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“I don’t really give a shit who you are now. You’ll always be the same spineless little shit who pissed his pants when I came after him.” I step closer to Mason because honestly, Drew Marshall gives me the creeps, but mostly because I feel like I’m going to be snatched from behind at any second. I could totally take him if I needed to . . . I hope. “We came for information.”
“Well, all information comes at a price and I don’t disclose the identities of my patrons.” He looks past Mason and directly at me. “Even your sister.”
I could vomit.
“You know, Hannah Gaines, this is a poor place for someone who wishes to remain hidden. I bought this club and made it my own because I like to watch. It’s fun for me and fun for them.” He stands, walking around the desk as if he’s giving a college lecture on literature. “What I don’t like, is people showing up snooping around.”
Fuck.
“Please . . .” I push away from Mason and slip under his arm. His arm bands around my waist to prevent me from getting any closer—something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Drew. “My sisteris missing. I know she used to come here. We need information about where she could have gone.”
Drew chuckles as if I’d said I’d like to speak to the Pillsbury Doughboy.
“I know she came here.Religiously. I’m afraid she’s in danger.”
“Well, you’re all in danger, aren’t you? What with Mommy trying to eradicate small business and all.”
“Drugs,” I correct. I may not like my mother, but one thing I find admirable from her time in office is her fight against the drug problems of California. “She is eradicating drugs.”
Drew just smiles wickedly from his side of the desk.
“How bold of you to come here, expecting me to give you information on Melissa Gaines.” He sits down in his chair and leans forward until the lamp in front of him reflects off the purple lenses of his glasses. “Melissa Gaines is a dead woman. If she’s not already. She fucked me over.”
Surprise, surprise.
“And . . . I’m afraid, I just don’t care.”
My heart drops to my toes. So many people want my sister dead. And for what? I’ve only just scratched the surface of her mental health crisis, but already, I’m beginning to wonder if she doesn’t deserve it. After everyone she’s hurt. The drugs. The poison.
When does it end?
“You’d care if the FBI found out about your cameras, wouldn’t you?”
Mason steps forward, placing me behind him, again as he watches Drew with pure, unadulterated hatred.
“Savannah settles for a lowly FBI agent and now you’re going to throw him around whenever you like? Oh, don’ttellmeyou’ve never dreamed of being the one creeping in the shadows, Carpenter,” Drew laughs sardonically.
“No, but I have dreamed about finishing what I started the night you tied my sister to your bed and left her to die.”
Drew’s jaw tenses, right underneath the scar rippling on his face. Something tells me Mason knows exactly where he got that scar.
“How about I make you a deal, Carpenter? You can have all the information you want. The girl stays.”
Horror washes through me. I would rather chew off each of my toenails than spend another second inside this delusional club. Much less with Drew Marshall and his rapidly receding hairline and dirty fingernails.
“The girl goes where I go. You won’t be touching her.”
“I could just call security? I can assure you my men aren’t police. We don’t handle things the way you might be accustomed to.”
Mason shrugs. “Call them,” he murmurs darkly, reaching back under his shirt to pull something from the waistband of his jeans. The glint of a pistol shines in the light when he presses the hard steel down against the table. “That is if you think they can get here before I can finish what I started three years ago.
Suddenly, Mr. Hollywood isn’t so cheerfully delusional.
He looks back and forth between Mason and the gun, his eyes flashing warily. If he knows Mason, he knows not to poke the bear, and right now, Mason’s looking more like a grizzly than any cuddly teddy bear I’ve ever seen.
“I think I’ll take that information now.”
Slowly, Drew swallows over the lump in his throat. Then he nods.
