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FORTY-TWO

ONE WEEK AGO

Bug was half expecting some kind of sex dungeon or torture chamber—especially after the man said the bar was “more than a bar.” She was relieved to see that his words hadn’t been code for something else. At the bottom of the steps, a huge tiled room stretched out before them. Bug couldn’t even tell where it ended. The actual bar looked like something out of a movie. Sleek, shiny wood. Taps. Copper-colored cocktail shakers. Behind the bar was a mirror and miles of bottles. Every liquor imaginable. Overhead hung a light fixture that spanned the entire bar. Stained glass wrapped around metal slats that held upside-down wine and martini glasses.

“Cool, right?” said the man, heading straight to the bar.

The rest of the room was filled with pool tables and arcade games. More arcade games than Bug had ever seen in an actual arcade. Taxidermied animals were displayed on stands. Gross. It was a weird combination. A stuffed elk standing next to Dance Dance Revolution. She wondered if they were all animals the man had killed. The dozens of framed photos on shelves across the room answered that question. In each one, he posed proudly with the dead animal, his gun draped casually across his chest.

Bug tried to mask her disgust. She panned the rest of the room. Over a dozen televisions hung from the walls, each turned to a different type of sporting event. They were all muted. It was quiet down here. No music. A handful of people wandered around, testing out the games. The smell of steak and French fries wafted toward them. Holden pulled out a stool for her and she climbed onto it, noticing a set of double doors at the other end of the bar. That must be the kitchen.

The man went behind the bar and started mixing some kind of drink. Holden sat beside her, one hand on her thigh. He seemed more comfortable now than he had upstairs, but a low-level tension still radiated from him. Not surprising. The man’s dark side was no secret to Holden. He was always walking a fine line. Everyone in the man’s sphere did.

It was getting harder and harder to force smiles. A drink appeared before her. Both men watched as she sipped. It was tangy and dry. Her hand trembled.

“You okay there, kiddo?” the man asked.

A drop of liquid clung to her chin. Holden wiped it away. Breathing felt difficult. This wasn’t how she envisioned it. Then again, she’d spent so much time on her speech that she hadn’t given much thought to when or under what circumstances she would make her demands. She didn’t actually want Holden there to hear any of it but there didn’t seem to be any way to get the man alone. Here, in this mostly empty bar, where it was quiet, was probably as good as it was going to get.

It was now or never.

Bug took another sip. Before she finished, the man took the glass from her. “Hey,” he said. “Your eyes are kind of big and glassy. Why don’t we switch to water for now? We don’t want you so drunk that you can’t consent.”

This time, he winked at Holden who squeezed her leg to the point of pain.

Wait. What?

Alarm bells blared in the back of her mind. She’d known this party would be filled with criminals, but she didn’t think it was a To Catch a Predator kind of soiree.

“I’m not here for that,” she blurted out. “For whatever…for any weird sex stuff. Holden doesn’t know but I asked him to bring me here to talk to you.”

Holden’s hand slid off her leg. The man folded his arms over his chest. A smug smile curved his lips. “Is that right?”

Bug steeled herself, maintaining eye contact with him even though it sent a frisson of fear down her spine. Holden’s stare caused a flush to creep up her neck to the roots of her hair.

“You—you hurt my mother. A long time ago. She got away but then you found her. Found us. You tried to kill her and—and me. That’s why she had to leave me.” Her lungs seized up. Every time she thought about this part, it hurt. No matter how many years went by. “She left me behind so you wouldn’t find me. Well, I’m here now and I know. I know, I know…”

She floundered as every last bit of amusement drained from the man’s face. There was the monster she remembered. Dangerous. The lines of his face hardened. A muscle in his jaw jumped. “What do you think you know, little girl?” he growled.

Bug touched her necklace, hoping it would give her strength. She’d made it herself, using the last thing her mother had given her as its centerpiece. To this day she had no idea what the small item was or what it meant. All she knew was it had been important to her mom. Now, it was Bug’s talisman against anyone who tried to hurt her.

She lifted her chin, staring him down with a confidence she definitely did not feel. “I know who you are. I know what happened.”

“I think Holden was right,” he said, trying to lighten his tone. “You’ve had too much to drink. You’re talking gibberish.”

“I’m not,” she insisted.

Then she said the name. From the way all the color left his face, he knew he was screwed. Bug felt high from her victory.

Game on, asshole.