Page 41 of Girl, Bound

Ella pulled up to thecurb, the brakes squealing in protest as the car shuddered to a stop. Sheexchanged a loaded glance with Ripley, a moment of perfect understandingpassing between them. This was it, the point of no return. Once they crossedthat threshold, there was no going back. No second chances, no do-overs. Justthe cold, hard truth and the consequences that came with it.

They climbed out ofthe car, the doors slamming. Ella strode towards the entrance, back straight,head high. This wasn't her domain – far from it. But she'd tear through hell ifit meant bringing a murderer to justice.

The bouncer, a slab ofmeat with fists like sledgehammers, eyed them warily as they approached.

‘You regulars?’ theman asked.

‘We’re every Mondaywithout fail.’

The man widened hisposture. ‘Doubt it. That accent’s got Virginia written all over it. You new totown?’

Ella flashed herbadge. ‘FBI. We’re looking for Patrick Barber. You know him?’

The bouncer glared atthe badge, then back to Ella. ‘Barber? Uh, yeah. I think I saw him.’

Ripley jumped in. ‘Youthink?’

‘Alright, yeah. He’sin there. Got a red shirt on.’

‘Thank you.’

The man stepped asideand granted the agents access. They passed through a cheap wooden door into thelobby, the air thick with the stench of stale beer, underscored by therelentless throb of bass. Up ahead, Ella could see a stage wash in a lurid redglow with silhouettes writhing and undulating to a primal beat. Ella againflashed her badge to the woman at the folding wooden table that passed for aticket desk.

They headed inside.Ella scanned the room, her gaze skipping over the leering faces of the patronsand the dead-eyed stares of the dancers. This was a hellhole dressed in cheapglitter and staler dreams, a pit where the lost danced for the damned.

Ripley, on the otherhand, seemed as at ease as a cat in a sunbeam, her gaze casually drifting overthe crowd, a smirk playing on her lips like she knew the punchline to a joketoo dark to tell.

They moved through thecrowd, patrons casting curious glances their way. Suddenly, Ripley nudged her,nodding towards a corner booth bathed in the sickly red light that seemed tobleed from the walls.

‘That him?’ she asked.

Ella scrutinized him,comparing the mental image she’d shelved back at the crime scene with thevisual in front of her.

No doubt.

‘That’s him.’

Barber sat hunchedover a glass of something dark and potent, gawping at a blonde pole-dancer thatElla guessed was ten years her junior. He looked like a predator lying in wait,coiled and ready to strike at the first sign of weakness.

Ella strode towardshim, Ripley hot on her heels. The sea of bodies parted before them like the RedSea, whispers trailing in their wake. Ella could feel the weight of Barber'sgaze on her as she approached, could see the flicker of recognition in his eyesas he placed her face.

She spoke first,overpowering the soundtrack.

‘Patrick Barber?’

He straightened up, aslow smile spreading across his face like an oil slick. ‘Well, if it isn’tMillhaven’s finest. Sorry ladies, I’m off the clock.’

Ella leaned in close.‘Cut the crap, Barber. We know about Saunders and Murphy. We know about yourlittle extracurricular activities.’

Barber's smile neverwavered, but Ella could see the darkness swirling in his eyes, the madnesslurking just beneath the surface. ‘I don't know what you're talking about,Agent. I'm just here to enjoy the show, same as everyone else. Can't a man havea little fun after a long day at work?’

‘Sure. What other typeof fun do you have?’

‘Depends.’

‘How about bagging upbodies and leaving them out in the open? Does that sound like fun?’

Barber's facehardened, the mask slipping to reveal the monster beneath. ‘Come again? Are youaccusing me of killing those folks?’

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