Although, no one had talked yet. Only stared. Which may have been worse.
The door behind the bar swung open, and my eyes drifted that way.
Damnwas the first word that came to mind.
He was somewhere just over six foot with biceps the size of my head. Full sleeves decorated his broad shoulders down to his masculine hands. There was a large wolf on one of his biceps, an intricate black and white rose below it, and dozens of swirls between them to fill the empty space. On the other arm was a playing card—the ace of spades—with the logo of the sign overhead feathered throughout it.
Company pride. Duly noted.
His dark brown hair dangled around his ears in messy waves. A few ringlets framed his square jaw coated in a layer of dark brown hair. Beards weren’t usually my thing, but it aged him up a bit, and I was oddly into it. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, but at a passing glance, I’d think he was in his thirties.
As he approached the bar, he looked me over. “You the girl Emory was talking about?”
Clearing my throat, I extended a hand over the counter. “Yeah, and you’re Declan?”
His firm, warm grasp closed around mine. “I am. And who are you?”
“Brooke,” I said. “Brooke Lewis.”
“Nice to meet you, Brooke Lewis.” He brought his hand back to his side. “What can I help you with? You a reporter or something?”
Not the friendly type. Also duly noted. “No, I’m not a reporter. I’m just looking for someone.” I handed him the photo. “She’s a friend of my sister’s, and she’s been missing for about a week. Her name’s Misty. This is the last place Ria said she was. I was just wondering if you’ve seen her.”
He stared at the image a moment longer. “Maybe. She looks familiar.” He looked up. “She a working girl?”
My stomach flipped. I guessed that was the least offensive wording there was for what they did, and he didn’t say it in a particular tone. But nine times out of ten, if you tell someone you’re looking for a sex worker, they’re going to roll their eyes and walk away.
I liked Misty. She was a lot more than ‘a working girl.’
Awkwardly scratching my head, I gave a nod. “Yeah, I guess.”
Declan nodded, still looking down at the picture. “I think I remember her. You got something of hers?”
I passed him the Ziploc. He peeled the plastic open, lowered his head, and sniffed. After a few whiffs and focused expressions, he said, “Yeah, she was here. Couldn’t get this perfume smell out of the place for two days afterward.” He scanned the bar and gestured to the card table in the corner. “See that guy over there?”
I saw a handful.
A bald biker in his late fifties at least four times my size—maybe around my height, but twice as big in his belly, arms, and thighs. The man across from him fit the same demographic, and the guys seated beside them around the circular table were equally as big, but decades younger. All of them were muscled, wearing leather jackets, and the one closest to me had a holster at his hip.
Could I conjure a dozen spells on command? Sure. Was I a teleporter? Also yes.
That didn’t take away from how incredibly intimidating approaching that table would be. I would do it. But I had the feeling I’d need something stronger than hot cocoa to relax before bed tonight.
“Which one?” I asked.
“Tommy,” Declan said. “The guy at the end with the American flag bandana. He’s a real ass though, so…” He paused and glanced me over again. “Maybe tie your jacket around your waist before you bend over.”
Ugh.
I drew in and let out a deep breath. “Thanks.”
CHAPTERTWO
DECLAN
Astomp picked up in my chest as she walked across the room. I wasn’t sure if it was because her long legs ended on the cutest round ass, or if it was because of which table she was walking toward.
We didn’t get many women in here. When we did, I kept a close eye out. Even when it’d been Misty at that table. She seemed content in Tommy’s lap, and she’d walked in pretty fucked up already, but I kept my eyes peeled.