Rise of the Fallen (18 page)

Giving up on finding the phone number, she decided to just
go downstairs and tell the security guard personally to let up the delivery
driver. She grabbed her wallet just in case her order arrived while she was in
the lobby.

Shit, she didn't have a key, which meant she couldn't lock
the door. At the last second she grabbed her phone in case the door
automatically locked after she left—she was paranoid about stuff like that.
Something like getting locked out would warrant interrupting Micah for sure.

Checking her reflection in the mirrored door of the elevator
as it took her down to the lobby, Sam fidgeted restlessly, wondering what Micah
was doing. Was he out hunting down the drecks that had attacked her? She was
surprised at how quickly she was adjusting to all the information he had dumped
on her last night. Had it just been last night? Wow, it seemed like a lot
longer than that.

Her hand absently ran over her throat and the two tiny marks
where Micah had bitten her. How hot had that been? Even now, just remembering
how her body had lit up with what he later explained was venom euphoria, she
felt herself go warm and moist between the legs. His biting her hadn't hurt,
and she hadn't been frightened at all.

Funny, but that was one thing she couldn't bring herself to
be: frightened. Micah had a way about him that calmed her, not scared her. Even
at the height of his disclosure, when he had told her he was a vampire and she
had tried to flee, as soon as he'd put his arm around her to hold her back, a
serene peace had stirred deep inside her. Had that just been some kind of
vampire voodoo? He had told her he hadn't subjected her to any mind tricks,
though, and she felt certain he had been telling the truth. Which meant her
reaction to him was all her.

And then later, when he had come to her in his bedroom. No
man had ever given her such incredible pleasure, and none had ever treated her
with such reverence. If this was what it was like to date a vampire, she could
get used to it. Maybe she had just never been cut out to date humans. The
thought made her laugh, and she was still chuckling to herself as the doors
opened and she entered the lobby.

"Excuse me," she said to the guard at the desk.
"I'm staying with a friend and just ordered a pizza and they told me I
should let you know to let them up."

"Certainly, ma'am. The apartment number?"

She gave him Micah's door number and looked up as a police
officer entered the building. His eyes met hers and she quickly looked away,
suddenly uncomfortable, but she didn't know why.

"I'll send them up when they arrive, ma'am," the
guard told her.

"Thank you." She glanced at the police officer
again to find him still looking at her then turned and went back to the
elevator. Why was her heart racing?

Looking back, the officer flashed his badge at the security
guard, saying something to him but speaking too quietly for her to hear. With a
hard smack, she pressed the elevator button, but it didn't open and she looked
up to see the numbers flashing over the door. 16, 15, 14…Sam turned back to see
the officer walking toward her, his gazed fixed on her as she smiled tightly.

"Evening," she said, returning his crisp smile
with one of her own.

"Ma'am." He tapped the brim of his hat as he
nodded.

8, 7, 6…

Sam felt for the phone Micah had given her, running her
finger over what she hoped was the
one
key. Something just felt off
about that officer, and her adrenaline was pumping hard, making her fingers
tremble. She could swear she had seen him before, but he hadn't been wearing a
uniform. Where? Where? At the Garter? Was he a customer? The way he looked at
her made her feel like he knew her, too.

Ding.

The elevator doors slid open and a couple dressed in evening
attire stepped out, smiling at her and the officer as they walked away.

"After you, ma'am." The officer held his hand over
the doors to keep them from closing, gesturing for her to go ahead.

Sam didn't want to get into that elevator with him, and she
looked toward the doors of the building in hopes that her pizza would show up
and she could make an excuse to stay behind. But damn slow pokes, no delivery
boy walked in.

"Thank you," she said to the officer, stepping
past him and into the elevator.

He pressed the button for the nineteenth floor and stepped
back, hands linked in front of him.

Tension strangled the air in the confined space and when the
elevator opened on the eighteenth floor, she practically shot into the hall,
trying to hurry back to the safety of Micah's apartment.

"Ma'am," the officer said.

She stopped and turned around to see the officer step out of
the elevator. But he wasn't the officer, anymore. His hair was long and
blue-black, his face azure-tinged and gaunt. She recognized him as the man she
had shot the other night. Only he wasn't a man, was he? He was one of those
things – a shifter. A dreck. One of the drecks who had been beating Micah. How
had he found her?

"What the hell…?"

Sam stumbled backward, trying to fish Micah's phone out of
her pocket.

"Not so tough without your gun, are you?" The
dreck rushed forward and she stumbled again.

She was only a few feet from Micah's door. Her hand closed
around the phone and pulled it from her pocket, but she was too late. The dreck
grabbed her by the throat and shoved her against the wall with a bone-rattling
crash. Sam tried to yell, but nothing came out, not even air. Her thumb worked
the buttons on the phone, but she couldn't look down to see if she was hitting
the one or not.
Please, hit the one, hit the one!

The dreck's blue eyes swept down her body then shot to the
hand holding the phone.

"Uh-uh-uh," he said, snapping his fist around her
wrist like a handcuff, squeezing until she grimaced and dropped the phone.

She was going to die. She already couldn't breathe, so it
was just a matter of time. Micah wasn't here to save her, and he would come
home to find her corpse crumpled like yesterday's garbage outside his door.

Suddenly, he released her throat and yanked her wrist to his
mouth, biting her as she gagged and coughed, the rush of air a painful clawing
as she gulped. That's when she felt the burning crawling up her arm from where
his teeth held her wrist. It felt like he was injecting acid into her body.

Evil blistered her gaze as his eyes met hers, his blue lips
curling into a sneer as if he knew how she felt and got off on it.

The burning sensation increased, and she tried to kick him
and raked her free hand over his face, resulting in a bruising backhand across
her cheek.
Pow!
Light exploded in her eye as she was flung to the side.

Finally he released her wrist. "Let's see how Micah
likes you now."

Sam was too weak to move, her body feverish, her stomach
rolling, her vision doubling and going foggy. What had he done to her?

"This is what happens to those who take what's mine. If
you're lucky, you'll die by morning, bitch. If not, be ready for a long,
uncomfortable death." He knelt down and whispered. "If I was a
betting man, I'd put money on the latter. I didn't give you enough venom to
kill you fast. I want you to hurt, bitch."

His sinister laugh retreating toward the stairwell was the
last thing she heard before she blacked out.

After canvassing the area near the Black Garter, Micah and
Trace were closing in on the two drecks who had attacked Sam at the club last
night. Trace had been the one to pick up their scent first.

"I think all four are here," Micah said.

"Four?"

"Apostle had four with him."

Trace stopped. "What are you talking about? Maybe you
should start at the beginning, because I'm starting to think you aren't telling
me everything."

Micah still hadn't told Trace about how he had asked Apostle
to kill him via beat down Rocky Balboa style, which is how the bastards knew
about Sam in the first place since she had stopped them. He flipped a look at
Trace and considered whether or not he should just fess up. It wasn't like
Micah to let anyone, except for maybe Sam right now, into his world, but then
Trace was helping him. Did he owe Trace an explanation.

"Okay," he said, scowling. He didn't like this,
but fuck it. "I asked John Apostle to kill me."

Trace glowered, his face instantly eight shades of pissed
off. "You mind telling me why?" His jaw flexed and tightened by his
ear as if he was trying not to kill Micah himself.

"Why do you care?" Micah started walking again.

"Indulge me, asshole, before I slam you into that wall
and force you."

Glancing askance at the dark vampire, Micah huffed out a
short breath that sounded like
yeah, right.
"You can't take me and
you know it."

"Want to try me? You've seen what I'm capable of."

Okay, right. Maybe Trace
could
take him. Micah
regarded the male who'd fallen back into step beside him, the aggression coming
off him like an invisible tsunami. With a growl of contempt, Micah stopped
abruptly.

"Fine, bust my chops, you fucker."

"Hey, you're the one who needs my help. Maybe I'll just
go back and leave you to deal with this shit on your own." Trace turned
and started to walk away.

"I don't
need
your help, but—just wait, God damn
it!"

Trace turned around and gave him a spill-or-I'm-out-of-here
look, his face set in furious resolve.

Micah stood akimbo and dropped his head as he shook it in
frustration. He hated letting people in. He would rather just keep everyone at
arm's length where they couldn't get too close. When you let someone in they
had the power to hurt you, and Micah didn't need shit like that interfering
with his self-sufficiency.

"After Jackson left…" He kept his head down.
Avoiding eye contact was good. "I was fucked up, okay? It got bad. I
didn't want to live, anymore, so I found Apostle and asked him and his friends
to kill me."

"Why not just sit on your balcony and let the sun do
it?" Trace said, keeping his distance. Micah gave him credit for having
the sense to grant him his physical space.

Micah cleared his throat and raised his head. He turned to
the side so he didn't have to look at Trace. "I needed the pain."

The two stood in silence for a while, Micah feeling Trace's
eyes on him.

"Don't you go soft on me, Trace," Micah said.
"I don't need your sympathy."

"Don't worry," Trace said. "So, how did Sam
get involved?"

Micah shifted his weight uncomfortably at the mention of
Sam's name. "She stopped them. She saved me." He finally looked back
at Trace, whose eyebrows popped up in surprise.

"How the hell did a human stop five drecks?"

"With her Beretta. She shot Apostle."

Trace barked out a shot of deep laughter. "Fuck me.
Really?"

Micah nodded, pride welling up for his woman. "You
should have seen her, Trace. She didn't back down an inch. She's tough." A
fond smile played over his mouth. "Anyway, she took me back to her place
and tried to patch me up." He stopped short of disclosing that he had fed
from her, and he certainly didn't want to bring up what they had done today,
even though it was already evident to Trace, what with her scent shrouding him
like a blanket. Man, he just wanted to get home to her and explore her body
some more.

Trace just looked at him as if he knew what Micah was
thinking, those pale eyes scrutinizing him. What went on inside that head of
his, anyway? Sometimes he wished he could find a way around whatever barrier
Trace had erected so he could see inside his mind. Something told Micah he
would find a shit storm of oh-my-God in there.

"Hey, let's hurry and get this done," he said,
taking off down the sidewalk again.

"Yeah, time to fuck up some drecks." Just as Trace
fell back in step with him, Micah's cell phone went off. He pulled it out of
his pocket and frowned at the number. It was building security at the Sentinel.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Black?"

"Yes? What's wrong?" They wouldn't be calling him
unless something was wrong.

"We had a problem on your floor tonight."

Micah's heart lurched, and he stopped.

"What kind of problem?"

"A woman was attacked outside your apartment. A
delivery boy found her. She was unconscious, but alive. Paramedics just left
with her."

Micah looked up at Trace, who stared back at him as if he
was watching spiders crawl over Micah's face. Apparently he could hear the
other side of the conversation, too. Trace took off in the direction of the SUV
they had driven downtown, which kick-started his own fight-or-flight response.
Until then, his feet had felt grounded in dried cement.

Sam!

"Where did they take her? Which hospital?"

"Saint Augustine's. I'm sorry, I would have called you
sooner, but I only realized when they took her that she was staying with you.
She'd come down just minutes before to let me know she'd ordered takeout and
wanted me to let up the delivery boy. Like I said, he was the one who found
her."

"Was anyone else with her?"

"Just a police officer who got in the elevator with
her, but that's all I saw."

Apostle! Fuck!

"Thank you."

Micah ended the call just as he reached Trace's SUV and the
other male started the engine. "Saint Augustine's," Micah said,
throwing himself into the passenger seat and slamming the door. Trace hit the
gas and Micah dialed the phone he'd given Sam. No answer. He tried it again.
Still nothing.

"Fuck!"

"How'd they find her?" Trace asked.

"I don't know. Apostle must have followed me from Sam's
last night. I knew I shouldn't have let her go back there."