Page 14 of Love Bleeds Red
LEON - PRESENT DAY
I getoff the tube and duck down a dimly lit cobbled side street covered with years worth of graffiti. The smell of spilled beer mixes with the industrial scent of the railway above me. There it is. The Arch. Just looking at its run down sign brings me back in time. We’d head here to get pissed since it stays open past midnight and they never minded a few kids taking up a table in the back so long as we kept quiet.
We learned a lot here. Me, Cruz, Abel, and a few others. Had our first pints. Played our first poker matches. Got into our first fist fight. Same night, coincidentally. It was at The Arch that I landed my first paid hacking gig. Where Cruz mixed up with a dodgy crew. Where I know I’ll find some answers about Bailey.
Bailey.
Just thinking her name makes my chest ache. It’s hard to stay focused, keep my emotions in check, when every spare moment, my thoughts drift to her. Her smile. The gleam in her blue eyes when she’d say something embarrassing about Jasper. Those lips that would bring me to my knees.
She’s not just some missing person to me. She never was.
As I step inside, the whole place vibrates from a train passing overhead. Dust unavoidably lands in drinks and sprinkles people’s hair. Through the haze of particles in the air, I spot Cruz hunched in our old corner booth, wearing the same faded backwards ball cap he’s worn for years. He’s ganglier than when I last saw him—lost some weight maybe? Either that or I never really noticed how long his limbs were, but from here, his legs barely fit under the booth.
He spots me and nods, holding up a pint. “The prodigal son returns.”
I clap a hand on his shoulder and offer a small smile. “Cruz. Alright? You still getting into trouble?”
“Got myself a wife. Last year. She’s a real firecracker, would rip my balls off if I got into trouble,” Cruz says with a chuckle as I slide into the booth across from him. “Nearly took my head off last time I stumbled in at three in the morning.”
“Is that right?” I ask, picturing the Cruz I know as a proper family man.
His phone vibrates against the table and he holds it up, laughing. “Like we summoned the devil herself.”
“You better get that,” I say.
“Ah, she can wait.” He leans forward, looking me over. “America’s done you well, hasn’t it? You’ve filled out. Got that expensive haircut. Teeth look suspiciously white. Look a bit tired though, around the eyes.”
Tired doesn’t begin to cover it. Can he tell that I haven’t slept properly in a year? That my life has been endless nights spent at my computer, drinking too much caffeine, searching for any trace of her. And God, the nightmares. Bailey’s cries in the dark, her hand reaching for mine before she’s yanked away, just out of my grasp.
“Just order me a pint, will you?” I laugh under my breath. “I’ll need one if this is how the night’s heading.”
“Next one’s on you,” he says before sliding out and heading to the bar. I take a moment to check my phone, reading over a few unopened messages in the group chat. Mostly pics of the cats being cute… which I hate to admit make me smile.
I miss them all more than I expected. Jasper with his incessant jokes, Damon’s quiet strength, Blake’s kindness, Falin’s fierce intelligence. They’re my family. And Bailey is the missing piece.
When I look up, blinking back the wave of emotion, Cruz is right there, full pint in hand. “Bottoms up.”
I take a long swig, feeling my shoulders loosen already. “Thanks. Needed that.”
Cruz stretches his legs so they’re sticking out from under the table. “So, what brings you back? Last I heard, you were finishing up uni in New York?”
“Gathering some information,” I say. Cruz raises his brows and gestures for me to go on. I lower my voice. “On a missing person. Trafficking victim. All my intel points to her being here in London.”
“Trafficking victim, eh?” Cruz leans back, resting his arm on the booth. His jaw clenches as he fusses with his cap. “That’s some heavy stuff.”
“Keep your voice down.” I take another sip of my beer, watching his face carefully. Cruz may be a few years older and married, but I can tell that he hasn’t changed much. “It’s important.”
“Right, sorry.” He scans the area around us before adding, “What’s this got to do with me? I’m just a bloke with a mortgage and a wife who thinks I work in IT support.”
“Come off it. You still know people. You’ve always had your ear to the ground.”
Cruz scratches his chin, taps the side of his glass. I’m reeling him in. “Look, I don’t mess with that sort of thing. Never have. And especially not now.”
“I’m not suggesting you do,” I say quietly. “I know you better than that.” His face softens, and I know just how to get him to talk. “It’s for someone I know well. Someone I care for.”
He sighs, looks over his shoulder again, and finishes his beer in one swig. “What do you need?”
“Information about a business called Mech Express. Anything connecting them to London operations.”
