Chelsea sat in the front seat of their car and stared at the front of Tucker’s Hideaway, wondering why in the world a group of people would choose a bar with a name like that to say, “Hey, we’re swingers; let’s screw.” She should have known better when she read the address and had no idea where the bar was. Now, she was in the middle of nowhere at a bar in the darkest part of town that looked like it needed demolished. Not just the building, the whole area. “Why are there no streetlights or even emergency lights on the outside of this place?” she asked, staring up at the building through the windshield. “Do you hear banjo music?”
Darren leaned toward the steering wheel so he could see out the windshield at the front of the bar as well. “How much research did you do on this place?”
“Appa
