Chapter Twenty-One
“Something’s afoot.” Poppy leaned close to whisper in my ear.
I barely heard her over the hum of conversation and music.
And afoot?
Surely, I’d heard her wrong.
I looked up from the POS screen where I was punching in drink orders and gave her my attention.
She looked like a super-hot eighties rocker chick in her red spandex leotard and black heels.
The V was deep, showing off her impressive cleavage.
And just in case someone missed how big her boobs were, she had on a plethora of silver necklaces—from chokers to chains that hit mid-stomach.
Poppy had a killer figure and she worked it.
But it was her long blonde hair with fresh highlights, teased and crimped, that pulled together the outfit.
Not to mention she’d lined her blue eyes with electric-blue liner.
This was a far cry from how she came to work at the Plank.
“Girl, have I told you how hot you look tonight?”
Poppy tossed her hair over her shoulder and smiled. “You have. And have I told you that those leopard-print pants are inspired?”
She had, three times since I walked into work two hours ago.
We could stand there all night giving each other compliments, but I had drinks to serve and so did she.
“Afoot?” I asked, bringing us back to her original declaration.
As soon as the word came out of my mouth, I wished I hadn’t asked. Gone was the smile and teasing, and back were sad eyes from this afternoon.
With a shrug she told me, “I’m in my vamp era. I read that in one of my books, and I’ve been waiting to use it in real life for months.”
“Vamp era?”
“Hot romance book where the hero is a vampire.”
I blinked, not sure how to respond. “Like, suck-your-blood vampire?”
“Yeah. They’re insta-love times ten. And the werewolf ones are even better. They can smell their mate. Then, bam, they’re doing the deed while he’s nuzzling her temple, marking her so no other males will get near her. Totally hot. Way better than Rio’s ‘mama.’”
I wasn’t sure that was possible.
Though I’d be totally down for Ryan to nuzzle . . .
Stop.
Recalibrate.
No sexy thoughts about Ryan.
“Okay, so what’s afoot?”
“Muriel’s acting weird.”
She is? She seemed perfectly normal to me when I’d said hello before I started my shift.
Maybe a little distracted, but she’d told me I was going to have a six top of what she’d called high rollers in my section the last hour of my shift.
I’d chalked up her being sidetracked to a group of rich people coming in she obviously wanted to impress.
“Weird how?”
Poppy leaned closer and once again whispered when she told me, “I went into the locker room to grab my lip gloss. She was on the phone, and she jumped when she saw me.”
Okay, that was weird. I didn’t know Muriel all that well, or, say, at all, but she was not the type of woman who would jump at getting caught on the phone.
First, she was the manager; she could be on her phone all she wanted.
Second, the woman seemed to have a spine of steel and the constitution of a strict private school teacher.
“Jumped?”
“Totally jerked in surprise, like I caught her at something she shouldn’t be doing.”
Wait. That didn’t make sense.
“Cell phones don’t work in the building.”
Poppy leaned back, widened her eyes in a comical way that screamed “I know,” then leaned back to tell me, “Told you. Something’s afoot.”
I filed that away to tell Ryan when he picked me up.
“We need to get back to work. I have drinks to deliver, and the next song starts in five minutes.”
“I’ve been waiting all night for this song.” She told me something I knew not only because she’d mentioned it four times, but because her Pat Benatar getup was a dead giveaway.
Poppy glided away, which, considering the height of her heels, was impressive. I didn’t glide anywhere in mine—I looked more like a baby fawn trying to find her legs. Okay, maybe that was pushing it—I could walk, dance, and serve drinks, but I was way less graceful than Poppy and the other servers.
I served my drinks and had nary a second before the lights dimmed, the drumbeat dropped, an electric guitar joined in, then Pat Benatar’s iconic voice stole the show, singing about love being a tidal wave.
All thoughts of the missing girls, my dad, my money troubles, Ryan and his wide-ranging moods and personalities flew out of my head as the beat took over.
That was, until thirty seconds into the song the lyrics penetrated.
My heel caught on something. I stumbled, but before I could go down, an arm wrapped around my waist and I was suddenly immobile.
Lips hit my ear. “Careful, beautiful.”
I knew that voice.
Sterling Blackwell.
Holy shit on a ship.
He immediately released me and stepped back.
I spun around, mumbled my thanks, but didn’t move.
I’d been wrong. Sterling wasn’t an apex predator. He was something far, far worse. And right then in the dim light, with the strobe lights bouncing around and Pat Benatar singing what I’d decided was Ryan Strong’s theme song, Sterling was staring at me like I was his next meal.
Maybe he, too, was in his vampire era, because if I was reading his leer, he looked like he wanted to sink his teeth into my flesh and suck the life out of me.
It was not super hot like Poppy claimed it to be.
It was creepy as hell. Things took a turn for the worse when his eyes dipped, and I knew from his height and his proximity he had a clear line of sight down my shirt.
When they lifted, I found myself on the receiving end of the smarmiest, skeeviest leer I’d ever seen.
Gross.
By the time Sterling stepped away, the song was almost over. Yes, he’d stood in front of me for a long time. Me frozen, not knowing what to do, him staring at me like I was a meal.
When he stepped back, I was barely able to contain my shock at seeing Beckett at his side but slightly behind him.
At least I hope I covered my surprise.
Sterling moved to the empty six top in my station. Beckett followed. I danced.
As soon as the song ended, I went in search of Poppy to warn her.
Partly because she needed to know so she didn’t get caught off guard like I had and partly because even though she’d denied it, I didn’t miss the way she was looking at him. However, I’d stopped pushing her when she brought up Ryan.
I knew the only reason why she hadn’t threatened bodily harm if I didn’t give her the details was because we weren’t alone.
Further, I knew without a shadow of a doubt the inquisition was coming, and when Poppy wanted details, she was worse than a dog in search of a juicy steak.
And there was pretty much nothing juicer than Ryan.
I found her at the bar smiling at Tomas, a good-looking bartender with an easy smile that I knew earned him outrageous tips from the female patrons.
When I stopped next to Poppy, her smile transferred to me, and that was when for the second time in two minutes, I hoped I’d covered my reaction.
I’d been catching glimpses of it all night.
Her fake smile only turning real when she told me about her vampire books.
The rest of them had been bogus, and now her eyes were full of sadness.
I wanted to pull her in for a tight hug.
I couldn’t do that without someone noticing, and that would be weird, me hugging Poppy for no reason.
This was a bad idea.
I sucked at this spy stuff, and Poppy looked like she was ready to burst into tears at any moment.
I tipped my head to the side, giving a ‘pull it together’ look.
“Tomas was telling me he talked to Pamela when she came in,” Poppy told me.
“Yeah. Crazy,” Tomas put in, settling his forearms on the bar, leaning in. “World’s a fucked-up place.”
He got that right.
“Sorry. Did you know her well?”
Gah.
Lame.
Totally sucked at this spy stuff, not to mention, who asks that kind of thing?
“Yeah, we go way back. Years. Before we worked here, we worked at Rave together.”
Rave was a nightclub that was indeed what the name suggested it was. The place didn’t open until eleven and closed at five in the morning. I’d never been there, but word was the MDMA and other hallucinogens flowed just as freely as the alcohol.
“Chloe, you got drinks up,” Lori called.
Shit.
Drinks.
Totally sucked at this spy stuff, and I was going to get fired. At this point, that would probably be for the best, but that would leave Poppy unprotected.
And now with Tomas close, I couldn’t warn her Beckett had entered the building.
Earlier at Pete’s house he’d looked like he’d been roughing it in the mountains of West Virginia for eleven years and hadn’t had a proper haircut or beard trim in all that time.
But, still, he managed to pull it off in a lumbersexual kind of way (which was totally Poppy’s thing).
Now, his hair was still in need of a cut, but he’d tidied his beard.
Not trimmed into groomed millennial style, but it was tamed and he no longer looked like he traded beaver pelts in exchange for a can of beans.
Rough-and-ready Beckett of West Virginia had Poppy giving him sidelong glances.
Rough-and-ready Beckett of SoCal would make Poppy trip over her feet.
“Thanks, Lori,” I called back.
With no reason to stand there and no way to warn Poppy, I moved down the bar to load up my tray with three flutes of champagne.
After those were delivered, I had no choice but to approach the six top I wished wasn’t in my section.
“Mr. Blackwell,” I greeted. “What can I get you this evening?” My eyes slide to Beckett, and with a warm smile I asked, “And you, sir?”
“Sterling, Chloe,” he gently chastised.
Keeping my smile firmly in place and in the sweetest voice I could pull off with bile clogging my throat, I conceded, “Sterling.”
“Much better,” he drawled.
Gag.
“Hirsch, please.” Sterling gave his order. “Three fingers tonight.”
I didn’t miss the deep insinuation in his tone.
Okay, now I was really going to gag.
I glanced back at Beckett, waiting for his order.
“Coke,” he grunted.
Okeydoke. Someone was not happy.