. “Come on. It won’t be so bad. At least we have each other to keep company. I’ll teach you how to play 8-ball.”

She steers us to the pool table. “I’ll rack ‘em, and you can put some music on your phone.”

“My phone. The big goon still has it.”

She squats at the end of the pool table, putting the colorful balls up on the green felt. “What do you mean? What goon? Is that ex-boyfriend back?”

“No. That goon.” I point at Sleaze sitting at the bar.

Cici stands and lets out a sharp whistle. “Hey, Sleaze. Give her phone back.”