Page 150 of Slaughter

Once I leave, I was never here.

“Scotch,” I call out to the bartender over the blaring of the music. Fuck, I hate these places. Seven Deadly Sins has made a name for itself—not a good one, but one nonetheless.

He nods his head and turns his back to me. I take the chance to look into the mirrored wall in front of me and scan the club. It’s one a.m., and the club is packed. I see the guy who I know as the owner, Jet, looking down at his phone while he stands on the stairs. When he puts it away, I move my eyes to the dance floor. I spot Chloe immediately. She has her hands in her hair and her eyes closed. She reminds me of the night I watched Bunny here from my booth back in the corner. Fuck, that feels like years ago.

A man approaches Chloe, and she pushes him away. He’s not the one we’re looking for.

The bartender places my drink in front of me, and I lay a hundred down. “Keep them coming.” I toss it back, before pushing the now empty glass to him. He nods in understanding.

My eyes go back to the mirror, and I see my brother standing over by the stairs. He has his head down talking to a girl. Probably some bitch thinking she can take him home tonight to play with her. He’ll be playing all right, but it won’t be with her.

I throw back another shot and then look at Chloe. She’s gone. I spin around to face the dance floor and jump off the stool. Where did she go? My eyes scan the club. The lights flash, and there’s a fog machine that chooses this time to release its contents.

Where the fuck did she go?

The partiers start to shout, and a crowd gathers around the smoke. I make my way over to Tristan, shoving the drunks out of my way. He looks up and his eyes meet mine when I reach him. “She’s gone.”

He immediately starts to look around. I do too. Seconds later, he slaps my chest and nods his head over to the bar I just came from. I spot her bleach blond hair at the end. She is turned toward a man who we both know so well. I smile. And Tristan calls out. “Showtime.”

_______________

An hour later and a countless number of drinks, we watch Chloe stumble out of the club with the man on her shoulder. And I have to admit I’m a little worried.

“I think he drugged her.” Tristan announces what I’m thinking.

I don’t respond. Instead, I get into the driver seat of my car, and Tristan falls into the passenger seat. His phone dings, and he pulls it out.

“I’ve got an idea. Just follow it.” He reads the message off his phone and then drops it in his lap. “Fuck!” He hisses. “Why is she not sticking to the plan?” His fist hits the dash as I start the car.

“Trust her,” I tell him.

“Easy for you to say. You shipped Presleigh away so she’ll be out of harm’s way. Chloe jumped right in the middle of it.”

I don’t argue that he allowed her to do it. When he came up with this plan, he had suggested he pay a hooker off the streets to do it, but she wasn’t having it. I sat back and watched them argue back and forth for an hour. To my surprise, he folded.

She gets into the passenger seat of a two-door black Maserati. And then it takes off. I pull out of my spot and follow behind at a good distance. Instead of getting on the highway to head toward town, it goes in the opposite direction.

“Where is he going? Where is she taking him? There’s nothing out this way.”

I continue to follow, the city lights getting smaller and smaller in my rearview mirror, and I begin to wonder what her plan is. Or if she is even still awake. She could have passed out by now if he had drugged her.

Tristan’s knees bounce, and he keeps looking down at his phone as though he’s waiting on her to call or text him.

Just when I think she’s in danger, the brake lights come on for a brief second, then the car swerves to the right a little. “What the …?” Tristan starts, but his words are cut off when the car veers completely off the road. The back tires kick up dust when it hits the gravel before it loses traction and spins around and hits the ditch, flipping before coming to a stop right side up in the ditch.

I slam on the brakes, and Tristan is jumping out before I can even get my seat belt off.

I get out and run over to the car as Tristan is pulling Chloe out of the passenger side door. “Fuck, babe. Are you okay?”

“I’m … fine …” She coughs.

He bends down, picking her up, and carries her back to my car when I come up to the driver side of the wrecked Maserati. I yank open the smashed door and look down at the man who is about to hate life. “Hello, Preston.” His dark eyes meet mine and widen.

“Avery …”

“You never called me.” Then I punch him in the face, knocking his ass out.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

---