Page 9 of Irreversible

Holding the button until the phone goes dark, I fall into a sprawl on the couch, pull a baseball cap over my face, and try to shut off my brain. If the news was good, I’d already know.

My eyes close.

Open.

Rinse and repeat for another hour, until I turn the phone on and see the last notification.

Dickhead

I need you to hear this from me.

Dammit—he knew that would get me.

Twenty minutes later, I’m here.

“Hey there, handsome.” I’m barely through the door when a bottle blond wearing a red sequined strip of material steps in my path. “Buy me a drink?”

“I’m busy.” I push past her, crunching the discarded skeletons of peanuts beneath my feet. Behind the bar, Sascha meets my eye, tilting her chin toward a table in the back corner and giving a quick headshake to Sequin Girl, who’s still following me.

Must be new.

A hypnotic rhythm carries over the stage where a dancer has one leg wrapped around a pole, her arched back rendering her nearly upside down as she waves a curtain of dark hair before a throng of mesmerized men. The beat pounds slow and steady, in time with my heart.

Th-thump, th-thump, th-thump.

Inhaling a lungful of smoke-infused air, I give the area a habitual scan and head for the back. On the surface, I look no different than the rest of the clientele weaving through the dark, navigating tables, chairs, and several dubiously sticky puddles I refuse to think about. But I’m not here for pleasure. Tonight, I’m on a mission.

Though I pride myself on my well-honed instincts, they aren’t necessary to locate my target: he’s waiting in our usual booth, nursing a glass of whisky, his dirty-blond hair reflecting the flash of fuchsia moving lights.

Luke Tanner.

Pretty sure I’m one of three people who realize his first name isn’t Tanner.

Stopping in front of the table, I pluck the glass from his hand. “You couldn’t just come by my place?”

“Why? You got something better to do?” He snatches the whisky from me like the world will end if I encounter alcohol.

Fair enough; he’s seen me at my worst more than once.

“Good to see you, too.” He tilts his head toward the glass of carbonated liquid across from him. “Sascha made that one just for you. There’s lime in it.”

“You’ve got thirty seconds to convince me not to turn around and go back to bed.” I ignore the invitation to sit. “Some people are asleep at one a.m., you know.

“You aren’t one of them.”

“Not the point.”

The point is, I hate this place. Not forwhatit is, but because a meeting in this hole in the wall gentlemen’s club off Delancy pretty much guarantees I’m not going to like what my former partner has to say.

Back when we were a team, this used to be our go-to for connecting with informants and holding other covert meetings. One glance at the smattering of distracted patrons, half with their dicks in hand, and it’s clear no one gives a fuck about the conversation happening in the booth tucked away in the shadows. That’s the beauty of this club: privacy without the danger of seclusion.

Even comes with its own bouncer.

Tanner aims that notoriously charming smile at someone over my shoulder, dipping his chin. “I miss this joint. It’s got a great selection of beer. And women.”

“You don’t drink beer.” I turn in time to shake my head at the server before she gets too close. “And my place has zero people. I win.”

“Ah, but the women…” He waves a hand toward the stage.

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