Just Like This (Albin Academy #2) - Cole McCade Page 0,107
like an abandoned smokehouse than anything else. The same logo from Chris’s T-shirt had been emblazoned on the side, spray-painted in jaunty graffiti, and the tiny windows were dark, the doors closed, the dirt lot surrounding the place empty of all but a few broken beer bottles and what looked like motorcycle racks.
Rian arched a brow. “Biker joint?”
“No self-respecting biker would be caught dead here.” Damon snorted. “Branding.”
He eased the Jeep forward a bit, then shifted gears, stretching one arm out to rest his hand against the back of the seat with his fingers tickling too breathlessly close to the nape of Rian’s neck as Damon twisted to look over his shoulder, backing the Jeep into a reverse arc.
“What are you doing?”
“Hiding,” Damon said, as he navigated the Jeep backward around the side of the building, and eased it into a crack in the trees, fallen twigs and brush crackling, the car jouncing as the Jeep scraped by with the branches around them scratched at the doors. Rian winced.
“You’re murdering your paint job.”
“Cars can be repainted,” Damon said. “Not that easy to fix Chris if something out here fucks him up worse.”
“...yeah.”
Rian held his tongue, then, as Damon managed to squeeze the Jeep back into a niche in the trees, mostly hidden by the brush but with enough of a view through the trees to keep an eye out for anyone pulling up to the bar. Damon killed the engine, then unsnapped and loosened his seatbelt, settling to slouch behind the wheel. Rian unbuckled his seatbelt, too, shifting a little toward Damon, propping his shoulder against the seat.
“So what now?” he asked.
“We wait,” Damon answered. “I wanted to get out here early enough that we wouldn’t be spotted pulling in. But it’ll probably be a bit before the owner shows up.”
“You know the owner?”
“Not know him, but...know of him.” Damon grimaced. “Enough that as a kid my parents always told me to stay away from him. Drew. Gordon Drew. Kind of a slimy fucker. The kind of guy a town like this always says ‘ain’t from around here’ even when he’s been here for decades.”
Rian made an amused sound. “Not Hank, then. So where’s he from, then?”
“Dunno. We don’t talk to him, he doesn’t talk to us. Most of his clientele come from out of town. Small towns around this area cut you off before midnight. Even bigger cities mandate one a.m. But state law is actually two a.m., and some people don’t wanna stop until they have to.” Damon shrugged. “So they come out to places like this. And if a few people die ’cause he doesn’t take their keys, a few more get wrecked ’cause he didn’t cut them off past the legal limit...he’ll always find a way to spin it to the cops and the state liquor board.”
“Fine, upstanding citizen, then,” Rian murmured, letting his gaze drift to the bar. “No... I... I guess I wonder what makes people look for that. Makes them need that.”
“Different for everyone, probably.” Damon draped his forearms on the steering wheel, leaning his powerful body against them. “Pain chases some people into that life. Loss. Heartbreak. Bitterness. Disaster. Some people feel like they got nothing else. And some people, well...some people just ain’t very nice people, are they?”
Rian half smiled. “So what kind will we be dealing with tonight?”
“Dunno. Who knows what kind of customers are coming out tonight, but if we’re dealing with Gordon Drew...” Damon’s smile wasn’t particularly pleasant. “We’re dealing with a straight-up asshole.”
“Mm.” Rian lingered on that dirty building, that emblazoned logo. “Stories always romanticize this kind of place. Where the darklings come to find family when everyone else rejects them.”
“Maybe somewhere else. Here, though...it’s just where Gordon Drew makes a few extra pennies off sucking out people’s lives through their livers. And their veins, considering he probably looks the other way about a few more things.”
“I think I dislike him already.”
“I’d say I’m sorry for biasing you against him, but I’m not.”
With a frown, Rian asked, “Isn’t it dangerous, to have a place like this so close to the school? Aren’t the boys easy targets?”
“That’s why we keep such a close eye on them,” Damon said. “And why they’re only allowed off campus on weekends. But at least once every few years, someone’s parents try to get this place shut down. Afraid of their precious baby boys finding trouble. Drugs, booze, sex, whatever.”