Deadly Silence (Blood Brothers #1)(9)

Her eyelids fluttered closed, and she dreamed about chocolate and rivers before the phone jerked her out of the nice sleep. “Julie?” she mumbled as she answered.

“Um, no,” a raspy male voice said. “This is Sal from Sal’s? On Sixth?”

She blinked and sat up. The dive bar on the other side of town? “Huh?”

“Sal’s Bar. Ryker lost this phone in the fight—”

“Fight?” She flipped on the light, her heart roaring to life. “Is he okay?”

Sal cleared his throat. “Define ‘okay.’”

Zara swung her feet to the floor.

“Listen, lady. I found this phone, and your number is the only one on it. Either come down and get him, or I have to call the cops. Enough is enough,” Sal muttered.

“I’ll be right there. Don’t call the cops,” she breathed. “Just give me a few minutes.”

“You’ve got ten.” The line went dead.

Ryker had been fighting in some bar and she was the only contact on his phone? That seemed like a bad thing. Was he hiding her from somebody? No way was he married. Now she had to pick him up at a bar? Well, didn’t that bring back memories of several of her mom’s boyfriends? Zara hurriedly dressed in yoga gear and washed the face mask off before pulling her hair into a ponytail. How could her number be the only one on his phone?

A quick glance outside showed a dry but probably cold night. She yanked on tennis shoes and a jacket before heading into the garage. Was this a mistake?

Probably.

The drive through town took fifteen minutes, and she breathed out as she pulled to the curb in front of the dingy bar. A battered Ford was in front of her and a few Harleys behind her. The street was fairly deserted with no police cars. Good.

Jumping out, she hustled through the dark door. Smoke and the smell of tequila hit her a second before she winced at the loud rock coming from a jukebox in the back. Round and scarred tables littered the peanut-shell-covered floor, and at this hour, only a few diehard drunks slouched in chairs. Two broken chairs had been tossed in a corner. A long bar ran the length of the north wall, and a bald man sporting an outrageous mustache wiped down glasses. She moved toward him.

His sober brown eyes raked her. “I’m thinkin’ you’re Z.”

“Z?”

The bartender shrugged. “There’s just a Z in the phone contacts.”

She tried to make sense of that. “All right. I’m Z.”

He handed over a nondescript black phone. “Your man is toward the back. Get him out of here.”

Her man? Yeah, right. She swallowed and turned toward a series of booths. They were empty save the last one. Ryker leaned against the wall, his head back, blood on his chin. His eyes were shut and his legs extended beneath the table, showing his motorcycle boots. She hesitated and then approached him slowly, her heart thundering. “Ryker?”

His eyelids flashed open. “Zara?”

She nodded and kept her focus squarely on him. “The bartender called me.”

Ryker wiped off his chin, his gaze not quite focusing. “What the f*ck?”

“Ah.” She faltered. Man, he was big…and drunk. She didn’t know him like this, and yet a glimmer of vulnerability showed in the man she would’ve bet had none. That drew her to him as much as the desire to help him.

His leather jacket was unzipped and showed a large rip in his T-shirt. Blood dotted his jeans from what looked like a violent altercation. What the holy hell was she doing in the bad part of town at midnight? She knew better than to be in such a place, and she didn’t know Ryker like this. “The bartender said he was going to call the cops if I didn’t come get you.”

Ryker shot from the booth, grabbing a worn duffel bag. “No cops.” He slung an arm around her shoulder and herded her toward the bar where he slapped down five hundred-dollar bills. “This should cover tonight.”

Sal took the money. “Last time, Ryker. Next fight you start, I’m callin’ the cops.”

Did he fight a lot? That didn’t sound like Ryker.

“Whatever.” Ryker turned Zara toward the door, leaning heavily on her. He turned back. “There’s a fight in the back alley—two guys arguing over a woman named Bernadette. They’re too drunk to fight, and somebody’s gonna get hurt.” He turned back to the door.

“How did you know that?” Zara whispered.

“I can hear them,” Ryker mumbled.

Zara turned her head but couldn’t hear anything. It wasn’t the first time Ryker had heard or seen something that seemed impossible. How were his abilities so fine-tuned?

More important, how drunk was he? She let him stumble them both outside, where a fresh wind pierced her with cold. She shook off the bar’s smoke. Taking him home was a bad idea. Not once had she seen him drunk or out of control, and he appeared to be both at the moment. The guy was solid muscle and could easily harm her, although she couldn’t imagine Ryker hurting a woman. Even when he’d grasped her neck the other night, it hadn’t hurt.

She opened the passenger-side door of her old compact and shoved him in. “I’ll take you to wherever you’re staying.” Without waiting for an answer, she crossed to the driver’s side and started the engine. Soft snoring came from the man at her side.