“How’s that?” I straighten up, feeling a little defensive. I’ve known Xaviaro as long as I’ve known Lorenzo and Elio, and I’ve never felt threatened by him, but I don’t know how else to take a comment like that.
“You’re bordering on obsession, and there’s a good chance this Ghost isn’t going to live to see old age.”
I scoff. “That’s fucking rich coming from you. Last I checked, you go home at night and curl up next to a vigilante psychopath. It’s okay for you but not for me? Besides, I’m not obsessed. I think anyone who has the balls to take out the Reapers one by one like this must be an interesting guy, that’s all. And I doubt Sparrow would be doling out any of those ‘good boys’ you lap up if he knew you were planning to end The Ghost’s vigilante career.”
“I didn’t say I was planning to end anything. I told you I’m here on recon. He’s playing with fire though. You and I both know that.”
I bristle and grind my teeth together, shoving my hands into my pockets. Xaviaro quietly watches the clubhouse through hisbinoculars, and I try not to feel like an unprepared, defensive idiot. I know that The Ghost could end up dead at the hands of the Reapers, and I still can’t figure out why I care.
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out. There’s a notification from the forum I follow. I’m about to clear it when I realize it’s a message, not just a reply to a comment or an alert about a new post. I glance at Xaviaro, who’s still focused on his surveillance, and click to open the message.
ALREADY_DEAD: Hey, I saw your comment about The Ghost being a low-key hero and that you’d buy him a drink if you ever met him…
LES_IS_MORE: Yeah…
ALREADY_DEAD: Not sure if the rumors are true, but I heard he likes to hang out at Wonderland.
LES_IS_MORE: Who did you hear that from?
The user logs off without responding. It could be a troll or even someone hoping to lure an unsuspecting person to Wonderland for one nefarious reason or another. But I have to admit, my interest is piqued. And it’s not like I’m any use here, squinting into the darkness, hoping The Ghost will walk across the street towards the clubhouse wearing a flashing neon sign.
I shove my phone back into my pocket.
“It looks like you have this handled,” I say, and Xaviaro grunts again, the binoculars still glued to his face as I turn and head back towards the stairwell.
Wonderland is only a few blocks away. It couldn’t hurt to swing by for a drink.
GHOST
I can never decide whether I love Wonderland or hate it. It has a dreamlike feel, like a horny hallucination brought to life. The colored lights and the raw uninhibitedness of everyone inside keeps me on edge while giving me the strange comfort of feeling lost in a crowd of sinners just like me.
Scrolling through posts and comments until I found the avatar that matched the one I saw on his screen last night was the hardest part, but I have no doubt he’s going to take the bait now that I’ve dangled it in front of him. The only thing I’m unsure of is how long it will take him to get here.
I don’t want to look like I’m waiting for him, so I do my best to focus on the ginger ale in front of me, even though every press of a body against my back not only triggers my heart to race, it reminds me how easy it would be to miss him in this crowd.
The bartender sidles past, wearing a crooked top hat with bills peeking out from under the rim.
“You good?” he checks, glancing at my nearly full glass.
“Yup.” I wave him off and do a quick glance over my shoulder.
“Waiting for someone?” he asks. Seriously, doesn’t he have people waiting who actually want something from him?
“Nope,” I lie, picking up my drink and swirling it, just for something to do with all the impatient energy starting to build inside me.
“We’re all waiting for something, even if we don’t know it.”
I turn back to him with a frown. “What?”
“Just saying.” He grins and shrugs. “Holler if you need anything.”
Maybe I do actually hate this place. Being weird as hell definitely seems to be a requirement to work here, and while I don’t generally have anything against freaks and weirdos, I draw the line at people who speak in riddles.
He wanders away and I swivel in my seat just enough to make it look like I’m watching the eerie, strobing lights hit the dance floor and the go-go dancers in the elevated cages, while I keep an eye on the people coming from the direction of the main entrance.
Luring him here might have been impulsive. I still haven’t worked out a specific plan other than the orchestrated run-in. I’m sure I’ll figure it out though. I can’t remember who I used to be, but I have a feeling that impulsiveness has always been my fatal flaw. Hell, you don’t end up hooked on meth, living with a motorcycle club if you think through your life choices, right?
A little bit of heat curls in my stomach that has nothing to do with the people writhing half-naked in cages or the general pulse of lust that permeates the air. I run one hand absently along my leather pants and lift my drink to take a sip. I’m tempted to log back into the app to see if he responded, but I fight the urge, remembering the needy look in his eyes and the little whimper that fell from his lips when I shoved my glove down the front of his briefs.