Chapter 6: Ryker

Saturday night, I'd hoped to get to Swank earlier than I did. Chase and Tessa's wedding had started late-not that they ever did anything on time-and gone well into the night. The affair was huge and well attended, which also made it difficult to leave. I'd grown up with Chase, and by default, I became a surrogate family member. Aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings-they all came out in droves, as did every member of Union 21 and their significant others. There were more people there than the last concert I'd been to. As a groomsman, I hadn't felt right leaving before the bride and groom. Subsequently, I didn't escape the reception until nearly one in the morning.

I'd hopped on my Harley the moment the newly married couple had been safely tucked into their limo. Swank closed at two, which didn't give me time to go home to change if I had any hope of seeing Diamond. Not that I had a clue why she intrigued me or how she'd managed to plague my thoughts for the better part of twenty-four hours. If she had made it onto Swank's stage, she was up to her ass in Union 21-not my scene-but I couldn't shake her.

The club glowed like a beacon with all the lights illuminating the front of the building. I should have heeded the warning; lighthouses warned sailors away from rocks-Swank held the same power for devastation. Nevertheless, I parked, killed the ignition, and removed my helmet. I was off the motorcycle in seconds, moving toward the same door I'd dreaded opening last night. Once inside, the familiar scene would accost me: pink neon, black furniture, and trashy women.

Hank stood from the stool he kept by the entrance. "Ryker. Twice in one weekend?" He stuck his fist out, and I reciprocated his greeting. "What's with the digs? The ladies will be drooling." A devilish smirk rose on his lips as he assessed my attire.

I shook my head at his innuendo and returned his grin. "Chase's wedding."

"Good luck in there." He nodded and waved me through.

The roar of the music had my head in a vise less than sixty seconds after walking into the club. I'd already had several drinks and hadn't gotten much sleep last night. Exhaustion weighed down my mind and body; the last thing I cared to do was search through inebriated men looking for one tempestuous woman. I didn't have a clue what I'd say to the girl even if I found her. After surveying the floor and not immediately spotting the Taylor Momsen lookalike, I took a seat at the bar.

The bartender slid a napkin my way and leaned in. Fruit wafted from her mouth when she spoke, and I imagined it came from the gum she chewed. "What'll it be?"

"Macallan on the rocks."

With one hand, she reached for a glass and used the other to pull the bottle from the rack. I was by no means a connoisseur of fine liquor, but Macallan 12 shouldn't be top shelf, yet there it sat. She stretched to reach the scotch, exposing the delicate lines of her torso and individual ribs. And when she faced me, it was easy to see a light in her eyes. It was a shame this girl had gotten caught up here; she was attractive, and it had nothing to do with her being topless. "Do you want to start a tab?"

I didn't have any intention of staying long enough to have more than one drink, so I pulled a ten from my wallet and swiveled the barstool to the stage. Cherry danced to some old Guns N' Roses song I hadn't heard in ages, but she couldn't keep my attention. There was just something indecent about watching girls I'd grown up with taking off their clothes for money. And sadly, just about every entertainer in the place had gone to the same elementary school I had.

The lights flashed with the beat of the music and, at times, made it difficult to see. Everything became segmented and broken instead of fluid. Even still, it didn't take me long to figure out Diamond wasn't here. Or if she was, then she had a customer in a private room, or she was behind the curtain. Neither made me happy, but one had me seeing red.

Patience wasn't a virtue I had in spades; in fact, it wasn't one I possessed at all. So after three songs with no sign of Diamond, I tossed back the last of my scotch, set the glass on the bar top, and thanked the girl who'd served me. It was difficult to move through the room without touching or bumping into someone. The dancers wanted to make money, and they did their best to attract anyone they believed could put it in their pockets. But I wasn't here to have some chick from the neighborhood grind on my cock, tease me into a sexual frenzy, and then stick her hand out for cash, leaving me with an empty wallet and throbbing erection. That shit didn't appeal to me in the slightest.

I managed to get outside of the tables and find my way to the stairs leading behind the curtain without having to say "no" more than three times. And it was much easier to find my way backstage than it had been last night. Unfortunately, once I got to the dressing area, I realized the hypnotic blonde had eluded me again. There was no one around to ask, and I doubted any of the veteran workers knew her name anyhow, much less her schedule.

My reflection shown like a clown in funhouse mirrors when I stood in the middle of the dressing stations. When I turned in a circle and raked my hand through my hair, the round lights distorted my view from a distance. Friday and Saturday nights were huge money makers. I couldn't imagine why she wouldn't have showed. And Swank was closed on Sundays. I had a meeting with my parole officer Monday night after work, meaning it would be Tuesday before I could return. Even then, there was no guarantee she'd be working.

Frustrated, I stomped toward the exit, yanked open the door, and left.