Page 12 of Atlas
“She alone?”
“No. With a guy. Greasy hair, twitchy. Tried to get her to go upstairs with him. She looked like she didn’t want to, but he kept pressuring. She left before it got loud.”
Something shifts in my gut. “Where’d they go?”
He shrugs. “Try over on Brighton Street. Dive bar called Maddie’s. Real scumhole. If she’s desperate or hiding, that’s where she’ll be.”
I nod once. “Thanks.”
As I walk, I light a cigarette. There’s a thought in the back of my mind, questioning what the hell I might be walking into? Some scared kid caught up with the wrong crowd? Or bait set out by someone who wants to piss us off?
But Axel asked me to protect her. And the thing is, I know what it’s like to be young and in the dark, looking for someone togive a fuck.
Maddie’s is two streets over, wedged between a pawn shop and a tattoo place that looks like you’d leave with tetanus. I step inside, scanning the crowd.
And there, in the far corner, near the toilets, I see her.
Leaning against the wall. Arms crossed. Talking to a guy with too many rings and too much attitude.
She’s smaller than I expected. Thinner. Tired.I don’t go straight in. I hang near the bar, grabbing myself a beer and taking a seat just behind a support beam so I can watch her.
She’s got that look, chin tilted like she’s braver than she feels, legs crossed like she’s comfortable, but one hand grips the edgeof the table too tight. The guy talking to her leans in close. She keeps shifting back, eyes darting to the exit every few seconds like she’s planning her escape.
I’ve seen that look before. Girls like her, they learn to scan every room. Look for danger and for exits. She’s doing both.
She tries to laugh at something he says. It’s flat. He puts a hand on her knee.
She flinches.
That’s enough.
I drain what’s left of my beer, set the bottle down, and cross the room.
The guy doesn’t even notice me until I’m right behind him.
“Move,” I say, low and steady.
He turns, blinking like he’s trying to figure out whether to puff his chest or piss himself. “What the fuck?”
I hold up my patch-covered cut and raise a brow. “Say that again.”
His eyes scan my badge and suddenly he doesn’t look as confident.
Kasey looks up at me, wide-eyed. “Who are you?”
“Someone your sister sent.” I look back to the guy. “Last chance, dickhead.”
He bolts. Doesn’t even say a word. Just grabs his coat and slides out the side door like smoke.
Kasey stands, still holding her bag like she expects me to snatch it.
I nod towards the exit. “We should talk. Not here.”
She doesn’t move.
“You really from the club?” she asks, voice sharp with doubt.
I pull the photo from my jacket and hold it up.
