Page 20 of Take Me to Church
I push through the swinging door and greet Henry, the daytime bartender. He’s old enough to be my dad but looks way younger than his fifty-five years. It serves him well when the ladies of Memphis cut out of their jobs early and meet for cocktails, as it seems many have done today. The bar is completely lined with women in expensive clothes sipping martinis and the occasional bourbon neat. I give him a wink before heading out to the floor to start rotating into the tables that will be mine for the day.
I only make it a few steps before my Vans squeak against the epoxy floor as I come to a full, abrupt stop.
The same man from the stoplight is sitting in the corner, sipping from a tumbler as he works on a laptop perched on the small table in front of him.
I can’t move. Can’t breathe. All I can do is stare as panic twists its way through my insides.
“Not too hard on the eyes, is he?” Candy, one of the waitresses I usually work with, bumps into my side. “He specifically requested one of your tables, but I figured you wouldn’t mind if I brought him his first round.” She flicks her reddish hair behind one shoulder as she continues to gaze at the man. “I’m happy to take the table off your hands if you don’t want it.”
I would love for her to do that.
But I can’t. Not because I want to serve him, but because I don’t want him to know I’m scared. I’ve known a bully or two in my life and they thrive on fear. It feeds them in a way nothing else does, making them stronger.
And I’m not feeding any more of them.
“No, thanks. I’ve got it.”
I try my best to look confident as I stride toward him, refusing to look away when his eyes lift to meet mine. “Is there something I can help you with?” It’s not exactly the confrontation I wish I could offer, but at least I don’t smile when I say it.
He does though.
“Actually, yes.” He lifts up his empty glass. “I’d like another.”
I glance at the tumbler, but don’t reach for it. “I’m not talking about your drink.” I move closer, crossing my arms so I don’t start to fidget. “Why are you following me?”
One of the man’s dark brows slowly starts to lift and his lips follow along. “Christian will be happy to hear you’re not nearly as clueless as we all thought.”
8
CHRISTIAN
I CIRCLE THE Cellar’s lot, looking for Damien’s vehicle. He was nice enough to offer to keep an eye on Lydia while I crashed for a few hours, but I don’t want to keep him away from his family for any longer than absolutely necessary, so I’m back in downtown Memphis before dinnertime, ready to relieve him of his duty.
The only problem is it appears he’s already relieved himself of his duty.
The lot behind The Cellar is packed, but not a single one of the cars belongs to Damien. Aggravation burns my gut as I peel out onto a side street, scowling as I look for any sign of his black Mercedes.
Ten minutes later, I finally find his shiny new car parked in a public lot, empty. I whip into the spot next to him and shut off the engine, doing my best to keep myself in check until I know what’s really going on.
Damien was supposed to be positioned near the back of the bar, making sure Lydia stays safe as she comes and goes, but maybe he couldn’t get any closer than this and had to come up with a plan B. I’ll feel like an absolute shithead if he’s been sitting outside in this heat all day, especially if I stand here thinking he’s a prick. Unfortunately, as I head toward the building, there’s no sign of the man I consider my brother and the irritation biting at my heels flares to life.
Lydia’s car was still in the back lot, but that doesn’t mean shit. Rodney or one of his accomplices could have easily snatched her the second she walked out the door, dragging her off to God knows where.
I march down the stairs leading to The Cellar and yank open the door, ready to put my eyes on her before I lose my fucking mind. The air of the bar is cool and dark as I step inside, scanning the space for the familiar slender frame I’m already growing too attached to.
But it’s not Lydia I see.
Damien shoots me a grin from where he sits in the corner, lifting two fingers in a salute style greeting.
It’s still relatively early in the evening, so the bar isn’t overly packed, but it’s busy enough it takes me a minute to get to him. By the time I reach his side I’m seething. I thought not finding him in the back lot was a problem, but this is an absolute nightmare.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Damien ignores my question and instead motions at the bar around us. “This place is nice. Way bigger than it looks from the outside.” He points to the stage I performed on a few nights ago. “And that is some high-end sound equipment. I bet the shows here are fantastic.”
“They are.” I slam the laptop in front of him closed and lean right into his face. “Too bad you aren’t here to scout out ideas for your next club. You offered to keep an eye on Lydia. If I’d known you were going to literally park your ass right in front of her I wouldn’t have taken you up on it.”
Lydia has had men watching her every move her whole life. I don’t want her to think I’m doing the same thing.
