Rounding the building, they were seconds away from disappearing through the corner doors to go into Floyd’s when she noticed a lone figure loitering by the curb about ten feet away. Probably registering movement, the man turned to them.
Harlow’s eyes met the loiterer’s. Recognizing him, she stopped. “Clyde?”
At her side, Noon grew taller and more rigid while tightening his grip on her hand. “You know this schmuck?”
“He’s not a schmuck, he’s my colleague,” she said and stepped around Noon. Instead of letting her go, he tugged her to him. Disguising her bounce back, Harlow put a hand to Noon’s chest. “Clyde, what are you doing here?”
“This is how you got your information?” Clyde asked, frowning at Noon. “Your boyfriend comes here?”
“Yeah, he does,” Noon said, too confrontational for her liking. “You better fucking remember that, asshole.”
Noon yanked her behind him. Terrified that he was going to hurt the astonished Clyde, she grabbed for his arm with both hands. “Noon, stop it,” she said, stepping in so close that she was almost talking against his arm. Clyde’s scrutiny of the familiar act made her lean back to address her colleague. “Are you here for a reason?”
“I didn’t want you going in there alone,” Clyde said, his words stunted with wonder. “I wanted to be here in case you needed backup.”
“She doesn’t need backup. We’re her backup. Floyd’s is her home.”
“Stop getting defensive,” she said, tugging on Noon’s arm. Clyde’s scrutiny intensified when Noon slid an arm around her shoulders. “Why don’t you come inside and have a drink, Clyde? You’re here anyway.”
If Dover said she was welcome, then her friends should be as well. Sure, she and Clyde were hardly bosom buddies… she didn’t even know his last name… or, come to think of it, his first, maybe Clyde was his last name.
“He’s not drinking with us,” Noon grumbled.
“Stop your BS,” she said, lacing her fingers through his. Gesturing at Clyde, she encouraged him to join them, but kept talking to Noon. “He’s my friend, don’t be rude.”
As they went inside, she noted that Floyd’s wasn’t quite as busy as it had been the previous night, though most of the tables were occupied. The lights and the volume of the music were lower, giving the place a more intimate feel.
It was odd that she should think of a place she’d once feared as cozy. The probing eyes, tattoos and muscles of patrons didn’t intimidate her anymore. Neither did the scent of beer and body odor surprise her.
Given the right mood, she could imagine a time when she’d feel comfortable there. If she wasn’t waiting for Ryske’s reaction to her invading his life that was.
All that considered, Harlow kept her head, and played it smart. Fixing her eyes on the bar, she thought of how children were instructed not to look aggressive dogs square in the eye in case they thought they were being challenged. Harlow didn’t fear for her own safety; Noon was at her side. But she wasn’t stupid enough to give off any hostile vibes. It was impossible to know who was watching and who might hold a grudge.
After Harlow took a stool at the bar, Clyde slid onto one beside her. “I can’t believe you know these people,” her colleague hissed.
Noon ran a hand down the back of her hair and kept going. He disappeared around the corner but reappeared on the other side of the bar a minute later. Without asking anything, he produced a glass of wine for her like Dover had last night. The growl on his face betrayed how he begrudged tossing a beer in Clyde’s direction.
“I’m going to look for the guys,” Noon said. “Wait here. Don’t move.”
Scanning the bottles lined up on shelves at the back of the bar, Harlow wished she’d insisted on a tour last night. If she had asked to be shown around, maybe she’d have some idea of where to run if things went south.
Seconds ago, when they’d come inside, she’d been thinking of how safe she was there. But watching Noon disappear around the curve of the bar chilled her. Suddenly, she was without protection.
In her peripheral vision, she saw Clyde’s head was bobbing in a nod. “These are the people you came to for help last night,” he said, fixated on completely the wrong thing.
They were alone in what could be an unfriendly place. Clyde should be focused on the potential danger, not his shock of her connection to the notorious establishment. Figuring maybe it was different for guys, and that Clyde was confident he could handle himself in a fight, Harlow told herself not to worry about him. She hadn’t promised him protection and he hadn’t asked for it.
“Yes, they are.”
“And you couldn’t have just told us that?” he asked. “You couldn’t have been honest and said, ‘Hey, you know what? My boyfriend hangs out in Floyd’s, I’ll be perfectly safe.’ Why not just tell us about Mr. Friendly? I can really tell what you see in him.”
Blowing out a breath, she hated judgment, but passive aggressive was even less attractive. “The man you just met is not my boyfriend. But he does know people who may be able to help us track down Felipe, which is the point, right? We’re doing this to find a teenager who could be lost or up to God knows what.”
“I could’ve helped you,” he said and laid a hand over hers on the bar. “You didn’t have to get yourself mixed up with the people in here to do your job. When did you meet him? Was it after Felipe went missing? Let me guess, you tried to go looking on your own without telling anyone, before you came out last night with me and Gina, didn’t you?”
Thinking she was some sort of crusader was giving her more credit than she was due. “Clyde,” Harlow said, shaking her head.
He continued before she had a chance to finish. “What did they ask you to do?”
Picking up her hand, he took it to his lap. Just the act of putting her hand in such a personal place seemed intimate, so much so that it startled her into looking down, though the shadow of the bar made it too dark to see anything.
“I don’t think—”
“I’ve seen you around the office, read some of your notes. I know you. I’m not sure you’re ready for a neighborhood like this. These guys will eat you up and spit you out if you’re not careful.” The cool caress of his damp fingers moved from his beer bottle onto her cheek. “You can’t let them take advantage of you.”
Blinking up into his soft eyes, that were almost pitying, she knew he thought her to be naïve, probably verging into stupid. In his narrative, she would deserve anything she got for wandering into a dangerous place like this and demanding answers.
“Clyde, I—”
Harlow wasn’t sure what she’d been about to say, and she never got the chance to find out. Her words were cut off when her colleague was suddenly yanked from his stool. Before she could even think to leap from hers, the harsh thwack of a fist smacking into flesh echoed through the air.
Clyde flew back into her view. Spinning around, he flopped over the bar, smacking his head against it, then slithered to the floor.
Fear and confusion pumped through her, fueled by a surge of adrenaline. Whipping around so fast that her neck cracked, Harlow expected to find an out of control drunk or maybe a strung out sociopath.
Instead, she saw a tall, broad, and terrifying Ryske.
With his fists balled and his arms tensed, she could see his shoulders rising and falling as he inhaled and exhaled, deep, furious breaths. All his focus was on Clyde; she wasn’t sure he was even aware of her.
“Get up,” Ryske hissed, beginning to advance again.
Anyone within spitting distance scrambled away, pushing aside tables and knocking over chairs in their haste to get out of Ryske’s periphery.
Rushing to intercept him, Harlow threw all of her body weight against him. “No,” she said, slapping her hands to his chest. “No! Crash, stop!”
Clyde was still cowering on the floor. If he was smart, he’d stay there.
“Out of the way, Trink,” Ryske growled.
With one arm, he managed to sweep her aside like she weighed nothing, clearing his path to Clyde.
Harlow was still finding her footing when she spotted Dover coming in with Maze just behind him. “Dover!”
Her exclamation made him and Maze jump to attention. Knowing his own place, Dover had noticed there was something going on, but hadn’t zoned in on it until she called out.
With moist palms pressed to her upper chest, all Harlow could do was watch with wide eyes. Dover and Maze rushed over and fought with Ryske to pull him away from Clyde who had his arms up protecting his face, fearful of Ryske’s next punch.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Dover screamed, shoving Ryske back.
Maze pinned his confused anger on her. “What the fuck were you doing? Blowing the guy?”
Ignoring Maze, she went to crouch at Clyde’s side. “I’m sorry,” she said, trying to coax his arms down from blocking his head. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t fucking touch him, Trink,” Ryske spat with visceral fury.
Crash didn’t have the monopoly on rage. Tossing her hair over her shoulder to look back at him, she saw Dover and Maze still fighting to hold their friend back. Surging to her feet, Harlow marched over, glad that Dover was still holding onto the manic Ryske, not because she was afraid of him, but because Clyde didn’t deserve another hit. He hadn’t deserved the first one.
“How dare you treat my friend this way!”
Dover struggled against Ryske’s strength but managed a glance at her. “What happened? What the fuck did—”
“Your buddy came from nowhere and smacked my friend in the face for no reason!”
Surprise made Dover relax enough that Ryske almost got past him. The bartender managed to strengthen his grip again just in time to catch his friend. Maze rushed in to back him up. Harlow didn’t think that Ryske was really fuming enough to force his way past his friends. It seemed like he was trying to reinforce his point by blustering and making it difficult for them to keep him still.
Maze hadn’t lost his confusion, if anything, it grew. “I have never seen you throw the first punch,” he said and glanced to Dover who gave Ryske a shake.
“Who is he, man?” Dover asked. “What happened?”
“I told you what happened,” she said and shoved Maze aside to sock Ryske’s shoulder. “How do you like it, asshole?”
Ryske’s agitation narrowed into laser precise focus that zoned in on her. His hand shot up to grab her by the throat. His grip was sure. Not tight enough to restrict her breathing or hurt her. Enough to possess her. To claim and own her.
Fixated on each other, their shallow breathing sank into sync. She stilled, like an animal playing dead.
“Whoa, hey,” Maze said.
Dover tried to grab Ryske’s hand away from her, but the first move Harlow made was to brush him aside.
Still transfixed on the other, Harlow was sure she and Ryske made quite the spectacle, or she would think that if she could focus on anything other than the intensity of his gaze. Ryske walked her backward, anyone in their path scrambled. He didn’t stop until her back hit the bar.
“When I told you I won’t let any other man have you, I meant it. So either you brought him here to get my attention, which you have, or you want me to take him out, which I will… Which is it?”
“Neither,” she said, not taking her eyes from his while seeking his loose hand. Threading their fingers together, she had hopes of calming him. “I didn’t bring him, Noon brought me. Clyde was waiting for me outside, he’s my colleague.”
His attention dropped to the floor at their side where Clyde was still cowering. “A stalker? Is that right?” he asked. “You lured him to the right place.”
With a finger on his jaw, she brought his attention to her. “Not a stalker, Crash, a friend,” she said. “Will you please be reasonable?”
Ryske didn’t answer. If he wanted to beat on Clyde, he could. That he wasn’t taking that chance showed they’d made progress. She hoped. They would stay in this face-off all night unless someone broke it. So Harlow pushed Ryske back, demanding enough space that she could bend over to pull Clyde to his feet.
Clyde cleared his throat a few times, wary of those around him, and what he’d just endured. “Your, uh… boyfriend, I guess?”
There was no time to respond.
“What the fuck happened in here?” Noon’s voice exploded behind her. “I was gone five fucking minutes.”
“You thought it was smart to let guys hit on her at the bar?” Maze asked, stepping up behind Clyde to pick up a stool and sit down. “Least we know who can’t keep her safe now. You need a fucking sitter of your own, Noon. Use your damn head.”