not getting enough oxygen isn’t even the worst part of being in this joint. I stand out like a sore thumb, which makes my presence at Big Jim’s even more unbearable. Not that I have an issue with being the center of attention. I’m used to it, just never for the wrong reasons. While Easton looks like he’s just another customer looking for a good time and a cold beer, I look like I’m about to do a fucking audit on this poor excuse of an establishment, which, by the way, would fail miserably. Just saying.
It’s not that I’m dressed like a boring, tired-looking inspector, or even a prick with more money than sense. I mean, I didn’t go overboard with my get-up or anything. Only black slacks and a white shirt, nothing flashy.
When Easton said this Stone girl worked in a bar on the south side of town, I didn’t expect fancy, so I didn’t dress for it. But never did I once expect this shithole. Even if I came in here with just an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt, I would still stick out like a sore thumb. I look like a crisp dollar bill, while everyone else looks like they’re still scraping for change.
“Jesus. Take a seat, Finn. Your uptight scowl is giving me a migraine. Just relax,” Easton barks out with a laugh, making fun of my discomfort.
“Let’s just get this shit over with,” I groan, aggravated by some leather-wearing patrons over at the bar counter looking at me funny.
Why couldn’t this boogeyman society have given this job to Easton instead? I mean, he fits right in. But me? I’m going to have a fucking hard time trying to get close to a girl who works in such a pigsty. No way am I spending my nights here just to fulfill some half-brained order from our blackmailers.
Fuck that!
“Relax, Finn. This is going to be a piece of cake.” Easton winks at me as if I weren’t the one who The Society sunk its fangs into first.
“Just tell me again what you got on this Stone girl,” I counter back, preferring to distract myself from my surroundings by getting down to business.
The sooner I get this over and done with, the faster I can go back to living my life. Not that it’s been a bunch of laughs lately, but anything is preferable to this putrid environment.
“Well, aside from working here most nights, my sources say she’s a local, too. Lived on the south side most of her life. But don’t let that fool you. She’s not like one of those skanks looking for their next sugar daddy. Your girl managed to crawl her way out of the sewer somehow. She even attends Richfield like us.”
“First things first—she’s not my girl, she’s a target,” I reprimand, making it clear to him that whatever happens—whatever I need to make happen—will be done strictly out of a cold heart and a calculating mind. No compassion. No mercy. Just like on the field, I play to win, and no one likes winning more than me. However, this bit of information that Easton just shared does work in my favor. “Let me guess. She’s a scholarship kid, huh? Happy to know the girl’s got some gray matter working for her,” I add, thinking maybe I can find an excuse to meet up with her at school rather than this dump.
“That she does. Top of most of her classes, from what I’ve heard. However, that tidbit wasn’t the first thing my buddies told me about her.”
“Oh yeah? So, what did your so-called buddies tell you?” I goad back, making childish bunny ears over the word buddies.
Aside from me, Lincoln, and Colt, Easton doesn’t have friends. He has a lot of assholes who owe him favors, but friends, not a single one. Hey, again, not judging. None of us exactly have sparkling personalities—I’m a dick, Easton is a conceited prick, and Colt is a moody fucker. The only one that something nice can be said about is Lincoln. But that’s just because he’s genuinely a good guy underneath it all. Sure, he might ruffle some feathers here or there, but he’s not nearly as much of a douche as the rest of us. Or at least up until last summer, he wasn’t.
Then everything changed.
Lincoln has to live with the blood on his hands, and I’m not sure if he’s equipped to deal with that shit without turning into someone who none