EIGHT
Tracking down Strike wasn’t as difficult as Rora had thought it would be.
Without a phone number for him, or even an email, she had no way to reach out. But her desire to see him had reminded her of how she’d found him in the first place. In the darkest corner of the most rundown and terrifying bar in town.
There wasn’t a biker bar around here, but she recalled overhearing a conversation in the salon about a woman who was upset with her husband for going to the seedy strip club near the highway.
The cab driver did a double take when Rora asked to be taken there, and she thought there was something ironic about the parallel of cab drivers not wanting to go to the place Strike coveted.
But he took her, and Rora kept her eyes open on the journey to the club. Checking out the corner
