Deep (Chicago Underground #8)(31)

The door opened again, and a light strobed across two new arrivals as they walked inside—a couple of men, though one looked more like a teenager. More like the child I’d been when I came here.

My heart skipped a beat.

Tyler.

The profile of my brother was unmistakable. But how could that be him? He was supposed to be held hostage right now. Chained to the pipes in the bathroom, used by a bunch of drunk men in suits. I didn’t want that for him, but this didn’t make sense.

It was impossible.

But I had to check. What if it was him? And once my brain started on this track, I couldn’t stop. What if he had simply left? I wasn’t sure my mother had actually talked about armed men invading the home, dragging him away at gunpoint like they’d done with me and the club. She had just said there was no ransom note.

What if he had simply run away?

My parents would never have believed it of their golden boy. I didn’t love that idea much more than the idea of him being kidnapped, but it would change things. Drastically. And if by some chance that was him, I could talk to him, convince him to go home.

It was a long shot, but it was all I had—especially with Philip disappeared into the night.

I looked down at my tank top and jeans. Not exactly club wear. It would have to do.

Without pause, I bolted from the car and crossed the street. I heard Adrian’s shout behind me, but I didn’t slow down.

I made it to the door and went directly up to the bouncer, cutting in line. Breathless, amid angry cries from the other people waiting, I told the bouncer, “Please, someone is bothering me. Can you keep him out?”

The bouncer’s cold eyes studied me, then flicked behind me to where Adrian must be crossing the street to catch me. A short nod. Then he opened the door.

I blinked into the miasma of flashing lights and shadowy bodies. Adrian would kill me. If Philip didn’t kill me first. Maybe there was still some spark of the rebellious teenager inside me, after all—because I stepped inside.

The door closed behind me. I knew without looking that the bouncer wouldn’t let Adrian in.

The inside of the club was a shock to my senses, lights and sounds assaulting me from the ground up. It seemed to vibrate through my legs, throbbing by the time it reached my heart. I didn’t see my brother or the guy he was with—but I hadn’t gotten a good look at him.

I circled the crowd of grinding bodies and passed through a seating area made sweet with pot. No sign of them yet, but it was hard to tell if I was simply missing them. Too many people.

There was a particular place that two people might go—the back rooms, perfect for privacy. I didn’t relish peeking inside, but I couldn’t leave without checking.

A hand caught my wrist. “Claire?”

I glanced back. My body went cold. His name was Donny, a dealer I’d known back in the day. And a major *. He’d tried to trade sexual favors for drugs more than once. I moved to shake him off, but his grip just tightened.

“No,” I said, panic clawing at my chest. I hated being restrained. “I’m Ella.”

And I was Ella. I’d been christened with that name not by my birth mother or my adoptive mother, but by the first woman who had truly loved me unconditionally—by Shelly. I had been reborn.

When I’d returned home, I’d made the change legal. It hadn’t endeared me to my adoptive parents, but then nothing did—and I had realized that the partying and rebellion had only been hurting myself.

“No, it’s you,” he insisted. “I wondered where the f*ck you went.”

The years hadn’t been kind to him. He had loose weight around his neck and belly, his eyes glassy and red from repeated highs.

“I’m sorry,” I said firmly. “I’m not who you’re looking for.” I moved away, but he tugged me back. I pulled harder. He didn’t let go.

Raw fear clutched my chest.

Oh no. Not now. Not again.

I couldn’t breathe. Air wheezed through the tight knot of my throat, but not enough. The people seemed to close in on me. My vision dimmed.

And still he held on to my wrist.

I batted him away, helpless in this state.

Then suddenly the pressure was gone. There was a wall supporting my back and a clear space in front of me. My breathing resumed—still wheezing, but I could think again. The desperate clawing for survival eased. And my vision cleared.

There was Philip, holding the other guy up against the opposite wall by his neck.

“Did he hurt you?” Philip asked between clenched teeth.

It took me a few seconds to answer. My wrist still felt sore, my lungs tight. But I knew saying yes would mean that someone died tonight. “I’m fine.”

“Apologize.” This to the man in front of him.

“I-I’m sorry,” Donny stuttered. “I didn’t know she was with you.”

Philip’s voice dropped to lethal softness, somehow completely audible over the pounding of the bass. “Apologize to her.”

“I’m sorry. Claire. Or—or—”

“Ella,” Philip supplied.

“I’m sorry, Ella!” A desperate shout, tinged with pain. Philip must have applied pressure.

“You’ll tell everyone that she’s not to be touched.”

“Yes, yes.” He was babbling now, making promises and incoherent sounds.