make it past the bouncers.”
“How do you know my name?”
“I didn’t recognize you last night, but I should have. You were on TV, too, remember?”
I’d done a few interviews, pleading with whoever had taken Ben to bring him home to me. “I have to find him,” I murmured. “I think this Nestor guy was his supplier, and I was hoping—”
“Get out of here!” he snapped. “You’re such an idiot. You’re walking blind into a cave full of people who can see in the dark. It took Bart five seconds to read how desperate you were last night, and he’s small-time on his best day. Here, they’ll know immediately. And—”
“Know what?”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. The door’s going to slam shut so fast that you’ll be lucky if your nose doesn’t end up looking like mine.”
He turned away from me and pressed up against the van, his palms spreading across the glass of the tinted window. His knuckles were heavily scarred.
“Thanks for nothing.” I moved to step around him, heading for the club.
“What the fuck?” He blocked my way. “Did you hear anything I just said?”
“Sure. I won’t make it past the front door. Let’s see about that.”
I sidestepped him, and he cursed and turned toward the back of the van again. He yanked open the hatch, and I heard a low growl. “Shh, girl, it’s me,” he said.
“Wait, this is your minivan?”
He winged something at me, and I barely managed to catch it. It was a small cardboard box with XXX written in black marker across the side. “To ease the pain. Take it and go.”
I looked down at the box, and then at his minivan, the back of which was filled with neatly stacked toolboxes and cases, one opened to reveal several rows of small boxes with similar markings. “Is this . . . ?”
“Fuck stick. Just like the one you had last night.”
Heat spread across my chest and up my neck. “I tell you I’m searching for my kidnapped fiancé, and you give me a-a-a—”
“Fuck stick?” He annunciated each word while wearing a nasty, knowing smile. “Seemed like you enjoyed it before.”
He reached into the van, and I heard a collar jingling as he patted the creature inside—the honor-student eater, I presumed. I leaned to the side to see that it was a gray pit bull with light eyes and ears cut woefully short. Its muzzle was covered in ugly scars.
“I’ll be back soon, Gracie,” he said to it, receiving a plaintive whine in response. Then he pulled two cases from the back, set them on the asphalt, and slammed the rear door of the minivan shut. When he straightened, he looked surprised to see I was still standing there. “Oh. There’s no charge.”
“My fiancé is missing . Someone took him and left his bloody pacemaker in our mailbox! He might be suffering. He could be dead.”
“Bummer,” he admitted, “but I have an appointment to keep, so run along now.”
“‘Run along now’?”
He glanced around. “Is there an echo in here?”
“You are such a-a—”
“Need some help? How about—”
“Asshole!” I shrieked.
He chuckled. And then his smile fell away suddenly as he moved toward me, leaning into my space in a way that made me stumble back instinctively. But he just kept coming, backing me up until my butt hit the rear of the delivery truck. He smelled like soap and dog and . . . mangoes? He placed his hands on either side of my head, trapping me, leaving me staring at the curve of his mouth. “You did not know the real Ben.”
“Did you?” I whispered.
He stared down at me. “No. I don’t think I ever did.”
“But you obviously think you know me.”
“Let me see . . . You were a popular girl in high school, maybe a cheerleader. My guess is that your life to this point has been pretty damn painless. You like Taylor Swift, and your parents are lifelong Republicans.” His smile went flat. “And you clearly don’t think things all the way through before diving in headlong. I’ll bet you
“How do you know my name?”
“I didn’t recognize you last night, but I should have. You were on TV, too, remember?”
I’d done a few interviews, pleading with whoever had taken Ben to bring him home to me. “I have to find him,” I murmured. “I think this Nestor guy was his supplier, and I was hoping—”
“Get out of here!” he snapped. “You’re such an idiot. You’re walking blind into a cave full of people who can see in the dark. It took Bart five seconds to read how desperate you were last night, and he’s small-time on his best day. Here, they’ll know immediately. And—”
“Know what?”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. The door’s going to slam shut so fast that you’ll be lucky if your nose doesn’t end up looking like mine.”
He turned away from me and pressed up against the van, his palms spreading across the glass of the tinted window. His knuckles were heavily scarred.
“Thanks for nothing.” I moved to step around him, heading for the club.
“What the fuck?” He blocked my way. “Did you hear anything I just said?”
“Sure. I won’t make it past the front door. Let’s see about that.”
I sidestepped him, and he cursed and turned toward the back of the van again. He yanked open the hatch, and I heard a low growl. “Shh, girl, it’s me,” he said.
“Wait, this is your minivan?”
He winged something at me, and I barely managed to catch it. It was a small cardboard box with XXX written in black marker across the side. “To ease the pain. Take it and go.”
I looked down at the box, and then at his minivan, the back of which was filled with neatly stacked toolboxes and cases, one opened to reveal several rows of small boxes with similar markings. “Is this . . . ?”
“Fuck stick. Just like the one you had last night.”
Heat spread across my chest and up my neck. “I tell you I’m searching for my kidnapped fiancé, and you give me a-a-a—”
“Fuck stick?” He annunciated each word while wearing a nasty, knowing smile. “Seemed like you enjoyed it before.”
He reached into the van, and I heard a collar jingling as he patted the creature inside—the honor-student eater, I presumed. I leaned to the side to see that it was a gray pit bull with light eyes and ears cut woefully short. Its muzzle was covered in ugly scars.
“I’ll be back soon, Gracie,” he said to it, receiving a plaintive whine in response. Then he pulled two cases from the back, set them on the asphalt, and slammed the rear door of the minivan shut. When he straightened, he looked surprised to see I was still standing there. “Oh. There’s no charge.”
“My fiancé is missing . Someone took him and left his bloody pacemaker in our mailbox! He might be suffering. He could be dead.”
“Bummer,” he admitted, “but I have an appointment to keep, so run along now.”
“‘Run along now’?”
He glanced around. “Is there an echo in here?”
“You are such a-a—”
“Need some help? How about—”
“Asshole!” I shrieked.
He chuckled. And then his smile fell away suddenly as he moved toward me, leaning into my space in a way that made me stumble back instinctively. But he just kept coming, backing me up until my butt hit the rear of the delivery truck. He smelled like soap and dog and . . . mangoes? He placed his hands on either side of my head, trapping me, leaving me staring at the curve of his mouth. “You did not know the real Ben.”
“Did you?” I whispered.
He stared down at me. “No. I don’t think I ever did.”
“But you obviously think you know me.”
“Let me see . . . You were a popular girl in high school, maybe a cheerleader. My guess is that your life to this point has been pretty damn painless. You like Taylor Swift, and your parents are lifelong Republicans.” His smile went flat. “And you clearly don’t think things all the way through before diving in headlong. I’ll bet you
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