Page 47 of Mystic's Sunrise

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

THE RUMBLE OFour bikes faded as we pulled up toa rundown bar off the highway, the kind of place where the lights were too low, the floors too sticky, and the air thick with cheap perfume and even cheaper beer. It wasn’t the first stop of the night, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

Spinner barely waited for his bike to settle before he was off it, pacing like a caged animal. His jaw was tight, his shoulders wound up so damn stiff it looked like he might snap.

“Boy’s ‘bout to lose his goddamn mind,” Chain muttered beside me as we killed the engines.

I swung my leg over my bike, rolling my shoulders. “Can’t blame him.”

Lucy had been missing for days. Long enough that the silence was starting to feel like a goddamn death knell.

Spinner was the first through the door, shoving past a pair of drunks stumbling outside. Chain and I followed, scanning the bar as we stepped inside. The place was filled with people looking for a distraction from the misery of life. Neon signs buzzed, casting a sickly glow over cracked leather booths and a pool table covered in cigarette burns.

A few eyes flicked our way, sizing us up. Bikers weren’t uncommon in a place like this, but they could smell when someone wasn’t just passing through.

Spinner went straight for the bar, leaning in over the counter like he was two seconds from grabbing the bartender by the collar.

“Hey,” Chain warned, gripping his shoulder. “We aren’t here to make a scene. Ask nice first.”

Spinner exhaled hard through his nose but nodded once. His patience was a fragile thing, held together by the thinnest thread.

I sat down on one of the barstools, elbows resting on the sticky wood. “Beer.”

The bartender—a skinny guy with greasy hair and a deep frown—eyed me before opening the bottle and sitting in front of me. Spinner didn’t wait for his own order. He pulled out his phone, shoving the screen toward the man.

“You seen this woman?” His voice was raw, low, dangerous.

The bartender glanced at the picture of Lucy but shrugged. “Ain’t ringin’ a bell.”

Spinner’s fist curled. “Look again.”

I shot him a warning glance, then turned back to the bartender, sliding a twenty across the counter. “Maybe this’ll help jog your memory.”

The man hesitated, then snatched up the bill, squinting at the picture again. “Might’ve seen her. Can’t be sure.”

Chain leaned in. “Try real hard.” His voice was smooth, but he moved his cut over to reveal the piston underneath.

The bartender swallowed, eyes darting toward the back of the bar. “Had a woman come through here a few nights back. Might’ve been her.”

Spinner’s knuckles went white around his phone. “Was she alone?”

The bartender shook his head. “Yeah, sat by herself at the end of the bar. Got up and tailed out when a woman come in and take a stool next to her.”

My gut went tight.

“Who was she?” I asked.

The man shook his head. “Didn’t catch a name. But she wasn’t a regular.” He hesitated, then added, “Ain’t the first time I seen her, though.”

Spinner’s patience snapped. He grabbed the bartender by the front of his shirt, yanking him halfway over the bar. “If you know somethin’—”

“Spinner.” My voice was sharp, cutting through his rage. “Let him go.”

His nostrils flared, but he did as I said, shoving the guy back.

The bartender coughed, rubbing his throat. “Look, man, I don’t know who the fuck she was or where she came from. All I know is what I just told ya.”

Spinner leaned in close, his voice a growl. “You better be bein’ straight with me.”

---