Page 34 of Avenging Kelly

KELLY

“You sure this is the right place?” I asked London. It was a dive bar of the first order, and I was worried about what the fuck would happen when we went in there. If that goddamn pimp was there, I couldn’t say I wouldn’t kill the asshole with my bare hands.

“This is the place Ace and Duke said they found the guy. I think we should leave guns in the car. I’ll beat him to death with my bare fists if he tries anything. We don’t need to get nailed for not being licensed to carry in California. You ready?” London asked as he leaned closer, so I met him halfway and kissed his addicting lips.

Once we broke the kiss, I grabbed his hand. “We need to get a hotel room tonight. Marianna is a great person, but her walls are damn thin, and I really want to be with you,” I told him, meaning every damn word.

London grinned as he slid his gun under his seat, so I did the same with the Sig I had in my belt. “Agreed. Let’s get this over with.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. We were out of the car, across the street in no time flat, and in the door.

Dare Ya had to be as diviest of dive bars as I’d ever seen. The smell of old grease and stale beer was enough to make those with weaker stomachs heave onto the dingy floor.

London and I strolled along the bar, laughing as if we were old buddies meeting for a beer. We took a seat—one stool between us like straight guys always seemed to do.

“Hello, guys. What can I get you to drink?”

A female bartender slowly approached us. I could see she was high, and damn, she looked rough, her greasy hair pulled back in a ponytail with what looked like a bread tie. She’d definitely been rode hard and put away wet more than once.

London and I were prepared to scare the truth out of “Daddy” Rick if the bastard was at the bar. He’d tell us how he’d come to have my sister, or he’d be missing a few body parts before I fucking killed him.

We’d dropped by Marianna’s place for me to shoot up and grab a few things to use as props for our little skit. I also had a Glock in the pocket of my jacket I hadn’t mentioned to London, which was definitely my Plan B if anything went off the rails.

“I’ll have a Modelo, please,” I answered the woman, noticing it was nine o’clock in the morning and there were a handful of men sitting at a table toward the back of the bar. From what I could see, they were playing cards, which led me to believe they’d been there all night. I was damn sure they were drunk, high, or, hopefully, both.

“Sure. Green eyes?” the woman asked as she turned in London’s direction.

“Same, please.”

The woman knocked on the bar and walked away as I turned to London. “Your eyes aren’t just green. They have a lot of blue and a little brown. They’re hazel,” I snapped, happy to hear his sexy laugh.

“Wow, you’re a little possessive, aren’t you? I like that. And I’m not keen on playing straight, either, but we’re here for a bigger reason, so take a breath. I’ll be sliding home inside you in a matter of hours, babe.”

Before I could respond about how much I was looking forward to it, the sat phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out, showing me the screen. It was a text from Casper with the details we needed.

Narc—Richard “Daddy Rick” Fleming is Phillippe Trudeau’s half-brother. Fleming’s known associates are Sally (barmaid) and Miguel “Maniac” Montero, a local underground MMA fighter. Proceed with caution per Duke. Plane will wait for you at SDIA at ten tonight. Safe travels.

I glanced toward the back of the bar and saw a huge dude stand up and head toward a sign marked restroom. Daddy Rick called out, “Don’t take too long, Maniac. I want more of your money.” Obviously, he was Miguel Montero.

Two men who could have been dock workers, walked out the front door, both offering a nod on their way.

“I got him. Here, take these and see if you can get Daddy Rick to himself. I’ll be back in a sec,” London insisted as he passed me a handful of zip ties under the bar out of the eyesight of Sally the bartender.

She sauntered over to us with two beers, placing them on the counter under the bar to pop off the caps. Two black napkins hit the sticky bar top in front of us before the beer bottles landed.

“Lime?” I shook her off because I didn’t see tongs or toothpicks anywhere nearby, and I couldn’t imagine where her hands had been.

“Men’s room?” London asked.

Sally pointed toward the back where we’d seen the huge guy head from the table where Rick Fleming was still sitting. London hopped up and walked that way, his head turning left to right to take in the rest of the bar. He was a good operative.

I had the feeling I’d need to provide a distraction, so I walked over to the old-fashioned jukebox and shoved a few bucks into the slot, picking random ass songs as I flipped through the selections.

The volume knob was on the back of the machine—not my first rodeo at a dive bar with a jukebox like that—and I turned up the volume before I walked back to the bar and took my stool.

I picked up the Mexican beer and took a gulp. When Sally walked over, I winked at her. “I don’t guess you’d know where my friend and I could find some company?”

Sally smiled, showing me all of her rotting teeth. “What kind of company, handsome?”

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