Chapter 7
Chapter Title : Neon Nights and Vanishing Lights
Cole
The Stars and Stripes Fest was in full swing, and Delish, my club, was the beating heart of Crisfield’s rare descent into madness. The air vibrated with bass spilling from the door, neon lights pulsing against the brick facade like a fever dream. The line outside stretched halfway down the block, a writhing mass of sequined dresses, cheap cologne, and small-town kids chasing a taste of something bigger. Crisfield didn’t see this kind of chaos unless it was prom night or a homecoming game, and even then, it was a pale imitation. Tonight, people came to drink, to dance, to lose themselves in the haze of liquor and—if they had the cash—to score a hit from Allison’s carefully curated stash.
I leaned against the velvet rope, sunglasses perched on my nose despite the late hour, the coke in my system sparking like live wires. My blood thrummed with restless energy, every sound sharper—the clink of glasses inside, the laughter of girls teetering in heels, the low hum of anticipation for the midnight fireworks. The town council had set up a display by the bay, programmed to explode in sync with some overplayed patriotic anthem. I glanced at my watch: five minutes to go. My pulse ticked in time with the seconds.
A group of kids shuffled forward, their faces barely old enough to need a razor. They flashed IDs with nervous smiles, the kind that screamed fake. I scanned the cards under the glow of the streetlight, weighing my options. Let them in, pocket some cash, and risk a fine? Or play it safe and keep Emma’s dad—Chief Morgan—off my back? Before I could decide, movement by the curb caught my eye. A black SUV had pulled up, headlights cutting through the crowd.
Suddenly, Kimberly Hastings slipped out the front door, flanked by Emma and Allison like bodyguards. Even buzzed, she moved with a grace that set her apart, her blonde hair catching the neon glow of the Delish sign. She wasn’t like the others—no sloppy stumble, no smeared makeup. Kimberly had that clean-girl shine, the kind Divine, her soon-to-be mother-in-law, seemed to worship. She raised a hand in a quick, almost apologetic wave before sliding into the backseat of the black SUV idling at the curb. The door shut with a soft thud, and the vehicle rolled away, taillights fading into the night.
I almost called her back—nobody should miss the fireworks, especially not Kimberly—but a twitch in my gut, like the first hint of a bad trip, stopped me. Instead, I tapped Brad, my head bouncer, on the shoulder. He was a mountain of a man, his shaved head gleaming under the streetlights, his knuckles scarred from too many bar fights.
“No one under twenty-one gets in,” I said, my voice low. “You know the drill. I’m not catching a fine from Emma’s dad for serving high schoolers.”
Brad smirked, cracking his knuckles. “Relax, boss. I can smell a fake ID from a mile away.”
“Good enough.” I walked over to where Emma and Allison lingered, both staring after the SUV. Emma’s arms were crossed, her jaw tight, while Allison toyed with a strand of her dark hair, her lips pursed in a familiar pout.
“Why’d Kimmie bail?” I asked, keeping my tone light, though that twitch in my chest wouldn’t quit.
Emma’s eyes flicked to me, sharp and guarded. “She’s had too much to drink. Thanks to my dear ol' Aunt Divine.”
“That bad, huh?” I said, raising an eyebrow. Divine Williamson was a local legend, the kind of woman who could hush a room with one perfectly arched brow. She ruled Crisfield’s social scene like a dictator in Chanel, her signature pearls practically gleaming with authority. I’d met her countless times, and each encounter left me drained, as if she’d siphoned the joy from the air. “Can’t blame Kimmie for bolting. Dealing with that woman makes me feel like I need a week to recover. Shame, though—the fireworks are about to start.”
Allison scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I could’ve given her a bump to keep her sober. All she had to do was ask.” Her voice dripped with mock pity, her lips curving into a frown that didn’t reach her eyes.
Emma shot her a look that could cut glass. “You know she won’t touch that stuff, Al. That’s the whole point. Divine keeps her on a pedestal because she's spotless. No parking tickets, no scandals, no fun. She’s the perfect daughter-in-law."
“Boring,” Allison muttered, tossing her hair. “If it weren’t for Divine, I’d be the one—”
“Allison, shut it,” Emma snapped, her voice a whip. “You don’t wear Chanel well, and pearls aren’t your style. Accept it and move on.”
I chuckled, trying to diffuse the tension. “Yeah, I’m trying to picture you in Divine’s wardrobe, Al. It’s gross—like a cracked-out Jackie O.”
Allison swatted my chest, her nails grazing my shirt, but her smirk said she wasn’t really mad. For a second, it felt like old times—back in college, before things got complicated.
As I reminisced, a second black SUV pulled up to the curb, its engine idling low, the passenger window sliding down with a soft hum. The driver leaned out, his face half-hidden under a baseball cap. “Hey,” he called, his voice smooth and practiced. “Looking for a Kimberly Hastings. She ordered an Uber.”
The words hit like a sucker punch. The music from Delish dulled to a throb, the crowd’s chatter a muffled buzz. Emma went pale, her lips shaping a single word: “What?” Allison froze, her hand tangled in her hair.
The SUV Kimberly had gotten into. The wave goodbye. The taillights vanishing.
My gut bottomed out, my coke-fueled buzz turning to ice. In all my years—through high school football championships, college hustles, shady deals in back rooms, and running Delish through every kind of chaos—this was only the second time I’d felt real panic. The first was back in New York, during our junior year. This was just as bad.
“Call your dad,” I barked at Emma, fishing my keys from my pocket. “Then call Hank. Now. They couldn’t have gotten far.”
Emma fumbled for her phone, her hands shaking so badly she nearly dropped it. Allison swore under her breath, her usual bravado gone, her eyes wide with something close to fear. The sky erupted above us, red, white, and blue bursting over the bay, the booms rattling my bones. The crowd outside Delish cheered, oblivious, their voices a mocking contrast to the dread coiling in my chest.
I sprinted to my car, a 1970 Dodge Charger parked in front of the club. The engine roared to life, and I peeled out onto the street, tires screeching. The fireworks lit the road in flashes, casting shadows that danced like ghosts. My hands gripped the wheel, knuckles white, as I scanned for the SUV. Black, nondescript, one of a hundred in Crisfield tonight.
I had to find Kimberly. Kimberly, who was engaged to Hank—Crisfield's golden boy, my best friend. Kimberly, who Divine had molded into a polished jewel for display. Kimberly, who didn’t deserve whatever this was.
Yet, the road stretched dark and empty beyond the festival’s glow.
A night meant for celebration, for excess, had turned into something else entirely.
And I knew one thing for sure: Hank wasn’t going to like this. Not one damn bit.