‘Christ Luke, are you sure we’re in a bar?’The first thing I noticed was the smell, and this place didn’t smell like a bar. No hint of vomit o... Axe undertone, instead, this place was all fresh leather and vanilla. The room was designed for mystery at the edges, with subdued wall lighting cupped by semi-opaque shades and massive leather booths that could swallow me up whole.But my eyes were naturally drawn to the center of the room, the mingling station at the bar. Housed behind the counter was. I ran her plates immediately into the state patrol's database. It came back registered to a Portia Davenport, 40, brown hair, hazel eyes.“Portia,” I said as I climbed out of my car, savoring the name. Such a rich bitch's name.Traffic streamed by, wind whipping at me. I reached her door, wrapping on the window. The woman gave me such a dirty look. Then her window whirred down. She wore a tight, silvery dress, made of stretchy material to show off her large, fake tits and curving hips. I bet she. More

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