19. LINC
NINETEEN
LINC
I thought I’d checked-out again—that I’d somehow conjured up an even more breathtaking girl than the one who had spent the last seven years inhabiting my brain.
Drawing on the walls of my skull, singing between my ears.
She has . . . she has blue hair.
I love it. It’s so beautiful—like she’d dipped the strands in moonlight.
And she’s here. Actually here.
How the fuck is she here?!
It suddenly registers how much darker her eyes look right now. An icy glint. One of her cheeks is red . . .
My eyes finally drop to her barely covered body. The straps of leather wrap around her delicate curves like a smooth road between sun-kissed terrain.
Holy fuck.
An ancient, brain-tilting rush, immediately hits my groin and I nearly grunt from the impact, blinking rapidly.
Tick, tick, tick.
No. No, fucking no.
I blink hard again, and suddenly, the room snaps back into focus. My eyes lock with hers and my breath catches—finally putting together that the girl I walked in on—the one who was being held down by two guys and then running away at full speed was her.
A snarl pulls at my lips, reverberating through my chest as my eyes cut to the men in the middle of the room—specifically, the one buttoning his pants and staring in our direction.
Dead. His creepy Joker-ass is fucking dead.
I can feel a pull inside, grasping for something tranquil, but it’s too late. I’m taking heavy steps before I even realize I’m moving. I can barely hear anything over the heavy metronome of my heart, but distantly, I’m aware of a door opening and closing somewhere behind me.
As I reach the man, his mouth opens, showcasing a straight line of horse teeth. With zero hesitation, my fist winds back, and the resounding crack of his cheek echoes through the room.
I hear commotion behind me, but my vision is tunneled with one target. Visions of stepping on the guy’s neck, pulling back his arms, and ripping him in fucking half, thunder through my mind.
Suddenly, his two pups come tearing after me. I easily shove the one away with one arm and the other guy lands a sloppy punch to the back corner of my jaw.
I’m just about to flatten him out when a strong grip pulls on my shoulder.
I can barely see anything right now. Everything is splotchy, blurry—a maddening abyss of fury. My fist plows into the body holding my shoulder, but I’m stopped by an iron grip around my wrist, bending my arm so that if I move it at all, something will snap.
“Everyone. Calm the fuck down,” Jackson growls, still restraining me, and I hiss through my teeth.
“Th-They w-were—”
“Shut up,” he says, clenching his teeth. “You three. I imagine Beck will like to see you. I’ll give him a call, and we can discuss what happened here tonight.”
The big-tooth man laughs incredulously. “One of your employees just assaulted me. The slut took ten grand off my lap. You bet your ass I’ll be talking to him.”
My body jerks with a need to beat the fucker’s face in, but Jackson’s hold on me tightens, only jacking up my adrenaline more.
“I’ll follow you out,” he says tensely, twisting his chin, silently directing them toward the door. The one he’d sent Collins through with Seth. It took us for-fucking-ever to find him. Didn’t help that the asshole knows the building, and I definitely do not.
As the men push through the door, Jackson finally releases me, pushing me forward a bit, and I whip around.
His tense silver eyes meet mine, and I swallow hard, the severity of what I’ve just done settling around me. I hit him.
“Go check out for the night,” he says. “You’re done.”
Done? Done as in fired or done for the night?
My immediate thought is to call Desmond. But it’s late. And I should wait till I’m not here. I don’t know if Jackson’s privy to this little covert operation that Desmond assigned me. Something I’m royally fucking up.
But . . . this was something I never could have seen coming.
How had I not seen her before now?
I clear my throat. “The girl—the girl that was in here . . .”
Jackson’s jaw ticks. “Blue.”
My mind works to accept that. Paige is Blue. “I should go see if she’s . . . o-okay.”
Jackson’s eyes shut for a second. He runs his hand over his buzzed hair, while also shaking his head. “Check on her. Tell her to call me ASAP. And then check out for the night. I’ll touch base with you once I speak with Beck.”
I run my teeth over my bottom lip. I was ready to throw those assholes off the balcony before I even knew it was Paige. But . . .
My mouth flattens, and I work my jaw for a second before I dare to ask, “W-Why was there no security in here?”
Jackson’s steel eyes look not so much angry as . . . distressed. But he doesn’t answer me. His eyes flick to the door that the men just left through before he says, “I’ll call you after I review the footage with Beck.”
My molars grind, but I nod tightly. I guess I should be grateful I’m not in any immediate trouble. Though, after they review the footage I’m sure that will change.
I can’t even find it in me to care at the moment.
Jackson heads toward the guest doors, and I take that as my cue to start toward the one that leads down to the dressing room.
But my steps falter as I get closer to the door. The wave of everything that lies below floats to the surface of my mind, and I bend at the waist, holding my weight on my thighs.
With my hands braced just above my knees, I stare at the tattoos—the Celtic knots—searching for the hidden lens peeking between them.
I blink a couple of times, trying to get my heart to calm the fuck down. Taking a breath, I still focus on my hand, but this time, it’s on the knuckle tattoo with the mountain . . . the M from my mug.
“Mmmorrow.”
Pip . . . she’s downstairs. She’s right downstairs . I can’t ignore that.
I should. But I can’t. My fingers flatten, rubbing into the rough denim of my pants, as I take another deep breath.
A moment later, I straighten back up and push through the door into the bright fluorescent lights of the stairwell, but the cavernous echo of the space immediately sways my body.
The unease from just a fucking second ago resurges, and my flat palm meets the cold concrete of the wall, instantly magnifying the clammy sweat breaking at my hairline.
My eyes clamp shut but an image slowly focuses behind my eyelids.
Her crystal blue eyes peeking up at me from windblown strands of light blond hair as we drive. Her hand on my knee, my hand on hers.
A hiccup in my chest forces me to grip the railing for balance, but it’s not the thought of her that’s jacking up my heart rate. It’s . . .
I shake my head. Usually even the idea of physical contact is enough to turn my anxiety up—but the thought of her hand in mine, driving, it’s actually . . . calming me down right now.
She’s downstairs . . .
Maybe. Or maybe she left . . .
My eyes snap back open when I think about the terror that lit her gaze, a charged electric blue just now . . .
The vision tumbles immediately into what was happening before I came in, and my anger taps back into the ring. With a grunt, I fucking move.
My pace picks up momentum down the steps, nearly stumbling down the last couple. The ones just outside the dressing room.
Another breath. Paige could be in there but . . . other scantily-dressed dancers could be too.
Deep breath. Keep your eyes angled down.
The words roll through my head with a sickening familiarity, but I swallow it.
After a few more stuttered inhales and exhales, I release one just as I open the door and walk into the room.
It’s quiet, which I guess is to be expected now that the club’s open. It seems impossible that there’s an entire nightlife experience happening on the other side of these walls.
My eyes timidly pull up to see the line of vanity mirrors with various articles of clothing dripping from chairs. Only one of the two overhead lights is on, and I walk slowly through the space. “Pa—” I stop myself, shaking my head. “B-Blue?”
Seems stupid, but if there is someone else around, I don’t want to be caught breaking another rule—since I’m still not sure where my last violation landed me.
Crossing through the room, I push open the bathroom door, listening for the showers, but I hear nothing. Still, I say, “Blue?” again.
When there’s still no answer, I turn out of the room and immediately run into Rio.
“Oh, sorry,” she says, stepping aside in an attempt to not collide with me.
I’ve never felt more like a wall.
A frown pulls at my lips, and I sign with my free hand, “Have you seen Blue?”
Rio’s eyes drop. “I didn’t even see her. Selene said she ran out of here with her costume still on.”
The surge that hits me at the idea of her, running down the sidewalk in that, is immediate. I have no fucking clue what the protocol is here, but I don’t really give a shit. My mind works to string together a sentence, and I jaggedly sign, “I need to know where she lives. Do you have her address?”
The crease between Rio’s eyebrows deepens, and she shakes her head. “I can’t give you that information. What happened upstairs?” She uses her voice and her tone is sharp, serious.
I swallow hard, then make sure I’m facing her head on, enunciating, “I-I don’t know. When I got in there it looked like things could have been . . . inappropriate. And I just want to make sure she’s okay.” My speech is slow, mostly because it takes me an eternity to talk, but hopefully it’s helpful for her too.
Rio’s mouth flattens to a tight line, crossing her arms over her chest as she shakes her head again, signing, “I’ll text her.”
I release a heavy exhale, then sign, “Rio, please. I just . . .” but I trail off.
How the hell do I ask for this?
I’ve spent years keeping myself away from her, and I know I have my reasons but, fuck. She was here. I saw her. And now . . .
I don’t know. She’s existed only in my mind for so many years at this point, it’s almost hard to believe it was real.
I need to find her.
Rio slips her phone back in her pocket, but her caramel eyes study me, clearly trying to connect some dots.
A heavy, stuttered sigh pushes past my lips, and I shake my head again, as I do my best to sign, “I just need to see her, Rio. She could be hurt. She’s my . . .” My hands drop. I have no idea how to simply finish that sentence, and my fists tighten at my sides, overwhelmed.
Rio releases a long sigh, her hug around herself tightening, before she signs, “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
I lift my chin, wondering if I should call Desmond tonight. Tell him about what happened and then see if one of his people can find Paige’s address for me.
“But you know, there’s this great little bar over at the corner of Las Palmas and Fountain,” she signs. “Maybe you should go blow off some steam.”
My eyes squint, trying to follow her signs, but she fingerspells the street names, so it helps. I’m confused for only a second before what she’s telling me sinks in.
Las Palmas and Fountain.
I don’t have an apartment number, but I’ll knock on every door on the block if I have to.
Because she’s here. She literally ran directly back into my life tonight, and . . . I can’t ignore it.
I toss my third cigarette in the twenty-minute drive over here—it should have probably only been ten, but I had to pull over twice to puke. My jaw ticks as I pull onto Las Palmas, inching my way down the road.
As if I needed more deterrents, now I’m going to show up smelling like . . .
Ugh.
Luckily, I keep some mints handy and I pop the container open before pouring half of it in my mouth.
Crunchy mouthwash, I think, and my shoulders loosen.
The “ Pip-ism ” doesn’t send the lung-gripping despair it usually does, and some stupid, off-the-fucking-charts dilluted part of myself wonders —hopes— that maybe it’s because she’s not far. Some stupid internal pull, like waves shifting with the moon. We’re closer.
Now I just have to find her.