Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
MARIA
K nees pressed together to try and maintain what little dignity I have in this outfit, I glance around the bar once more. I don’t know how much longer I’m supposed to wait to keep watch for someone with that vest I’ve been told about, but I’m already starting to get tired. I want nothing more than to kick off these pinchy heels and change back into the warm embrace of my sweatpants once again.
The Deadman’s Hand is the last place I want to be right now. Hell, I have no idea why anyone would want to spend an evening at this place. It’s hardly the classiest establishment, the beer is cheap, the floors are sticky, and the bar seems to be full of people who are either running from or looking for trouble. I’m not sure exactly where I fall along that line, but I don’t think it matters.
No, what matters is blending in as best I can. I know how on-edge everyone is here, at least, that’s what I’ve been told. The place was raided by the cartel a few months ago, and ever since then, security has been even tighter. Every new person who comes into the place is examined through a more critical eye. Being a woman, it’s easier for me to slip past their boundaries, but that doesn’t mean they won’t turn on me if I give them any reason to think I might be up to something.
Which is exactly why I have kept my mouth shut about what I’m really looking for here—the Ruthless Kings. The biker gang who owns this place are the ones I’ve been sent to scope out, and I don’t know how much longer they’re going to keep me waiting. I’ve been watching the door for nights on end every week, waiting for any man wearing the vest I’ve seen pictures of to walk in, but they’ve been keeping their heads down, and I haven’t spotted one yet.
I guess they’re doing their best to slide under the radar for the time being. Maybe they know there are people out there looking for them, though I doubt they would have looked twice at me. I’ve been doing everything I can to blend in with the rest of the girls who hang around these bars, even though it’s all completely alien to me. They have this confidence about them, this casual sex appeal that comes off them in waves. I’ve seen more than one of them slip out back for a hook-up with a guy they like the look of when they get the chance. I’ve never done something like that in my life—hell, I haven’t had a whole lot of sex, if I’m being honest, given how busy I’ve been with my studies.
But I know I have to use that to get close to one of these guys, when they come into this place eventually. I have to be willing to use my sexuality, my body to get what I need from them. I’ve been trying not to think too hard about that part. It’s not exactly appealing to me, and the last thing I want is to psych myself out before I actually make my move.
I have tried to look at it like another one of the studies I performed for my PhD – observing what those other girls do, learning from them, looking at the results they get after they act a certain way, and filing away that knowledge for my future experiments. Of course, they’re not looking for much more than dick and a few free drinks, from everything I can tell, and I need something more solid than that. But… I’m willing to play the game to make that happen, any way I can.
Suddenly, there’s a flurry of activity at the entrance. I glance over and my heart skips a beat when I see a group of men wearing those vests strolling in, striding toward the bar to order their drinks. Shit! This is it. This is my chance. I peer at them, trying to make sure I’m right, but there’s no doubt about it in my mind. Their vests are adorned with the skull and crown logo I’ve seen before, and I know nobody else would dare to wear something like that around here unless they had a right to.
I catch one of the guys looking in my direction, probably wondering why I’m staring, and I get to my feet and hurry into the bathroom to clear my head. Okay, I need to find a way to get close to one of them tonight. I’m not sure exactly what it’s going to take, but I’ve seen the way those other girls flirt. I just have to go out there with confidence, close the distance between us, and show them how… available I am.
I slick on another layer of the bright pink gloss that’s in my purse, sitting next to the cigarettes and lighter. I’ve never smoked before, but they told me it would be a good idea to have some cigarettes on me so I would have an excuse to get out to the smoking area and potentially get one of them alone. And besides, I need something to take the edge off all of this. Nicotine might not be good for me, but it’s at least something I can rely on to give me a hit of serotonin when I need it.
I slip out of the bathroom and back to the booth at the edge of the bar, pretending to look down at the phone in my hand. It’s not like I can use it to actually contact anyone, but it gives me a cover. My eyes dart up toward the bar, and I notice one of the guys sitting at the far end, by himself. He throws back three drinks nearly back-to-back, eyes down cast. None of the rest of the men seem to be talking to him, and for one reason or another I feel a tingling at the base of my spine.
This is it. The guy I can target. He looks like there’s something on his mind—maybe information I can use?
I steal glances at him from over the top of my phone, trying to get an idea of what I’m dealing with here. His dark, curly hair looks messy, as though he’s just pulled off a helmet, and there’s a smattering of stubble on his sharp jaw; looks like he hasn’t shaved for a few days. His eyes are drawn, dark circles underneath them, and they dart back and forth as he sits there, as though he’s worried that someone might be watching him.
I’ve seen a few junkies in my time, and I’ll be damned if he doesn’t have some of the telltale signs of a user. I scan his jacket, trying to make out any bulges or bags sticking out, but there’s nothing there. Either I’ve read him wrong, or he’s got reason to hide his use from everyone else here. Not like he would have anything to worry about, given that the Kings own the place, right? If he wanted to use, he could just go ahead and do it.
But no. Instead, he works his way through his drinks steadily, sitting alone, while the others cluster at a booth on the other end of the bar, chatting and laughing together. He hardly seems to be paying attention to any of them.
I’ve found the weak link, I’m sure of it. I just need to figure out how to make my approach. I haven’t talked to many people here, and I’m sure it’s going to stand out if I make a move on this guy. The bartenders here have been thoroughly vetted, apparently, and no doubt they’ve noticed me sticking around and watching people come and go. If I step in to chat up the first King I see on his own, they’re likely going to have something to say about it, and that’s the last thing I need right now.
He gets to his feet suddenly and turns to head out the back entrance, to the alleyway that usually doubles as a smoking area. My heart leaps in my chest. This is it, my chance to get him alone without making it look too obvious. I swallow down the nerves in my system, trying to control the tension in my shoulders. I need this to look natural, as though I’ve hit on a million guys before in my life. As though I’m after one thing, and not the information that I might be able to coax out of him and pass back to the asshole making me do this in the first place.
I squeeze my hands into fists, nails digging into my palms, and remind myself why I’m doing this. This is for my father. Remember? This is so I can get him back in one piece. He’s relying on me. I know he would never have asked me to do something like this himself, but if this is what it’s going to take, then this is what I have to do. There are no two ways about it.
I wait a few moments after he leaves, to make it less obvious that I’m going after him, and then I get to my feet, as casually as possible. I can feel the eyes of other men in the bar on me, but I don’t give a damn. No, there’s only one man I’m interested in tonight, and he just walked out that door.
I step into the alleyway and glance down it to see the man racking up a line on the dumpster. My heart sinks. I was right—he’s using. Lowest of the low, coming out here to take a line behind a nasty bar like this.
But then, am I much better, given what I’m about to do? I would do well to remember exactly why I’m here—I need to get out of my head, not judge him for what he’s up to.
He leans down to take the line, and I make my way toward him, catching his attention before he can snort it. I need him at least somewhat coherent if he’s going to remember me well enough to start putting some trust in me, and, judging by the amount I just saw him drink, he’s probably already toeing that line as it is.
He spins around, eyes wide, like he’s been caught in the act, but when he sees it’s just me approaching, his expression changes. I watch his gaze trailing up and down my body, taking me in. I feel so exposed in this outfit, but, judging by the smile that crosses his face as I draw closer, it’s doing exactly what it needs to do.
We get talking, and it doesn’t take much in the way of flirting to get him to make a move. I need him to think this is his idea so he doesn’t question too much about what I’m doing here and exactly why I might be so interested in him. Up-close, he’s pretty handsome, which is going to make this a little easier. I feel a twist of excitement and nerves in my stomach as I prepare for what comes next, promising myself I’m not going to let anything get in the way of me getting my father back.
And, as he leans into kiss me, I close my eyes, and let him.