Page 49 of Hounded
Music filled my ears before I crossed the threshold. Neon colors flashed from the dance floor and through the glass bar top. Strobe lights flickered through a haze of smoke from hidden fog machines, gathering around the legs of the dozen or so people gyrating in front of the DJbooth.
Besides the light traffic on the dance floor, a handful of patrons manned low-backed seats at the bar. My gaze lingered on them as though I expected to find someone there, a familiar shadow nursing a beer while casting over-the-shoulder glances at me. But no one looked up.
According to my ID, I was twenty-five. It was a strange thought and a momentarily bitter one. Even the most basic information eluded me. I was young enough I should have had parents alive somewhere, or even siblings. Did they know where I’d been or how to find me? Or was I a mistake they were relieved to be rid of? A black sheep junkie who chose drugs over everything else until drugs were all that remained? That was the story of a few people I’d met in rehab. Maybe it was my story, too.
I lingered on the edge of the room, watching the festivities while deciding where I fit. I looked too cute to ride a barstool, so I considered finding a dance partner. Getting casually physical with another guy sounded like fun, but I wasn’t looking for a hookup or to give a stranger the wrong impression.
No more than a minute went by before a body sidled up next to mine.
I spun to face a man with a pencil thin mustache and a bit of a gut hanging over his beltline. His face had an oily sheen, and his eyes bulged as they focused on me.
“Lookie here.” He grinned, showing a gold tooth. “You came back. Thought you’d moved on to greener pastures or some shit.”
What were the odds? The first time I ventured out alone, I ran into someone I knew. Or used to know. Thisman came with none of the familiarity I felt with Loren, none of that distant something I couldn’t quite define. He was a regular sort of stranger, but I was more than that to him.
I forced a congenial expression while offering my hand to shake. “Hey, buddy. Long time, no see.”
Rather than clasping my hand, the man cast a shifty glance around. It prompted me to follow suit, but I saw nothing of interest in the sparsely populated club.
After finishing his visual sweep, the man leaned in and whispered in a raspy voice, “Your bodyguard boyfriend ain’t hanging around here, is he?”
I glanced around again, drawn inexplicably to the bar but finding it unchanged. “Who?” I asked.
The other man snorted. “Tall guy.” He leveled a hand well above both our heads. “Bad temper. Thinks he owns you or some shit.” His raucous laugh competed with the thrumming bassline of the music.
My eyes traveled to the height he’d marked in the air, and I imagined Loren filling that space. It was already a coincidence to think I’d accidentally returned to my old stomping grounds. If I’d been here with the undeniably tall man who I couldn’t fathom having any sort of temper in tow, what did that say about our relationship? I thought to ask for more details, but the greasy man barreled on.
“Fucker almost put me in the hospital for talking to you. He don’t know we’re old pals, huh?” He slung an arm around to slap me on the back so hard it stung.
I fought off a grimace. I wasn’t eager to explain my strange situation, but the gleam in the man’s eyes and the chance he might know things I didn’t merited at least anapology.
“Sorry, I don’t…” I shirked his hand where it rested between my shoulder blades. “I forgot some things. And people. What’s your name?”
The man pitched backward again. His eyes stretched wider than should have been possible as he let out a low whistle. “Damn, kid, that’s cold. You and me go way back.”
I wished I was teasing and could let him in on the joke, but my blank look refuted nothing.
“It’s Chaz!” he exclaimed. His gaze swept the room for the third time in as many minutes, then he reached into the inner pocket of his denim jacket. When his hand came out, he flipped it over to show a tiny clear bag pinned under his palm. A round, green pill with an apple stamped into it was tucked inside.
“I’m the guy with the goods,” Chaz said. “The X-man. You remember that?”
For all the things I was unsure of, I recognized it immediately as ecstasy.
“Uh, actually, I got off that stuff.” I felt a burst of pride at the statement. “I’m clean now.”
It was easy to say no. Easy enough that I wondered if I really was cured.
The next song started, and lasers cut through the air. They spun and spiraled, panning over vacant tables and the few people thrashing on the dance floor.
Chaz’s caterpillar eyebrows seemed to crawl further up his face. “No shit?” He palmed the baggie but didn’t put it away. “You’re fucking with me. First my name, now this?” He snorted a hot breath. “Did your bruiser boytoyput you up to this?”
“Loren’s not…” The denial burst out of me, and I wondered how I was so sure that was who he meant. But who else could it be? Someone I hadn’t met yet? A problematic ex?
Questions multiplied, and I could hardly decide where to begin.
“Why do you think he’s my boyfriend?” I asked.
Chaz pocketed the pill, then braced his arms atop his saggy gut and gave me a disdainful look. “Prolly from watching you paw all over him every weekend. I don’t know how he doesn’t bust a nut having your tight little ass grinding on him all night.”
