Home | Happy Lowman/OC (Book 1)

twenty-three

CAMERON

Cameron didn't like drinking alcohol. In fact, it repulsed him under most circumstances. The taste, the smell, the way it made him feel was so reminiscent of his childhood, of his mother. A glass of Cabernet at dinner with colleagues was one thing, but sitting in the driver's seat of his car sipping vodka straight from the bottle was far from who he was. An all time low. And yet that was exactly what he was doing.

He was parked on the street outside the bar he'd been told by a friend of a friend he could find the Sons of Anarchy. Asking had made him feel shame, made him feel like his friends were going to whisper about him behind his back, but he knew they'd say worse if they knew why he was looking for the motorcycle club, or that Victoria had left him for a member. If the people he knew, the people he'd introduced her to found out the company she kept, he'd be ruined.

Cameron shook his head, trying to dislodge those thoughts before taking another pull from the glass bottle.

No, he'd find her first and he'd bring her back. He'd make her see she'd chosen wrong.

He needed the courage that came alongside alcohol, so he kept drinking until he felt brave enough to step out of the car and cross the street to the Red Hot. The place was busy, with people coming and going. There was a camera over the entrance and an armed security guard who looked each person over before they entered. Cameron tried to channel his normal, everyday confidence, to pretend like he belonged as he stepped through those doors, but he felt like there was a sign pinned on his back that read Doesn't Belong in bright red letters.

Inside, he noted the number of men in the same leather vest he recognized from that night at Victoria's apartment. There were only two as far as he could see. The rest of the people inside just seemed ordinary. Young kids out having a good time, scantily clad women holding mixed drinks batting their lashes at anyone who looked their way.

Cameron made his way to the bar where a blonde with bright red lipstick came to take his order. "Guinness, draft if you have it," he said, figuring without even having to ask that they wouldn't have the kind of wine he preferred. She said nothing but moved to fill a glass.

He scanned the room, looking for any signs of Victoria or the man she'd been with and found neither.

"You ever been here before?" the bartender asked, sliding the beer over to him. When he looked up, her hand was resting on her hip, an eyebrow raised.

Cameron glanced around the bar. "Can't say I've had the pleasure."

"Are you meeting up with someone? Invited maybe, by a member of the club?"

The thought struck him then that her questions weren't just polite. "No, is that a problem?"

"That depends." Her eyes scanned him fully, top to bottom. "You a cop?"

Cameron laughed, irritation heating his veins at her obvious judgement. Who was she to question him? It was his turn to take in her appearance. Tousled blonde hair, slim, decent rack, colored tattoo ink peeking out of her clothes, tight, short shorts that left little to the imagination. Just the kind of woman he'd expect to find in a place like this. "Do I look like a cop?"

She was observant, and her expression fell into something similar to what he was feeling on the inside at his tone, as if she knew what he was thinking about her. "You look like you don't belong here, friend. Drink your beer and leave."

She turned to walk away. Cameron knew he needed to swallow his pride and do what needed to be done to get answers. There was no way he could approach any of the leather wearing bikers, so a bartender was probably going to be his only hope. "Hey, wait, I'm looking for someone."