“They’re not even that hot,” the first woman was saying to the other from her stall. Cassidy heard the sound of her pee splashing into the toilet.
“I mean, on the street, I wouldn’t even give half of them a second glance,” the second woman said.
“We should have gone to Moonbeam’s,” the first one groaned.
“But it’s so expensive,” the second one said, and flushed.
“You get what you pay for,” the first one said.
Cassidy hurried for the exit, convinced that she had landed on a foreign planet. Pushing the door open to the hallway, she nearly collided with two men both dressed in black t-shirts, their muscular chests stretching the fabric. One of them stepped forward and took hold of her upper arm, in one motion swinging her in the opposite direction of the bar. The other man stepped to her other side.
“Whoa,” Cassidy managed, her heart jumping into her throat. She looked all around but the hallway was empty. From the stage she heard the muffled cries from a now-rowdy crowd.
“Let’s go,” the man holding her arm said. Before Cassidy could protest, the three of them began moving.
Twenty-One
“Wait, where are we going?” she asked, twisting around, trying to get a view of the bar, and hopefully Dutch. The two men escorted her swiftly to the back of the hallway where Cassidy noticed a set of stairs.
“Saxon is ready for you,” the man holding her right arm said as they reached the stairs. He fell in behind them as the one on her left urged her up the steps.
“What about Dutch?” she asked, feeling like she should resist, but the grip on her arm told her that would be futile.
“He’s enjoying himself,” the one behind her grunted, sounding amused.
“That’s not what I meant,” Cassidy said as they ascended. “Isn’t he coming?”
“No,” the one behind her said. She glanced quickly behind her to see his cold eyes set in a round face. His giant neck was tattooed with a pattern she couldn’t discern in the darkness, and a diamond earring glittered from one ear.
“Does he know where I’ve gone?” she asked, fighting a sense of panic. “He’ll wonder why I’m not back.” She suddenly realized that no one else but Dutch knew she was at the club. A sensation of dread prickled at the base of her skull.
At the top of the landing, she was escorted to a closed door with no sign. “Spread your legs, please,” the one behind her said.
“What?” Cassidy gasped, wheeling around. As she did so, the man quickly slid his hands under her arms and groped down her sides to her legs, where he tapped them apart with his heavy boots. Cassidy gasped in surprise, but he skimmed down each of her legs one at a time, undeterred. She hadn’t shaved in several days and the feel of his hands on her stubble made her face go hot with embarrassment. The man rose to his feet, his face unchanged from when he had first approached her in the hallway below. Her embarrassment quickly turned to anger.
“Precaution,” he said to her as the other man opened the door.
She sent laser beams of fury towards the man who had violated her so effortlessly, but his face remained a mask. Cassidy turned to see a faux-wood desk and several metal chairs inside a dingy office. The bare floor’s ragged texture made it seem unfinished or at least a space with minimal occupancy; a simple globe from the ceiling made the room feel too bright.
“Come in,” a voice said from the side of the room. Cassidy noticed a tall man dressed in jeans and a long-sleeve t-shirt with the sleeves scrunched up to his elbows peering through a window, his back to her. From the reddish glow reflecting of the side of his face, Cassidy realized that he must be looking down on the club.
He turned to her, his quick, dark eyes glinting. He raised an ice-filled glass to his full lips and strode to his desk, his black boots making heavy thuds against the floor. His tanned face and chiseled jawline offered a kind of striking, aggressive quality that made it nearly impossible not to stare. His dirty blonde hair—long for a man—hung thick and straight, the front hanging down so that when tucked behind his ear, it just held.
“I hear you’re looking for someone?” he asked, his voice rich and gravely.
“Yes, her name is Izzy,” Cassidy said.
Saxon nodded at one of the bouncers, who slipped from the room.
“She’s a student at the University of Oregon,” Cassidy added, and stepped forward, slipping out her phone. “Lars told me someone saw you leave with her from the rally last night.”
“You were at the rally?” he asked, giving her a curious look.
Once again, Cassidy realized her dress code didn’t match her environment, though what she would have worn in place of her t-shirt and shorts to visit a biker rally or a strip club she didn’t know. “This morning. I’ve been trying to catch up with her for a few days.”
Saxon took another sip of his drink as he released her phone from her hands, his thick fingers brushing against hers.
He studied the photo of Izzy, then handed the phone back. “I gave a girl a ride last night, sure. It could have been her.” He eyed Cassidy, his eyebrows hunched in scrutiny.
A slug of adrenaline flooded her veins like a bite too big to swallow. “Did you bring her to San Francisco?” Cassidy asked.
“Yes,” he said,
