Chapter 31

“Okay,” he whispers, “deep breaths. I got this.”

Then he shakes out his arms, squares his shoulders, and runs a hand through the careless wave of brown hair that falls in front of his hazel eyes. “Talking to myself. The paps would have a field day if they saw me.”

Quickly he glances back the way he came in, but the double doors that open onto the street are the same heavy, fireproof doors usually used in auditoriums and warehouses, the kind with a bar across the middle meant to keep nosy people out. The battered white interiors are heavily graffitied with gang symbols and skater tags, adding to the authenticity of the place—Killa Whatz is located in the heart of the city, a sketchy neighborhood if Joey ever saw one, but it’s prime real estate for rappers looking to lay down some tracks. If nothing else, it gives them street cred.