Rise of the Fallen

by Donya Lynne

  This was going to be a long fucking night. He could just tell by the way his skin crawled with possessive heat and the need to find Sam when she couldn't be found.

  It didn't take him long to find the two drecks sitting at a table near the stage, though. He recognized them from the other night. One glanced up and saw him, nudging his companion. The two sneered at him as if they knew why he was there. Micah glared back, daring them to make a move, but both stayed firmly seated like they knew what they were doing. Keeping to the perimeter where he could watch them, he quickly scanned the room. He needed to find Sam and get her out of there. His gaze skirted from waitress-to-waitress then to the bartenders. None of them were Sam.

  Where was she? Her smell was strong, so she was here somewhere.

  * * *

  With a sigh, Sam prepared for her turn on stage. The house was packed. She had seen that much during a quick peek at the floor after arriving a half-hour ago. A couple of her regulars were here tonight. It would be a good night for tips.

  Stretching through yoga poses in her private dressing room, Sam breathed in, then out, feeling her body loosen and the tension fade even further. She had already meditated, a necessary step to help her disengage enough to dance; otherwise she would never be able to take the stage. Every night was the same thing: meditate, stretch, yoga, dress, perform, finish, and go home to take a long, hot shower to wash away the degradation and invisible paw prints left by her private admirers.

  "Namaste." Sam concluded her yoga exercises with the traditional salutation.

  Rising from the green yoga mat, she removed her robe and dressed in one of the one hundred or so costumes the club provided for her, making the final transition to becoming Scarlet, star dancer at the Black Garter. A long, black trench made of shiny, heavy duty plastic covered black, zip-up hot pants and a matching top. Beneath that, a black leather bra and leather and spandex panties were all that remained. Military-style knee-high boots completed the look.

  She was in a solemn mood tonight, her thoughts having been steeped in visions of the dark man from the other night. Who was he? Would she see him again? She wanted to see him again, didn't she? It wasn't like her to fantasize about a man she didn't really know, but that was exactly what she had been doing since she met him.

  Tonight she would dance for the mysterious man who dominated her thoughts. He was her muse that roused her to dress more quickly than usual. She was almost eager to take the stage now just so she could channel her thoughts of him into her performance. When was the last time she'd been eager to dance? Sam couldn't even remember.

  She selected a black and red leather mask from her collection. It had black-out plastic eye covers, as most of her masks did to keep her eyes hidden from the audience. Just that simple costuming trick added more mystery and intrigue to her act. She became almost inhuman to the audience, as if she was a mystical creature or an alien sent to Earth to entertain them. When the men – and women – in the audience couldn't see the windows to her soul, she became so much more enigmatic and erotic, and they were able to dive deeper into their fantasies.

  She secured the mask to her face then stood in front of the mirror to make final preparations. She wore wigs most nights, and tonight she adorned one of black hair with a long ponytail.

  Completely detached from reality now, she made her way backstage to double-check her music with the technician then waited for her cue to go on.

  * * *

  The lights dimmed and drew Micah's attention to the stage as a man's voice whispered seductively into a microphone somewhere off stage, "Scarlet." He drew her name out sensuously as a low hum of near-sinister music cued up.

  Scarlet stepped onto the stage, her masked face down at first then she looked up as she prowled first to one side, then the other. The energy in the room surged as every man seemed to lean forward in his seat, waiting to see what she had planned for them tonight. Damn, that woman knew how to work a room.

  She was dressed to kill, too, at least as far as Micah's tastes were concerned. Lots of black and lots of leather. Too bad he wasn't here to watch—wait a minute. Micah's brow furrowed as he stepped away from the wall, his lips parting in disbelief.

  Sam? Sam was Scarlet?

  "Fuck me," Micah said, his voice low.

  With a long, directed inhale, he confirmed what his other senses already told him.

  And the drecks were in on the action, too, perking up as they recognized her scent at the same time he did.

  A different kind of tension suddenly filled the room. The humans remained oblivious to the danger about to erupt around them. The drecks kept an eye on him as he tracked the edge of the room, looking for an opening to get to Sam while fending them off. Unfortunately, the drecks seemed just as determined to get to her, too, flashing him a warning glance to keep back. Like hell he would. They would not leave here with her tonight.

  It felt like a stand-off on steroids.

  Sam moved like a graceful dominatrix, using the pole like an extension of her body as she undulated, spun, and bent, flinging the coat to the side before lowering into a seductive squat and unzipping her top.

  Micah could barely take his eyes off her, and possessive need riled his hands into fists. He smelled the spike of heated arousal in the room, and he ground his teeth in territorial menace, his jaw clenched. Malevolent threats shot from his eyes to the unaware men sitting behind their quaint, red lamps. Micah saw more than one adjust his cock under the table. Dirty perverts. She was his. Sam—Scarlet—whatever the fuck! She was his, goddamn it!

  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.