Page 13 of Burn the World Down

Because of him.

I sucked in some deep breaths, the pain washing through me. Methodically, I put the binoculars back into my backpack. Swinging it onto my shoulder, I headed across the roof of the building across the street from Red Neon. I headed down the fire escape. My car was parked on a side street and when I reached it, I stuck the backpack in the trunk.

I checked my face in the reflection of the side mirror.

My blonde hair was tucked away under a black bob wig. I pulled out my lipstick and retouched my red lips. I’d gone heavy and dramatic with the makeup for two reasons. One, to look different, and two, to cover up the fading bruises around my eye. After I’d retouched my lips, I checked the dark contacts. I looked nothing like myself.

I straightened, smoothing a hand down my wide-legged black pants. I’d paired them with a tight red halter top that showed off plenty of cleavage. I’d lost weight recently but not off my breasts. I was also wearing a pair of killer red heels.

Shrugging out of my jacket, I tossed it into the trunk and ignored the cold that hit my bare arms.

Let’s do this.

I headed for Red Neon.

If they recognize you, you’ll be dead.

I lifted my chin. They wouldn’t recognize me.

I bypassed the line, putting some swing into my hips and strode up to the bouncers. They turned my way, and I shot them a sultry smile, oozing confidence.

“Evening, gentlemen.” I worked hard to block out all thoughts of what these men had done to my sister.

The bigger of the two, Alden, smiled, and jerked his head toward the door.

I blew him a kiss.

“Hey, we were next,” someone in the line yelled.

I sauntered into the club and heard one of the bouncers say, “Damn, I want those red lips around my cock.”

In your dreams, asshole.

It was dark inside the club, the music pumping and vibrating through my body. The walls were padded with black-and-red fabric, with touches of gold. As I stepped into the main room, lights strobed over the heaving mass of dancers grinding on the dance floor.

There were several circular bars dotted around the space and the bartenders were busy, keeping up with the thirsty crowd.

At the back of the club, the VIP areas were cordoned off with red ropes. There were more bouncers patrolling there. More men who’d hurt my sister. The VIP clubgoers sat on semi-circular, red-velvet couches, catered to by scantily dressed waitresses. The scraps of red and black silk barely rated being considered clothing.

I walked to the bar closest to the VIP area. I ordered a cocktail that I wouldn’t drink and snagged a stool.

Sitting, I crossed my legs and pretended to sip. I made sure I didn’t look like I was studying the VIP area. There was no sign of Snyder.

But he was here. Somewhere.

My gaze drifted to the door marked private. I knew it led to his office.

About now, he always came out. He had his own VIP couch, a little higher than the others. He usually invited women to join him for free drinks.

The music cut off and a voice came over the loudspeaker. “Hello! I hope you’re all having a wild time tonight.” The man had a smooth, deep voice made for radio.

The crowd screamed and cheered.

“You are very lucky. We have a special performance tonight. Only the best for Red Neonites.”

More cheers.

“Say a huge welcome to our new feature singer, Shandy!”