Intense.
At some point Zac took off and pocketed his tie, rolled up his sleeves and took it to the next level. Jess followed his lead. Dancing up against him, grinding and turning in the little black dress as the furious beat drove their motion, flipping her long hair side to side, across him, feeling incredibly sexy as the night wore on, making deep, prolonged eye contact over her shoulder, back up against him, more and more bold in her actions—he gripping her hips and grinding right along with her. They alternated, face to face, her palms on his chest, looking up into his pale-blue eyes, glinting exotically in the colored lights; short, dark hair and the stubble of his beard; rugged, handsome, young—impossible to look all those things at once yet he did, and more than once she had to catch her breath.
And he was as into her; an intensity in his regard that made her rush with a transcendent sort of fulfillment. Time and again he ran his hands down her arms and over her hips, brushing her skin, roughly then lightly, around her butt and up her back to her bare shoulders, over again and down and it was the most exciting thing ever.
By the time they finally broke from the last round of dancing and returned to the bar she was flushed from more than just the exertion. Shivering with a cold sweat. Several times, in fact, during the heat of it, she forgot why they were even there. Totally. It was just she and Zac, blood coursing through every inch of her, desire, pumping so hard, music crushing all other realities, frenetic lights obliterating the world …
In those moments their real situation was far, far gone from her mind.
She pulled her eyes from him and took a drink. Glanced in Lorenzo’s direction—only a glance—then flicked her eyes back to the crowd. She wiped the cold, wet glass across her hot brow.
Zac wasn’t sweating. Physical exertion, dancing—these things were nothing for him. He wasn’t even breathing differently. She steadied her own breathing; watched as he also took a drink. He’d had six cokes already. Where does it go? Probably just evaporated inside him somehow, with his crazy metabolism. His gusto for food and drink was insane.
Casually she let her gaze wander more slowly across the chaos of the club, back to Lorenzo and his entourage in the VIP area. None of them danced. They hardly moved, in fact. Even in the body rocking, absolute-edge-of-overwhelming environment, constant strobes and laser lights, they remained stoic. Unaffected. She suspected Lorenzo knew Drake was there. Somehow she was convinced he’d also seen she and Zac. Watching him gave her the creeps. Almost like he was some kind of super-chic movie vampire, or one of those self-aware guys from the Matrix or something. Not like a real-life, ordinary person.
And as she watched him without watching she realized how absurd it all was. It was like everyone was just playing along. Everyone knew. Drake knew she was there; Lorenzo probably knew they were there; she and Zac knew Drake and Lorenzo were there. Everyone knew what everyone else was up to. And if they didn’t, they should. She almost wanted to wave. “Hey! Catch you after the show! No, literally. Catch you after the show. Get it?”
Life is never dull.
She took a deep breath and leaned harder against the bar. It was super late. Probably not long till sunrise. Local time as reported on the Kel tablet was just before 5 am, and after dancing hard for the last several hours and being up the day before—on high alert much of that time—she was exhausted.
It was not an unfamiliar feeling.
The last six months of her life had been filled with such extremes, and she was quite ready for the action to begin and this mission to be a wrap. Standing there sweating, cooling off, sipping her cold coke, she was most definitely “on”. She pushed a few damp strands of hair from her forehead. Adjusted the delicate purse with the tablet in it. When they started dancing she threw the thin strap across the other shoulder so it wouldn’t slip off. Her last check-in with Nani brought no new news. It was pretty much down to waiting now for the right moment.
“He’s onto us,” Zac commented, sipping his own coke casually. The music was as loud as ever, the lightshow intense, no sign of DJ Fujito winding down. Would they go past sunrise? Spanish discos were legendary, but this was nearly too much. “He keeps looking at us,” Zac said, indicating Lorenzo, “then he looks at Drake. He knows.”
She and Zac had been talking off and on about the possibility, trying to figure out if it was just their own worry of exposure, that sort of imminent vulnerability when you were spying on someone and couldn’t tell if they knew, or if Lorenzo truly did know they were there. The Bok leader’s focus remained mostly on the DJ, and when he did look away it seemed he always looked at them and at Drake. More than that, though, the thing that bothered Jess was the way he did it. Not an ounce of concern in his eyes, no worry whatsoever in his expression or in his mannerisms. Just a casual look, confirming their current location in the club, then eyes back to the show. Almost like making sure they weren’t going anywhere or hadn’t left. It was creepy. No sign he was about to bolt, or that they made him nervous, or even that he wondered what they might be up to. And so it was hard to tell if he actually saw them or not. How could he and not react? With the confirmation of Zac's instinct, however, and the fact that, even then, in that same moment, Lorenzo looked at them and she could swear he saw her—and this time the corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly—the reality of it locked into place.
He knows we’re here for him.
And so it was official. Everyone knew. The icy chill she got watching Lorenzo, however ... it was a feeling she wished she could make go away. He was cocky, you could almost feel it he was so cocky, but it wasn’t just that. Lorenzo wasn’t just full of himself. He exuded some sort of tangible awareness that was difficult to dismiss. As if he had good reason to be cocky. And that bothered her.
She looked up at Zac, who in turn watched their prey. Zac wasn’t worried. At least, if he sensed Lorenzo’s overconfidence he didn’t show it. Just sipped his coke, standing there so tall, so strong—a god among men—waiting to make the grab and get out of there.
Jess pulled the tablet and checked for updates. Satori and Nani were coordinating, Satori ready to fly in and meet them once they had Lorenzo. When the set was over and as the club was emptying out they would move to the VIP area and grab him. Zac would dismiss any interference as needed, stun Lorenzo and get he and Jess out, with the prize, before the agents had a chance to react. So far their communications indicated the Project was sticking to their plan to nab Lorenzo outside, which meant when Jess and Zac moved—inside the club—the only one to offer any resistance would be Drake.
“How much longer is he going to play?” Jess was starting to grow exasperated. Fujito just kept going and going and going.
Even as she said this he wrapped it up. As if her mere question triggered the finale. With no fade or even a change in tempo to indicate the set was winding down, he finished. Just like that. The strobes and lasers stopped, left the club for a moment in the half-dark, the bass drubbing crescendoed and …
The music ended.
The resulting silence was almost as numbing as the sonic assault. Jessica’s ears rang and it took a few seconds to realize the new sound filling the darkened space was the crowd cheering. Maybe they’d been cheering all along. She couldn’t tell. All she knew was in the wake of the rhythmic pulse there were now cheers. Quieter by far yet loud in their own way; hundreds of voices raised in an exultant roar. Like they’d all just gone through an exhilarating journey. Which, in a way, they had. For a few moments Jess forgot herself in the energy of the moment and cheered along with them. A rush, a sense of belonging with those who’d been through it with her, those who experienced the amazing.
But she and Zac were there for far more important things. Their night was just beginning.
She stuck close to him as the crowd continued to roar, until the steady cheering degenerated to shouts and hollers for encores. DJ Fujito and his dancers simply took their praise with curt little nods and beaming white smiles, not moving to play any more m
usic. There would be no encore. Many in attendance had already taken the cue or were simply too tired to care and had begun heading for the exit. Nervously Jess watched Lorenzo in the VIP area, wondering how quickly he would leave. He knew people were there for him. How soon would he run? She glanced at Zac, who watched Lorenzo and his small group with calm regard, shoulders squared, looking over the heads of the crowd, then she glanced across at Drake, who was on the other side of the dance floor, back to speaking quite obviously into his “concealed” earpiece.
“Stick close,” Zac advised and put an arm around her. They put their drinks on the bar and took a few steps forward. Brighter lights came up, exposing the ugly of the club interior and the zombified stares of the clubbers. Milling about, bumping into each other as they slowly began to leave.
“I don’t trust the Project guys,” Zac explained. “They might make a grab for you while I’m preoccupied.” He looked down at her. “I don’t want to add a rescue to our kidnapping tonight.”
Jess took a deep breath. Trying to put herself entirely in his hands. It was hard, however, not to be tense. Hard not to want to do something, hard not to expect to do something. But at this point all she could do was stay out of the way and watch as Zac took care of business.
More and more people disappeared as she and Zac wandered in a seemingly aimless pattern among them, moving closer to the VIP area. So far all was going perfectly. Drake remained alone, the only agent in there, watching, not yet realizing what they might be doing. Sizing up this new, additional opportunity. She and Zac were getting closer to Lorenzo and the club was emptying, leaving fewer and fewer people to get in the way. Lorenzo remained, reclined in his seat just as he had been for the entire show, comfortably aloof, sipping a clear drink, working the VIP area to its fullest. Now that the music was off he and his cronies were talking among themselves. Chuckling little ha-ha chuckles as they spoke in short, inaudible sentences, the others chit-chatting among themselves; rich young assholes, acting as if the rest of the club was beneath them or, more to the point, as if it didn’t even exist.
Not running at all.
That should’ve made Jess more confident, not less. Lorenzo was now not looking at them at all. This made it easier, right? As if Lorenzo had put them entirely from his mind—though she was certain he knew full well they were there and drawing nearer. Now that the club was empty, she, Zac and Drake among the few left—moving oddly closer with their focus on the VIP area, shooting nervous glances at each other and at Lorenzo—it should’ve been so obvious to Lorenzo that he needed do something, or at least pay attention. Get up and get out of there. Shout at them; demand to know what they hell they were doing. Ask if he could help them. Anything but sit there plainly ignoring them, not even looking in their direction.
His arrogance was palpable. Such that the confidence his failure to run should’ve inspired in Jess instead raised other concerns. Other … fears.
Yes.
She was starting to feel a little afraid.
Then Lorenzo stood and …
Looked right at her.
Not at Zac.
Not at Drake.
Straight at her.
And as his eyes fixed hers she tingled all over; goose bumps that went right through her, rippling across every inch of her skin.
That same corner of his mouth turned up in a smug sneer.
Oh yes. He knew all about them.
She gulped involuntarily. Fought not to shake.
Then felt Zac’s arm around her.
“Stay here,” he said, took a step toward them and waited.
At that Lorenzo’s entourage rose behind him, similar sneers of overconfidence on their young, perfect faces. Lorenzo stepped from the VIP area to the dance floor, so pretentious it was sickening. Moving like a cat, not ten paces away, followed by the others, arms out at their sides and grinning. Like the bad guys in an old Kung Fu movie and this was the showdown. Only these guys were for real. And, to Jessica’s creeping horror, looked far more dangerous.
Nervously she looked at Zac, standing tall before them. Casually he stared the Bok down, no fear of his own. She swallowed.
And saw the Kazerai as if all at once. Saw Zac. As if she’d somehow forgotten. Not one man, as he appeared. Not one against five. Those were not the odds. Not simply one strong guy against five badasses. Not even close. This was five against a thousand. Five against a guy who could peel the hinges off a safe. Five against a guy who could leap a hundred feet straight in the air. Who could pummel suits of powered armor to scrap like they were nothing. Bullet-proof, fireproof. This was Kratos, the God of War, versus babies.
She had a reality check.
Looked back at the assholes.
Now it was her turn to grin.
She felt so sorry for them.
CHAPTER 32: HIGH IMPACT
With barely a glance in Zac’s direction—though Zac was clearly the one about to jump them—Lorenzo stopped, still several paces away, looking deep into Jessica’s eyes. A stare that felt like something tangible, like he might actually, somehow, pierce her mind. His sneer expanded.
“See, Merci?” he said to the Bok girl on his right. As if confirming a suspicion. “It’s not her.” He shook his head almost imperceptibly. “Nothing special about this one.”
Merci agreed, flashing her own, knowing sneer: “Nothing at all.”
Lorenzo chuckled. Jess swallowed.
Time seemed to stand still.
Then his expression straightened.
“Well don’t just stand there,” he spoke directly to Jess. “You came to bang,” and he held his arms out invitingly, twisting his head just a little to the side; an audible crick! of his neck as he flexed.
Gaze on no one else.
“Let’s bang.”
Before she could move, before anyone could move, he threw out an arm, a harsh snap in the direction of Drake—who stood off to the side watching. And as Lorenzo’s elbow locked it was as if he hurled something, though nothing left his hand; nothing physical, at least, only a shimmering wave—it had to be an optical illusion—warbling the air like an invisible bolt of lightning.
Straight at Drake.
Bam! The Project man went flying. Backward across the dance floor, struck hard by a wall of force.
That was no illusion.
What the … ?!
As if punched, doubled over; lifted from his feet, an unseen pendulum hammering through his gut in a mighty arc—extending directly from Lorenzo’s outstretched palm. The blow sent Drake tumbling, landing on his back and sliding, unconscious or dead.
That fast.
Lorenzo had never really taken his eyes from her. Now his sneer screwed into an expression of sadistic purpose as … he cast both arms in front of him, the same way he just did to Drake.
Too late to react.
WHOOOM! Jess cringed but it wasn’t for her, and she felt an overwhelming ripple in the air as the wave front hit, striking …
Zac.
He went flying.
No!
Then a shout. Inside her head:
Lorenzo.
And she froze. Utterly. Stunned, swallowing a spike of terror even as …
His hands were snapping directly toward her and an electric tingle pulsed her spine … WHOOOM! it slammed her like a shot and she, too, was flying. The world spun and she felt a sharp triple-crack as she smacked the floor, elbows and tailbone—managing to catch her head before it hit—sliding in a disorienting whirl of lights and sound. She came to a squeaking stop, bare skin gripping painfully against the dance floor.
Somehow she hadn’t been knocked out.
And suddenly she was enraged.
Shock, awe, fear, pain—those things snapped away in an instant as the rage consumed her; the coppery smell of blood filling her nostrils, like a blow to the head. Demand for retaliation surging. She would crush Lorenzo. To oblivion and beyond, and continue crushing him until he was completely destroyed.
Bastard!
She rolled in a rush to stand, fell, struggled to her feet, slipped in the ridiculous heels, spun in place, tried not to fall again; the room whirled and she made herself stand steady, so full of anger she wanted to kill. She held her arms out at her sides and got her bearings.
It was like she’d been punched in the face.
“Zac!” How the hell did Lorenzo knock him down?! She checked her nose for bleeding. There was none.
“You okay?” There he was. Zac! Behind her. She turned and he was there, the room still spinning, his own eyes wide with disbelief; checking her with urgent concern.
“I’m fine,” she lied, aching all over. Her ears rang.
She stabilized. Zac locked gazes with her.
Neither could believe what just happened was real.
“What was that?” he asked. “I was not ready for that.”
Jess shook her head at the memory of it. At the echo of Lorenzo’s voice in her head—how did he do that?!—wondering if she’d just imagined it. Fear me! It was Lorenzo and, some impossible way, he’d spoken inside her skull.
He spoke in my head!
She oriented herself and found the VIP area.
The Bok were gone.
The last stragglers in the club choked the exit, screaming to get out. Obviously freaked by this supernatural display of power. It must’ve looked harsh from their perspective. To judge by their extreme reaction it did. Drake lay unmoving on the floor, right where he’d been thrown.
The clock was ticking. Jess took off for the VIP exit.
“Come on!”
* *
“Where is she?” Nani tapped across several screens, enlarging this, scanning that, even as Bianca squinted at the tiny, chaotic images of bodies and vehicles filling the parking lot around the club. “Do you see her?” The whole place had erupted in chaos.
Star Angel: Dawn of War (Star Angel Book 3) Page 33
