Page 26 of Lucifer's Hounds

“Hey, Lilly, there’s a door there,” Scott says, trying to stifle his laughter.

I glance down to where my hand missed the door handle only to find that there isn’t one. “Scott. Let. Me. Out!” I demand, my patience wearing thin.

“Why, what’s the rush? You can stay and help me,” he says, laughing at my slowly growing impatience.

I tap my foot, staring up at him. “You may be six feet tall, but I am perfectly capable of kicking your ever-loving ass. Let me out.Now,” I say, semi-playfully through gritted teeth.

“Here.” He unlocks the top of the door where they had put a slide bolt to hold it in place while laughing at me.

“Seriously?” I stare at him through slitted eyes. Sometimes it amazes me that things are so easy, and I just overlook them. Oblivious is a quality I don’t love to possess on some occasions, like this one.

I stand in the bright sunlight next to Betty, shielding my eyes from the bright beam. The sun hurts today. It is not going to be a good day. I plop into the driver’s seat and crank up Betty. I run a hand through my hair. Why me? Why?I’mthe runner. I turnpeople down. Not the other way around. Who the hell does he think he is? I don’t give a damn if heissome big shot business owner. He doesn’t get to treat people like this. How do we go from having one of the best nights ever in Houston, to him up and leaving me multiple times? What did I do so wrong?

I’m upset over what’s going on with him because I’m confused, I’m upset over my financial situation, and more than all of that, I’m upset that I let my guard down so quickly with a man who doesn’t give a single fuck about how I feel. Before I know it, tears are running down my face. There are two things in this world that piss me off; someone disrespecting any of the people that I deeply care for and someone making me cry. My sad tears quickly turned to angry tears as I make up my mind. I’m going to find him one way or another, today, and settle this.

I pull out my phone and resort to social media to track him down. After twenty minutes of intense searching, I come up empty handed. How does someone in this day and age not have social media? This asshole really is Houdini. Then it dawns on me.Scott.

I rush back inside and tap Scott on the shoulder. “Hey!” I say, and it comes out a little louder than I intended.

“Yes?”

“Who hired you?”

“My boss.”

“No fucking shit. What company? Who? Caine Sonnier?”

“I think so, why?”

“Because I need to find him. Where is his office?”

“Umm. That way,” he points to the back of the bar. “We just re-did it.”

I huff in frustration. “Are you always a smart ass or just an ass in general?” I ask, hanging my head in defeat.

“Okay, let me try this again. Can you tell me where I can find Caine Sonnier on a normal day before this bar existed?” I ask.

“Probably in his dad’s nut sack. Lilly, this bar has been around since the early seventies,” Scott says, somehow managing to keep a straight face.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Today, of all days, is the day you choose to have some witty reply to everything I say? Just, never mind. I’ll find him myself.”

I turn on my heel and walk into the office, going on a search of my own. I dig through every paper I can find in search of the name of his company. It’s got to be written on something.

I tear through the office and come up empty handed. Nothing. Finally, after I have papers strung from one end of the desk to the other, I stumble across the blueprints for the remodel. In the bottom right corner is a logo with the name of an engineering company. Google, here I come. I type away into Cass’s new computer. I find the address for the company and realize that a drive would be good for me, so I type it into my maps on my phone and head out.

“Where you headed?” Scott asks when he sees me walking toward the door.

“I’m going to Highway 30 to find some answers,” I say, tapping my foot.

Scott reaches over my head and unlocks the door, letting my impatient self out.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for!” Scott hollers behind me as I slam the driver door on Betty. The drive to Highway 30 is short lived and I find myself in front of a small tan building with a metal shop attached to the back of it. The sound of grinding and loud machines making tinkering noise echoes through the air.

There is no way this is an engineering company. It looks like a mechanic shop. Am I even in the right place? I double check the address in my phone and the numbers on the glass door match. This must be it.

I slowly walk over to the glass door and walk inside. A bearded man in blue jeans and a collared black polo shirt sits behind the counter. In one hand, he has a cigar and in the other he has a phone pressed to his ear.

“Yeah, let me call you back, someone just walked through the door,” he says, hanging up the phone.

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