Rise of the Fallen (11 page)

How many would tip her for a private dance? How many already
had in the time she had worked here? And how many would go home and whack off
as they thought about her?

With his blood boiling, Micah's anger almost got the better
of him, and he took a step toward the stage, intending to grab her by the wrist
and drag her from the room. When the two drecks tensed at his sudden movement,
it called Micah back to reality and he stilled, his gaze shooting to them as
they flung him a warning to stay where he was.

Like hell.

Apparently, the drecks got that message loud and clear, and
as soon as Micah moved to grab Sam, the drecks flew out of their chairs. One
went for Sam while the other attacked Micah. The room burst into chaos as the
table Micah got thrown on shattered under him and the first dreck took off down
the back hallway with Sam flung over his shoulder.

"No!"

The second dreck landed a solid punch on Micah's puss to buy
his pal some time then scuttled back and up to take off after his buddy.

* * *

One second, Sam had been deep in the fantasy of her mystery
man's hands caressing her body as she danced, and the next she was being yanked
off the stage and forced over some asshole's shoulder.

"Stop! No! I said NO! Put me DOWN! You can't do this,
asshole!"

Screaming, Sam thrashed and tried to fight the way the
military had taught her, but it was useless. The thick arms that held her
weren't easing up.

Chaos erupted in the club as men shouted and waitresses
screamed. With the black-out lenses in the mask, it was hard to see much more
than just shapes and shadows rushing around. One of the club's security guards
chased her back stage, only to be knocked out of the way by some dick who
seemed to be her kidnapper's buddy.

"Is this about Steve?" Sam said, feeling panic
rise. Had Steve found her? Were these his lackeys? "DO YOU WORK FOR
STEVE?" Fear gripped her.

"Shut up, bitch." The one carrying her didn't seem
interested in talking. And then his buddy caught up to them.

"Hurry up. He's coming," the second guy said,
rushing ahead to the back exit and throwing open the door.

Who? Who was coming? Steve? Someone else? Sam felt like she
was going to throw up as she bounced like a rag doll against the guy's shoulder
blade.

"Hold him off while I get her to Apostle," the guy
who was carrying her said.

Who the fuck was Apostle?

"Are you kidding? Did you see him? I think he's her
mate. He'll kill me."

"I don't give a shit." Cold air blasted her as she
was rushed outside. "Apostle will kill us both if he takes her."

"If he's her mate, he'll kill us, anyway. I'm not
fucking with a mated vampire."

Whoa! Vampire? Mates? What was wrong with these psychos?
Were they on drugs? And who was Apostle? And why did they want to take her to
him?

"I haven't done anything wrong! Let me go!" She
tried again to beat her way out of her kidnapper's grasp. "You've got the
wrong person!"

"I told you to shut up." The guy started running,
then came to an abrupt stop and turned around and started running back,
shouting for the other one. "Shit! There's two! Go, go, go!"

What the hell was going on? All Sam could do was hang on as
she was spun around and flung to the ground as the guy who had been carrying
her grunted and fell over. She rolled across the dirty, cold pavement, banging
against the wall of the building behind the club, then gathered her bearings
and stripped off her mask.

A man with dark skin leaped inhumanly high into the air,
seemed to hang suspended for a split-second, then swooped down in a rush of
power over the man who had been carrying her. His fist crashed like a
sledgehammer against the man's sternum.

And then
he
was there. The mysterious man from the
other night. Rushing out the back of the club, he hesitated for only a moment
to look her direction as if checking to make sure she was okay then raced after
her other attacker. He tackled the guy, leveling him with a body blow.

Fists flew, and all four men took their shots, but her
mystery man and his dark friend seemed to have the upper hand, and eventually
the two who had tried to kidnap her broke away and fled.

The dark man approached her and held out his hand. She took
it and he pulled her up. "Are you okay?" he said.

"I—I don't know. Who were those guys?"

"I'm not sure. Hey, Micah," He turned to address
her mystery man, only to be blind-sided with a right hook.

Sam screamed, jumping out of the way as the dark man flew
backward. Her mystery man – Micah – had come out of nowhere, as if
materializing in thin air right beside her. Micah grabbed her wrist and pulled
her back as she tried to go after the dark man and check on him.

"What's wrong with you?" she said, yanking her arm
away.

Micah's eyes ranged her body with a mix of lust and disgust.
Something in his forbidding gaze both excited and terrified her.

"Stay back," he said, his deep voice clipped. Then
he turned his attention on the dark man. "Keep your hands off her, Trace.
You fucking liar."

"Hey, fuck you, Micah."

Micah turned his back on the man, placing himself between
her and the one known as Trace. "Are you okay?" He had calmed, and
his voice actually sounded tender. This guy could shift gears faster than a race
car.

"I—I think—I don't know. I think so." Her gaze
held his and she felt her pulse skip. He was so tall, and he looked better than
he had the other night, as if he had eaten and put on a few pounds. Plus, she
didn't see a scratch on him, as if all the damage those Cretans had done the
other night had simply looked worse than it was. "How are you?"

As if reading her mind, he smiled and said, "Better,
thanks to you."

"Good. You, um…you look better. I was a bit
worried."

Trace stepped up behind Micah. "Wait a good goddamn
minute."

Micah turned back toward Trace, reaching an arm around her
protectively. The tension between the two men was so thick it made Sam shiver.
Or maybe it was just the cold. She was out here in nothing but leather
underthings.

Two bouncers rushed through the back door and the
dark-skinned man named Trace lifted a hand toward them. The two men stopped in
mid-stride.

Her eyes bugged out and she practically choked on her
breath. What the fuck? Who were these guys? Criss Angel and David Copperfield
in disguise?

"What's up your ass?" Micah said to Trace as he
gave the two men a cursory glance before dismissing them as if seeing two men
frozen in air was oh-no-biggie.

"You two know each other?" Trace looked between
her and Micah, his eyes narrowed.

"Yeah, so?" Micah's hold on her tightened.

"You mind telling me how she remembers you? You know
it's against regs."

Sam peered over Micah's shoulder, hovering closer to him
without realizing it. Trace looked pissed.

"Fuck regulations," Micah said.

Trace shook his head. "You're an asshole."

"Talk about asshole. 'Just call me when you're on your
way back.' Does that sound familiar? You're like all the rest of them."
Micah waved his free hand in the air as if he was dismissing Trace.

"Just wait a second," Trace jabbed Micah in the
shoulder, and Sam got the distinct impression that if it weren't for her, Micah
would have gone for the takedown on the other man. Her eyes darted to the back
of his head and his long, black hair that fell like silk over his shoulders.

"No, you wait a second," Micah swatted Trace's arm
away and pointed a finger at him. "I trusted you tonight, and you fucked
me."

"No I didn't. Will you just wait a second?"

Micah took Sam's hand and she clasped onto it without
thinking, just knowing it was the right thing to do.

"What?" Micah said, snapping at Trace as he pulled
Sam into the warmth of his coat. She instinctively knew to keep quiet while
they exchanged verbal jabs. Besides, keeping her mouth closed and her ears open
might allow her to learn more about what had just happened and who those men
were who had tried to take her.

Trace's gaze went from Micah to her and back again then he
blew out a heavy sigh. "If Tristan finds out about her, you're going to be
in deep shit."

"So? When am I not in deep shit?"

"Look, I wasn't going to tell Tristan about what you
did tonight, anyway. I only lied about not following you because I wanted you
to trust me."

"That's original. You lie so I will trust you."
Micah scoffed. "Screw that! You blew it, Trace. I don't give second
chances."

"Cool out. I don't have a beef with you, Micah. But I'm
just as worried about you as everyone else. You've been majorly fucked up
lately, and unlike the others, I actually like you, shithead."

Sam felt Micah stiffen as if he'd been caught off guard. Why
did she get the feeling that Micah didn't have many friends? If any at all? She
looked up and found him frowning before he realized she was watching him then
he cleared his throat and simply scowled back at Trace.

"Yeah, I thought that might surprise you," Trace
said.

"So, why did you follow me?" Micah loosened up
against her.

"Because," Trace said, shaking his head and
pausing, "I didn't want to see the one guy on my team that I actually like
get himself killed by doing something stupid."

That seemed to take the steam out of the air, and Sam looked
back and forth between them before finally speaking up. "Hey, sorry to get
in the middle of your lover's quarrel, but can we get back inside? I'm
cold." She started to push out of Micah's hold, but he pulled her back.

"You're not going back in there."

"Oh, really."

He met her gaze and nodded. "Damn straight. You're
coming with me."

Trace huffed and Sam turned to see him shake his head again.

"Trace," Micah said, "Give me your coat. You
owe me for lying to me."

"What are you going to do with her?" Trace said,
not even hesitating as he shed his coat and handed it over.

"I'm going to take her to my apartment." Micah
pulled Trace's heavy trench around her.

"No," Sam said. "If you're not going to let
me go back in, then I'll go home."

"It's not safe there."

"You mind telling me what's going on, Micah?"
Trace said.

Micah looked at her as if contemplating what to do then
glanced back at Trace. "Okay, meet me at my apartment in an hour." He
rattled off the address. "And don't tell anyone else, got me?"

"Deal."

"I've heard that before."

"Well, this time I mean it, okay? I'll meet you in an
hour. Get her out of here before those assholes come back." Trace nodded
once then headed off the opposite direction.

Micah led her to the parking lot.

"Which car is yours?" he said.

"Wait a minute," Sam said, stopping. "I'm not
comfortable with this. And what about Ted and Jose?"

"Who?"

"The bouncers. Are they going to be okay?"

Micah glanced over his shoulder at the two men still in
suspended animation. "Trace will release them—"

"Release them? How did he do that to them in the first
place?" She was barely holding it together.

Micah turned an impatient eye on her. "I'll tell you
later. And, yes, he will release them as soon as he knows we're gone." He
lifted his face as if sniffing the air then pulled her toward her car.

"Okay, whatever." She rolled her eyes and bobbed
her head in a half-shake. "But I'm still not comfortable with this."

"With what?" Micah opened the passenger door and
stood aside for her to get in. "I'm an excellent driver. Don't worry. I
won't hurt your car."

"What? No. That's not what I'm talking about."

Micah shrugged and made a face as if he didn't understand.

"I mean," she said, "I'm not comfortable with
you going to my home then taking me to your apartment."

"You were comfortable having me in your home the other
night."

She frowned and looked around. "Hey, how did you know
this was my car?"

"It smells like you."

Okay, now that was a first. Her car smelled like her? She
sniffed without thinking about it then shook her head as if she was shaking off
cobwebs. "Okay whatever. And the other night was different." She
crossed her arms and looked away, feeling as if he could see right inside her mind
at all the fantasies she had been indulging about him.

"Why? Because I'm not so weak now?" He closed the
distance between them, making her aware of just how not-weak he was, and just
how alone they were in the parking lot.

"Apparently not too weak," she said, lifting her
gaze to range his very strong, very virile body before meeting his eyes as he
stepped in front of her.

"I won't hurt you."

It was the way he said it, almost as if he were a chivalrous
knight – her own Sir Lancelot – as if he were speaking to Queen Guinevere
herself. Before she could stop herself, she took his outstretched hand and let
him help her into the car.

"What am I doing?" she said to herself as he went
around the front of the car.

He opened the driver's side door and got behind the wheel.

"Wait," she said. "The keys are inside, with
my things."

"Don't worry, I've got this." He winked at her.

She watched him hotwire her car like a natural-born thief.

"Of course," she said, waving her hand and
glancing out the window. "Of course you can hotwire my car." Just
what was she getting herself into with Micah?

"Let me get this straight. You had her but she got
away?" John Apostle stood beside his unmarked Dodge Charger in an alley
behind a row of local businesses, rubbing his shoulder. Thing still hurt like a
mother fucker, but at least the bullet hole had healed.