“Hello, Boston!” the lead singer screamed into the mic, and the crowd roared again. “Oh, I thought I was in Boston. I must be wrong.”
The crowd screamed and stomped, and the band rewarded them by starting up the song again.
Meghan felt something cool touch her shoulder, but she turned easily this time, accepting the bottle of water from the brave hunk. He wasn’t her type; he was a jock, a yuppie jock at that. He wore a Zoo York shirt with designer jeans and the latest two-hundred-dollar pair of high-top Nike sneakers. But he was good looking, and he hadn’t been afraid to approach her. A first.
No, she wasn’t interested, but it was flattering, and he’d bought her a drink. She only had four hundred dollars left of the five hundred Jonas had given her.
Jonas had asked why she hadn’t spent it on clothes. Easy. Her grandmother had always told her she needed mad money when she went out with friends. That way, if she got mad, she could pay to get home. Well, she was on more than a date with Jonas. If things got dangerous and she had to get away, she needed the money to do it quickly.
“I’m Rick, by the way,” he shouted in her ear again. She wanted to tell him he didn’t need to shout, but he wouldn’t understand.
“Meg,” she said, loud enough that he could hear, she hoped.
He clinked his bottle of Bud against her water bottle. “Nice to meet you, Meg.” He smiled, showing off a perfectly straight, white smile.
Yep, he was a player—in more than just sports. She felt rude, as though she should try to converse with him, but she’d paid twenty dollars to be here tonight.
Halfway through the first set, he rested his hand on the small of her back. At the end of the first set, he went back for another beer and brought her back another bottle of water. Three more beers and three more bottles of water and the show was nearing the end. She, along with the swarm of crazed fans, screamed for an encore, bringing the band back out for another song.
Rick draped his arm around her shoulder and started to escort her to the exit. “Let’s get out of here before the stampede.”
Suddenly hot—and irritated that he’d pulled her from her coveted spot in front of the stage—she moved out from underneath his arm. Her eyes blurred slightly as she stared around the room, momentarily lost. Her vision was perfect—way better than twenty-twenty—and the smoke was really just mist, not the stuff some places used that would burn her eyes.
“You need a ride home, right?” he asked as they made their way toward the exit. Not waiting for an answer to his rhetorical question, he reached for her hand and dragged her out the door and down the street.
She shook her head, trying to clear it. That son-of-a-bitch drugged me, she growled internally. Little did he know that the amount he’d given her was little more than a buzz from a glass of wine. Her body burned off drugs quickly, she knew. That FBI agent had to give her enough to take down an elephant, he’d said on several instances. No wonder Rick was dragging her off so quickly. He thought she’d pass out before he had a chance to get her in his car.
Meghan let him drag her down the street, but figured she should put up a small fight, so she’d find out what his real intentions were. “Hey, wait. I have a ride.”
He looked back at her and grinned. Not the friendly smile he’d flashed earlier, but a pompous lifting of one cheek along with a nod of his head as if he knew she were lying. “You said you took the ‘T’.”
Right. She had told him that. “I’m good. I don’t need a ride.”
“The ‘T’ isn’t safe this time of night. I’ll drive you home.”
“No,” she insisted. “My…my boyfriend would kill you if you brought me home.” And for a second, she wondered if Jonas really would kill him. Jonas wasn’t her boyfriend, but he’d told her not to bring anyone home. What if this man tried to force her, though? She couldn’t take a chance. Once they were around the corner, where no one could see them, she’d have to incapacitate him if he continued.
When they rounded the corner, standing next to a bright red Camaro, he stopped and pulled her next to him. “Boyfriend? Aren’t you a naughty little minx, dressing up and going out without your boyfriend.” He pushed her off the sidewalk, backing her up against the car. “I’ll drive you.”
She shook her head, her mind already ninety percent clear. “You’re making a mistake, Rick.”
“What…you going to break my hand like you did that poor sap? No worries. I like it rough, baby. Why do you think I chose you?” He reached for the door handle, making his objective clear. He planned to force her into the car.
“I warned you, Rick. If you don’t release me, you’re gonna have more than a broken hand.”
He laughed. “By you—”
“No. By me,” a hard, steel voice thundered from behind Rick.
Meghan gulped as she took in the murderous eyes drilling her over Rick’s shoulder.
Rick turned, his fists rocketing up in front of him, ready to strike, until he took in the man who was as tall as he was but twice as large. “Hey, man!” Rick adjusted his hands from fists to palms up, surrendering. “I didn’t hurt the girl. Back off.”
“You know why they thought we were drinking human’s blood through their carotid artery, Meghan?” Her eyes widened in shock as he jerked Rick toward him, clamped down on his jugular, and ripped open a large gash in his throat. He spat out the blood and flesh, then swiped his hand across his mouth. “Because it’s the fastest way to kill a piece of human garbage like him.” He turned to two more creatus she hadn’t noticed standing in the shadow of the building. “Clean up this mess.”
Before she could even pull in a breath to scream, he grabbed her, soaring to the top of the building.
CHAPTER TEN
Reece made his way to his car in long-term parking as quickly as he could without being noticed. The plane had been delayed, and every second counted when he was tracking someone.
Once he made it to his supercharged T-Bird that he’d rented from a ‘buy here pay here’ lot, he blazed down the highway to get to the club.
When he initially looked at the acts performing at the club, he’d been looking at future performances. As he sat in the airport, waiting for his plane, he’d noticed that one of the bands Meghan had a t-shirt of was playing tonight. He’d thought about calling Mike or Derrick, but decided he didn’t want anyone dealing with his daughter but him. He’d just get there as quickly as possible. He could be wrong, of course. Maybe she was a victim.
Reece slid into a parking space close to the club as a crowd of kids poured out. He stepped out of the car and scrutinized each person exiting the double doors. A woman’s voice caught his attention, but it was far off. He glanced in the direction. It’d come from around the block. He trotted off down the street, but only saw a couple of men entering a van and driving off. He glanced at the rooftops and then back at the club. It’d sounded like Meghan’s voice, her scream when she was yelling at him actually.
Meghan had been fussing at him since she’d hit puberty, and she had that southern girl head roll and attitude down to a science. She could also be as sweet as honey when she wanted something, effectively putting on a pout that would one day drop men to their knees to please her. No doubt, if they ever remade Gone with the Wind, she could play Scarlett O'Hara without a word of direction.
Reece glanced around, then soared to the rooftop to get a better look. Nothing as far as he could see.
Dropping back to the pavement, he took in a bright-red circle on the pavement next to a Camaro. The concrete glistened as though still wet. He didn’t need to touch the crimson-stained concrete, though. His tongue tingled from the metallic quality, and the slightly sweet scent singed his nostrils. With his love for an extra rare steak and his non-aversion to blood, he and his father had wondered for years if they were descendants of whatever creature had originally instigated the myths about supposed vampires. If his father had only known how close they’d been.
Snapping back to the present, he
looked down at the stain. The men in the van, he realized
He darted back to the club, and while everyone struggled to get out, he parted the crowd, simply with a scowl, forcing his way inside. Once inside, he rushed toward the stairs. Most offices would be upstairs, away from the front door to discourage robberies. If thieves couldn’t smash and grab, they’d look for an easier target or hit the place after hours.
“Hey. Club’s closed,” a gruff voice called from the first floor.
Reece ignored the man, working his way around cocktail waitresses who were cleaning up their sections and bartenders who were wiping down the bar and bottles of liquor. At the end of a dark hall, a man stepped through a doorway, checking that the door was locked behind him.
Pulling out his badge, Reece made a beeline for the man, as the footsteps of the three-hundred-pound bouncer closed in on him. “I’m Special Agent Reece Buckley,” he said to the man who was obviously the general manager. “This your office?”
“Uh, yeah.” The man chanced a look over Reece’s shoulder.
Just as Reece felt the air of the doorman’s hand coming down, obviously with the intention to physically bounce him out the door, he spun. He sidestepped the walking mountain, and the man’s forward momentum continued into a nosedive, causing him to drop to the parquet floor, his chin cracking. Without having a chance to target his strike, Reece would have been hard pressed to land as accurate of a hit to render the behemoth of a man stunned long enough to question his boss.
Reece stepped around the mound of collapsed flesh and motioned the dazed manager back toward his office. “As I was saying,” he held up his badge again, “I’m Special Agent Reece Buckley, and I need to see your security feed from this evening.”
“Got a warrant?”
“You want me to get one? If I do, I’ll search the entire club for days, which means you won’t be able to do business in the interim. At present, I’m just looking for a missing person who was supposedly seen here tonight,” he lied lightly. “I have no interest in anything you may be importing or exporting other than booze and music. I just want to find a missing girl. But if you insist I come back with a warrant and my friends at Boston PD, I’ll be glad to.”
The man eyed Reece suspiciously for a moment, but then unlocked the door. He-Man got to his feet, but his boss waved him off. The big man followed the two of them into the office.
“I’m Bill. Have a seat.” Bill motioned to a worn black leather sofa and then took a seat behind a plain wood desk filled with stacks of papers, flyers, and a computer monitor. “So, you just skirted my security team?” he asked as he booted up his computer and typed in a password.
Reece smiled up at the security guard. “Boss man here was the only one on his toes. Actually, the only one who even noticed me. And I hadn’t been trying to hide. I’m in a hurry.”
A smile tugged at the big man’s face, but he held a full grin at bay while he stood guard with his arms crossed over his broad chest.
Bill slipped a disc into the computer, clicked a few keys with his mouse, and the program soared to life, copying the files within seconds. He repeated the steps and then held up the disc in front of him. “This is video feed of the main floor and outside the club today from opening until just now. I assume that’s all you need from me?”
“Yes, sir. Also, not that anyone will, no one should be on the case but me, but we’ve had some moles in the department. If anyone else asks for a copy of the security feed, don’t mention I was here, and I won’t bother you again.”
Bill nodded and handed him the disc. “Good.”
Back at his cheap efficiency, Reece popped the disc into his laptop. He shook his head as he realized he’d been correct. Within minutes of the doors opening, his daughter was inside. He watched as she scoped out the place, walked upstairs, and then staked a spot a few feet back from the stage, not right next to the platform.
He couldn’t keep from laughing when Meghan whipped around and nearly took off a kid’s hand. But then, another punk leaned forward to say something in her ear.
The tall college-aged kid never took his eyes off her. He seemed to have zero interest in the show. Anytime another rocker tried to inch forward, he’d shove them back, making certain he was never more than a few inches away from Meghan. He wasn’t her date. She’d come alone. So why the jealous attitude?
The kid bought her several bottles of water throughout the show. Meghan had thanked him and then opened and chugged down each one. Until the last one. The last one…he handed it to her already opened.
So, the kid had staked his claim. He’d come to the club looking for someone. He wasn’t dressed for the kind of music his daughter listened to, and as Reece had noticed earlier, he hadn’t glanced up at the band more than a couple of times.
Reece fast-forwarded again, and the punk wrapped his arm around his daughter’s shoulders. Meghan pulled away, but then stumbled, so she let the guy drag her out the door. Meghan wasn’t stupid. Reece had seen her pause, then glare at her escort. It seemed his daughter wanted a challenge.
He clicked to the next section on the disc and fast-forwarded a couple of hours. Once out the door, the kid turned into a would-be abductor, dragging his daughter down the street. The two of them disappeared around the corner, and Reece didn’t have to speculate long to get a picture of what had gone down.
The Camaro had probably belonged to the kid. He’d tried to force Meghan into the car, and she, or someone else, had stopped him. The blood. The van. They’d been ready. The question was… Had Meghan been a willing participant, or had another creatus taken advantage of the situation?
Could his daughter now be one of the rogue creatus?
Closing his laptop, Reece reached for the remote and flipped on the news. No surprise, swirling red and blue lights lit up the dark alley as though it was a disco from the seventies. The same reporter who’d reported on the last few murders—the man who refused to give up his source for the creatus seal—stood behind a mic, motioning to the club where his daughter had spent the evening. He clicked the remote to turn up the volume.
The body of Rick Williams was found in a dumpster, just blocks away from this popular nightclub you see behind me. According to police, Williams had a ticket stub for tonight’s performance in his pocket. If you have any information…
Reece flipped off the TV. No way would his daughter have been part of a murder, but now she’d be wanted for suspicion, and he couldn’t have that. He changed into all black clothes with a hoodie, then drove back to the club and waited until every person left. He broke into the place in seconds, made his way to the second-floor office, and then searched the closets until he found the one that housed the DVR recorder for the security system. The feed was digital, so he ripped out all the cables from the back and removed the external hard drive.
If his daughter was guilty, he’d—he shook his head, dispelling the idea. No way was Meghan guilty. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, he was sure of it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Meghan beat on his back as he threw her over his shoulder, then pounced from rooftop to rooftop as if she were nothing more than a sack of potatoes.
“Put me down, you no good son-of-a—”
He dropped her on her back, then lowered his head over her face. “Be careful of what you say about my mother. At least she wasn’t a stinking half-breed like you.”
“You…you killed that man.”
He stood to his full height. “You don’t think he deserved it? If you were an ordinary human woman, you’d be tied up somewhere, hoping for a quick death.” He spat on the ground. “I hate the taste of human flesh. Disgusting creatures.”
Meghan eyed him as she attempted to get to her feet. “Where’s Jonas?”
Tag snorted. “As if you care. Carrying on with that piece of garbage.”
“I wasn’t carrying on. He dragged me out of the club, so I wanted to see what his intentions were. I would have made him pay, but I would
n’t have killed him. Jonas wouldn’t have killed him.” She glanced around the rooftops, hating that she was alone with this beast. “Why were you following me?”
Tag reached for her hand, then tugged her to a doorway on the rooftop. His viselike grip made it clear she wouldn’t be able to escape. “He sent me to watch over you, make sure you weren’t followed.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Ask him.”
As soon as they entered the building, he grabbed her again and then jumped over the railing to the bottom floor. Of their building, she realized. He’d made it all the way back to their place in minutes, while carrying her. God, she hated him. And now she realized he was a lot stronger than she was too. She didn’t like that one bit, especially the way he’d stared at her earlier…and now knowing that he was a murderer.
Tag opened a door and dropped her inside.
“What do you think you’re—”
He slammed the door in her face, and then a large clang from the opposite side made her realize Tag had locked her inside this room. She glanced around at the cinder block walls with no window, a single cot, toilet, and sink. Scratch that, she wasn’t in a room; she was in a cell.
“Tag!” she screamed. “I swear to you if you don’t unlock this door!”
She’d what…scream some more. Without a doubt, the man was unstable. She hadn’t liked Tag from the first moment she’d seen him. Yeah, he was good looking, all the creatus were. He had the same shiny black hair, deep brown eyes, and olive skin most creatus had that made them look as though they’d descended from Mediterranean and Asian ancestors. Creatus really did resemble the vampires from the old movies she’d seen set in Romania. Not the pale creatures that modern-day movies and books portrayed.
Creatus Series Boxed Set Page 54
