Star Angel: Dawn of War (Star Angel Book 3)

by David G. McDaniel

  And so it seemed she could not hurry the completion of the fleet fast enough. To hurry this monumental event. In fact, and incredibly, they would probably be on their way by tomorrow.

  Kang was familiar with prophecies. With how they could weaken the minds of a populace. He looked at Cee and smiled, even as her attention was thoroughly caught up in the activity spreading across the vastness before them.

  Only too happy to do his part.

  * *

  They’d reached the club. After exiting the cab Jess and Zac meandered across the dusty parking lot; a forced, leisurely stroll, feeling like she wanted to sprint everywhere, the lot already filling up with people hoping to get in. Zac slipped into the woods for a moment to ditch the bag with their clothes while she waited. She debated marking the area where he hid it but decided there was no point. After the events of tonight went down they weren’t going to need the bag or anything in it.

  She took a deep breath. Zac returned and stood beside her, looking across the lot at all the cars, motorcycles, scooters—dozens of mopeds and scooters—people everywhere. Most everyone was young as far as Jess could see, teens and twenties. A few older people were scattered here and there but not many. The club was a free-standing building in the middle of nowhere, single floor, lit with cool neon and harsher lights from the lot. Four bouncers stood in black suits outside, guarding the black velvet ropes that led to the door.

  Nervously she eyed them. Their most immediate barrier. A silly barrier, to be sure—Zac could throw all four meat-heads into the woods with a single toss—but the threat of the doormen was very real. If this little operation was going to work she and Zac had to get by them, legitimately, with no fuss, and make it into the club.

  And again she found herself wondering at the plan. Should they just sneak into the woods, put back on the more sensible clothes and wait for Lorenzo to arrive? She shifted in the uncomfortable, impractical heels; felt the hug of the tiny dress. That seemed an easier way to go about it. They already knew from Nani that the Project—their de facto opponent that night—had guys stationed in the trees. If Jess and Zac also snuck into the trees and hid they might spring out at the right moment …

  But if they did that they risked missing Lorenzo altogether. Or being seen by the Project. The Project also had a guy in the club, according to Nani, which meant they, too, felt it was key to have eyes on Lorenzo in that setting. If the Project got Lorenzo then somehow slipped away unseen … Jess and Zac would be faced with way more complications and unknowns. They had to lay eyes on Lorenzo first, and grab him before the Project could. Nothing was guaranteed, but Jess realized that by doing this, dressing up, playing make-believe and being on the inside—where they could watch and move before anyone else—they had the best chance. Even with Nani listening in on the Project’s conversations the Project might still pull some unexpected move and slip away, with Lorenzo, before anyone knew it. Leaving Jess and Zac sitting in the woods twiddling their thumbs, wondering just what the hell happened. Jess couldn’t shut off the endless reel of figure-figure-figure running through her head, looking for all sorts of ways to change the plan, but the harsh reality was that nothing had changed and it had come to this:

  They had to get by the doormen.

  Finally forcing her to admit the idea of that, more than anything—being cool enough to be admitted—was making her more nervous than anything else.

  Zac took her hand, pretending to be unaware of the doubt knotting her guts. “Shall we?”

  She swallowed.

  But he knew. He had to know. How she felt. She could sense the reassurance in his grip as he led her on a straight path through the people in the lot, a little too much purpose in his step. No one seemed to notice, and soon they were merging into the end of the line to wait their turn. Others trickled in behind, laughing and cavorting, having a great time—nothing at all to worry about. For them this was going to be a great time. A night to remember.

  Boy was it.

  Music issued from the club. It was a strong beat, a danceable rhythm similar to the kind played by DJ Fujito. It wasn’t him but it was just as hooky, and through the door each time it opened, as new, trendy people went in, Jess could see strobes flashing and others inside.

  She took another deep breath and looked up. Into the night, away from that place.

  It was an amazing evening. High, thin clouds striped the dark sky in deep shades of gray; stars, lots and lots of stars higher still behind them, making the dome of the atmosphere seem more enormous than usual. As if, that night, the horizon stretched higher and further, casting a vast majesty over everything, driving home the reality of just how small their little corner of the world was. Far above she could make out a tiny, blinking light against the other points of brilliance, an airplane, probably all the way up at cruising altitude, thirty-thousand feet or more—way up there—passing slowly across one of the bands of gray, methodically slipping in and out of view, lending its own touch of perspective to the backdrop of distant, twinkling suns.

  A stiff breeze swept across the parking lot and made her shiver, interrupting her reverie.

  Zac slid his arms from his suit jacket and handed it to her. “Here,” he said. “You’ve got goose bumps.”

  She took the jacket and glanced at her bare shoulders. Her skin looked smooth in the dim light, but no doubt he saw all the little bumps she could only feel. She thanked him, put on the large, expensive jacket and held it closed at the front with one hand. The sleeves flopped well past her fingertips, but the lining was luxuriously silky, radiating the residual heat of his body and warming her instantly—making her shiver for altogether new reasons. There were so many things wracking her nerves right then, yanking her emotions in every possible direction. The goose bumps hadn’t been entirely from the cold. In addition to everything else she was terrified.

  She forced a smile as she smoothed the sleek Italian jacket, all the way down to where it hung at her knees. She wondered if Zac would notice the smile was forced and made herself relax. At that a real, softer smile touched her lips. Tenderly he put a hand to her head—then seemed to realize what he was doing and withdrew.

  “Sorry,” he apologized, checking where he’d touched her. He knew how anal Bianca had been over everything, including Jessica’s hair. “Don’t want to mess up your hair.”

  But there was nothing to mess up, really, though she made no comment. She just continued admiring him. Beneath the suit jacket Zac wore the vest and, of course, now that he was out of the jacket the shiny vest over the dress shirt with matching tie looked as amazing on him as everything else. Zac truly was one of those guys that looked great no matter what he wore. He could rock anything.

  She gave him another smile and pretended to study the line in front of them. A group of Spanish girls stood next ahead. Three of them. Slowly bodies shuffled forward as at the door the next hopefuls were released. With barely concealed scrutiny Jess watched the bouncers making their selections. One couple got the boot and she struggled to see over and around the people in the way, trying to discern why. Hoping not to make the same mistake. Was it their clothes? Their attitudes? The couple looked as pulled together as she and Zac. She swallowed. Were they foreign? They looked like they could be. Earlier, watching from the lot, she’d seen a small group of obviously American boys get sent away. At the time she had to admit she wouldn’t have let them in either; they were loud, brash, acting cocky … like they’d just cause trouble and spend no money. Now she began to wonder if it was because they were American. For an instant her mind began to race—debating trying a French accent or some other stupid idea she’d probably never pull off—then she noticed the three girls in front of them eyeing Zac. Blatantly looking him up and down, giggling among themselves. How long had they been doing that? Zac didn’t seem to notice. He was in “ready” mode, gaze well above their heads.

  Jess looked at the girls and, to her sudden consternation, found herself jealous. It was hard to tell exactly what th
ey were saying to each other, but in that moment every bit of her past study of the Spanish language, every recall, every word, came flooding to hand. She couldn’t understand the particulars but the cute little Spanish girls were most definitely commenting on, and staring at, the muy guapo Zac.

  Jess looked away, trying to pretend not to notice. Fuming inside.

  Then one of them spoke directly to him.

  “You a fighter?” the girl asked in broken English. It was a cute voice, and the one asking was the cutest of the bunch, such a cute little accent coming from her cute little face …

  Jess wanted to punch it. Quite surprised by the strength of the urge.

  She was definitely on edge.

  At first Zac didn’t realize the girl had spoken to him, but before Jess could act he glanced down.

  “Me?”

  The girl looked up at him, put her chin down, big brown peepers rolled up to look at him from beneath obviously fake lashes. So precious, so dainty. She made little boxing motions with her tiny fists. “You know,” she jabbed the air. “Fighter.”

  The others giggled.

  Jess watched for how Zac would handle this, not wanting to say anything or start anything, especially now. They were so close. A cat fight with a bunch of club-girl wannabes would definitely get them kicked out. Up ahead a group of well-heeled clubbers were permitted past the stuffed suits guarding the velvet ropes.

  Zac cocked his head a little at the girl, confused.

  She looked to her friends and Jess could see she was looking for a translation. It occurred to Jessica the girls must’ve overheard she and Zac speaking to each other, thus deducing he spoke English. Clearly their English wasn’t that good.

  One of the other girls spoke better.

  “Because you look like you fight,” she said, and puffed up her shoulders and chest like a big muscle-man. Then she pointed to her cheek, then to his in the same place, to the small scar from his fight with Kang. Faint, nearly healed, but visible. Jess had to admit it was not in the place you would likely get a scar unless you’d been punched.

  Zac touched the scar, unsure what to say.

  “I was in a fight.” He looked to Jess for help, and she struggled with the indignant rage she was feeling that these little hussies would flirt so openly with him right there in front of her. They weren’t even looking at her. I’m right here! she wanted to scream. He’s my boyfriend! She wanted to throttle them was more like it. I’m wearing his jacket! What the hell?!

  But the girls were next and, whether from the silly way they were acting, their age or some other factor, they got dismissed. No pause for consideration. The doormen waved them ahead for inspection, the girls suddenly remembered why they were there, shifted their attention from Zac to the doormen, batted their eyelashes and smiled—probably making it worse for themselves by doing so—and were denied. Of course they exploded with anger. Jess found their bitchy fury amusing, deriving some small satisfaction from their misfortune as one of the doormen had to “shoo” them away, clearing the ropes. As that commotion was unfolding she took off and handed Zac his jacket. No need to take any chances. Wouldn’t want the doormen thinking she looked dumb wearing it, no matter the reason. Zac put it back on, eyes on the trio of girls who now stood off to the side refusing to leave, making a minor scene, continuing to complain of the horrible injustice as the doormen returned to their task, deciding to just ignore them.

  Jess and Zac were next. No one else stood between them and entry to the club. Nervously she stepped up. The doormen were too cool for everyone, or acted like it, hardly deigning to look anyone in the eye, even the ones they admitted. Zac was taller than all of them, making it hard to look over his head and still appear natural, but they tried. Zac was taller than everyone, actually, even the tallest of the young Spaniards Jess had seen that night, and as they stood there waiting to be judged she finally—finally— felt the confidence she’d been seeking. It washed over her, in that most crucial instant, surging out of nowhere; almost a certain haughtiness—that their entry was a given—and even as she felt it, satisfied with having achieved that calm at the last possible moment, the guys were holding back the ropes and letting them pass.

  And they were inside.

  CHAPTER 30: DJ FUJITO

  “They made it,” Bianca’s eyes roved over the incoming data, checking it right along with Nani. “I can’t believe it.”

  “You didn’t think they would?”

  “I mean, I guess I thought they would. I don’t know. Hoping is more like it. I kind of thought it wouldn’t be that easy. Like maybe they’d have to figure out a different way. Like have Zac tunnel in or something.”

  “Tunnel in?” Nani smiled as she tapped and checked inputs. “I guess that would be more in line with the way things seem to have been going.” Then: “Maybe we were due for a break.”

  “Maybe.”

  Nani tapped a few more things and looked up, to the larger screen. “Okay,” she scanned the various overlays, “now we watch. Let’s see what else we can find out.” And she was back to her personal screens. Tapping away.

  * *

  “I love this!” Zac shouted, loud enough for Jess to hear above the pulsing thunder of the club’s sound system. Of course he could probably yell loud enough for everyone in the club to hear, but in the face of the absolute sonic volume hammering the space Jess wasn’t so sure. She could barely hear her own shouts—though Zac heard her just fine. As it turned out his super hearing and super voice were coming in handy. Kind of like the way Han Solo and Chewbacca talked to each other though neither spoke the other’s language; Zac could easily talk loud enough for her to hear and, in turn, could hear her clearly when she spoke. How that was true, how he could hear her normal human voice and still take the staggering volume with those same, extra sensitive ears was beyond her. His super hearing must’ve been as impervious as the rest of him. She felt like her own ears would soon bleed.

  DJ Fujito was laying down the beats through the million-amp sound system and the crowd was loving it. He’d finally come on and was as good as any of the sample tracks they’d listened to back aboard the Reaver. Jess watched Zac’s enthusiastic expression, in rapture with the music. She had to admit she loved it too. Sound energy moved the club; you could actually feel it, and she was reminded of the drag races in Las Vegas, an event that seemed so long ago. The volume here was similar, though unlike the Top Fuel dragsters there were high notes, and she was learning it was the high notes that hurt. Bass you could feel; treble stung.

  Standing there among the clubbing elite she felt like a minor star. Now that they were in, now that the most difficult challenge was past—the doormen—she felt practically regal. Drink in hand, heels giving her a few extra inches, little black dress hugging her curves, showing plenty of skin. Thin bands of jewelry glinting in the club lights. For once in her life she actually felt beautiful. Really felt it, not just hoping she might be, or that someone else might possibly think so, but had the uplifting sensation that she, Jessica Paquin, was someone truly desirable.

  “Earth is so awesome!” Zac was nodding his head, not quite dancing but almost. He’d checked his jacket at the door, looking stunning in the club lights in his stylish vest, shirt and tie. It was hard not to be affected by the deep rhythm. Jess looked around to make sure no one heard his slip. They didn’t. No one else was even trying to talk, or if they did were shouting directly into each other’s ear or making hand motions. If anything they just danced or stood and watched or typed away on phones. Dozens of tiny little screens glowed everywhere, scattered throughout the club’s frenetic illumination.

  To Jess everyone looked either drunk or high.

  Lasers fanned the air, smoke machines added brilliant definition to the colored beams, black lights made the whites glow and the dark moments between were filled with strobes flashing in rapid staccato, blasting everything to a mind-numbing pulse. Overall wildly painful, seizure-inducing fun. In the midst of that madness she had no
idea how she and Zac were supposed to pull of their mission.

  “Do you see the VIP area?” she yelled, knowing she’d made sounds but unable to hear.

  “Yeah,” Zac pointed over everyone’s head, to a place across the room. She wished he’d be a bit more discreet.

  “Let’s get closer,” she suggested. That was where the Project expected Lorenzo to be. Gently she took him by the arm and directed him, picking carefully through the throngs. They both had cold glasses of coke. Jess held the icy glass in one hand, arm crooked, holding Zac by the elbow with her other. She took a sip as she excused herself with nods and smiles, guiding him ahead of her and moving in his wake. As he made his way slowly at her direction, parting bodies politely, she thought of one of the ancient vampires from Anne Rice’s novels, pushing carefully through a crowd so as not to break anyone.

  Zac would so destroy a vampire.

  She guided him over and stepped up to a higher part of the club, near a bar with some space, stopped and turned to lean against it. She put an elbow on the slightly wet surface. From there they had a clear line of sight to the roped-off VIP area.

  Suddenly she wondered how Lorenzo rated. Why didn’t he have to come through the door like everyone else? Did the Project agents have to get past the doormen? She looked around.