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“A club?” My voice is higher than expected and a little on the shrill side. I mean, my sister is missing, and he takes us to a club?
He turns to me, the shadows playing across his powerful features. “Don’t ask how I know, just trust me. This place is good for information.”
Of course, when he says that, I want to know how he knows. Who wouldn’t?
Maybe he senses my hesitation, because he offers a little more info. “People talk. Rumors are shared. And when people drink, they’re more likely to let things slip that they otherwise wouldn’t.” He says the words as if this place is just another item on a checklist he’s internally prepared.
And for some reason, I find his words and demeanor oddly comforting. I feel safe panicking, because he’s calm and rational.
As the vibration of bass promises a loud experience, I try to breathe deep. This is a world I don’t belong to. I hate clubs; they’re so loud and people are aggressive.
“You don’t have to go,” he says with a shrug. The gesture is somehow heavy.
But I want to go. If there’s a chance I’ll find Emma, I want to take it. “I need to,” I whisper.
Fredrick studies me as if not convinced, and I steel myself before pushing open my door and stepping out into the cold, night air. The scent of rain and wet concrete cling to the place, along with car exhaust and the satisfying odor of fresh-baked bread somewhere close.
Fredrick comes to my side, his presence comforting as I look at the building. There’s a line out the door and I almost turn back to the car. “We’ll never get in,” I whisper.
He lets out a chuckle I don’t like one bit. “Trust me,” he says.
“My brother got shot here,” I whisper back. When I glance up at him, he doesn't seem surprised, and I guess he already knows. Maybe he’s right about rumors in places like this. I mean, if he's already heard that my brother got shot, then I have hope we might learn something about Emma.
We start walking up toward the line, and he threads his fingers with mine before pulling me straight to the door, past everyone waiting. The music is louder here, thrumming through my veins like liquid adrenaline.
The big, burly guy at the front door actually smiles and pulls Fredrick into a hug, clapping his hand on Fredrick’s back with a good-natured chuckle.
“Long time no see, Rick.”
My mouth opens into an “o” of surprise as I glance up at Fredrick. He has never allowed anyone to call him Rick.
“Stone. How’s the wife and kid?” He sounds relaxed and happy, which is also strange for him.
The man’s smile grows. “She’s due to pop any day.”
“Congrats, my man,” Fredrick says, shaking the guy’s hand and patting his wrist.
The people in the line behind us start complaining. The guy Fredrick called “Stone” ushers us in the front doors. I freeze in place. A strobe lights cut through the smoky haze, illuminating pulsing bodies and faces. Blue and green lights add an air of mystery as the strobe light gives a snapshot effect every time it lights up.
The air is thick with the scent of sweat, perfume, and liquor. Once again, Fredrick begins to lead me through the place, and I try to ignore my fear as the throng closes in on us, the bodies pressing close. The heat of the place is almost suffocating.
As we work our way through the crowd, a tall, blond-haired guy with blurry, unfocused eyes stumbles into me. His clammy skin is sticky with sweat as he grabs my hips in both hands and sways with me - I’m not sure if he’s dancing or so drunk he’s about to fall over. Either way, I don’t want to be here.
Before I can react, Fredrick’s arm shoots out, shoving the man’s chest so hard, he stumbles back several steps.
“Back off,” Fredrick growls, his voice terrifyingly dark.
“Hey, we're all just having fun here,” the guy says, his words slurring together as he teeters on his feet.
“Fredrick,” I whisper, tugging at his arm. “Remember why we’re here.”
He finally glances down at me, irritation flickering in his reddish-brown eyes. But as he looks at me, his expression softens just a fraction. His fingers lace with mine again, the grip tight but reassuring. As he guides me away from the man, I breathe a sigh of relief that I diffused a potential fight.
He heads for the bar with the air of a man who knows the way through with his eyes closed.
“Tank,” Fredrick says to the mountain of a bartender whose arms could rival tree trunks.
“Rick.” The bartender nods back, recognition clear between them. “It's good to see you again.”
