Embrace the Darkness (33 page)

Besides, it would put him in a position to keep an eye on Salvatore.

“Perhaps it would be best to remain close enough to the city to negotiate with the Weres,” he admitted.

“And close enough to call for assistance if you need it,” Viper insisted.

“Yes.” Styx pocketed the key. “Now I must go.”

“Take care, old friend.”

Styx gave a somber nod of his head. “That I can promise.”

 

Gina, a redheaded, freckle-faced waitress was leaning negligently against the bar when the three men stepped into the Goth nightclub.

“Yowser, stud-alert,” she shouted over the head-throbbing bang of the nearby band. “Now that is some grade A prime beef.”

Lifting her head from the drink she was mixing, Darcy Smith glanced toward the latest patrons. Her brows lifted in surprise.

As a rule Gina was not overly particular. She considered anything remotely male and standing on two legs as grade A. But on this occasion, well…even grading on a curve they reached A status.

Darcy whistled beneath her breath as she studied the two closest to her. Definitely poster-boys for the steroid generation, she acknowledged, eyeing the bulging muscles that looked chiseled from marble beneath their tight T-shirts and fitted jeans. Oddly both had shaved their heads. Maybe to set off the dangerous scowls that marked their handsome faces, or to emphasize the air of coiled violence they carried with them.

It worked.

In contrast, the man standing behind them was built along far slighter lines. Of course, the elegant silk suit couldn't entirely hide the smooth muscles. Nor did the long black curls that brushed his shoulders soften the dark, aquiline features.

With absolute certainty Darcy knew that it was the smaller man who was the most dangerous of the trio. There was a fierce intensity that crackled about him as he led his henchmen toward the thick crowd.

“The one in the suit looks like a mobster,” she observed in critical tones.

“A mobster in an Armani suit.” Gina flashed a smile. “I've always had a weakness for Armani.”

Darcy rolled her eyes. She had never had an interest in designer clothes, or the sort of men who felt it necessary to wear them. A good thing considering men in Armani suits were hardly a dime a dozen in her world.

More like once in a blue moon.

“What's he doing here?” she muttered.

The crowd at the underground bar was the usual mixture. Goths, metal-heads, stonies, and the truly bizarre.

Most came to enjoy the heavy rock bands, and to throw themselves around the cramped dance floor in wild abandon. A few preferred the back rooms that offered a wide variety of illegal pursuits. Hardly the sort of place to attract a more sophisticated clientele.

Gina gave her hair a good fluff before reaching for her tray. “Probably here to stare at the natives. People with money always enjoy rubbing elbows with the riffraff.” The woman grimaced, her expression older than her years. “As long as they don't get too dirty in the process.”

Darcy watched the waitress efficiently sashay her way through the rowdy crowd with a small smile. She couldn't entirely blame Gina for her cynical nature. Like herself, the waitress was alone in the world, and without the education or resources to hope for a brilliant career.

Darcy, however, refused to allow bitterness to touch her heart. What did it matter if she were forced to take whatever job might come along?

Bartender, pizza delivery, yoga instructor, and occasionally a nude model for the local art school. Nothing was beneath her. Pride was highly overrated when a girl had to put food on the table. Besides, she was saving for something better. One day she would have her own health food store, and nothing was going to be allowed to stand in her path.

Certainly not a defeatist attitude.

Kept busy pouring drinks and washing glasses, Darcy didn't notice when the latest arrivals took a place at the bar. Not until their glares and flexing muscles had managed to warn off the rest of the patrons and she found herself virtually alone with them.

Feeling a strange flare of unease she forced her feet to carry her toward the waiting men. It was ridiculous, she chastised herself. There were over a hundred people in the room. The men couldn't possibly be a threat.

Instinctively halting before the man in the suit, she swallowed a small gasp as she met the golden brown eyes that smoldered with a heat that was nearly tangible.

Yikes.

A wolf in silk clothing.

She wasn't sure where the inane thought came from and she was quick to squash it. The man was a customer. She was there to offer him service.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Plastering a smile on her face, she put a small paper coaster in front of him.

“May I help you?”

A slow smile curved his lips to reveal startling white teeth. “I most certainly hope so,
cara,
” he drawled with a faint accent.

The hairs on the back of her neck stirred as his golden gaze made a lazy survey of her black T-shirt and too short miniskirt.

There was a hunger in those eyes that she wasn't certain was entirely sexual. More like she was a tasty pork chop.

Yikes, indeed.

“Can I get you a drink?” She forced a brisk, professional edge to her voice. It was a voice she had discovered could wilt an erection at a hundred paces.

The stranger merely smiled. “A Bloody Mary.”

“Spicy?”

“Oh, very.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “And your friends?”

“They are on duty.”

Her gaze shot toward the men looming behind their leader with their arms crossed. Frick and Frack, without a brain between them.

“You're the boss.” Moving to the back of the bar she mixed the drink, adding a stalk of celery and olive before returning to set it on the coaster. “One Bloody Mary.”

She was already turning away when his hand reached out to grasp her arm. “Wait.”

She frowned down at the dark, slender fingers on her arm. “What do you want?”

“Keep me company. I hate to drink alone.”

Obviously Frick and Frack didn't count. “I'm on duty.”

He pointedly glanced around the deserted bar. “No one seems in desperate need of your services. No one, but me.”

Darcy heaved a sigh. She disliked being rude. It was bad for her karma. But this man clearly couldn't take a hint.

“If you're looking for companionship, I'm sure that they're any number of women here who would be happy to drink with you.”

“I don't want any number of women.” Those golden eyes burned into hers. “Just you.”

“I'm working.”

“You can't work all night.”

“No, but when I'm done I'm going home.” She jerked her arm from his grasp. “Alone.”

Something that might have been annoyance rippled over the fiercely handsome face.

“All I want is to talk to you. Surely you can offer me a few moments of your time?”

“Talk to me about what?”

He cast an impatient glance toward the crowd that was growing rowdier by the moment. He didn't seem to appreciate the enthusiasm of multipierced, leather-drenched teenagers ramming full speed into each other.

“I would prefer that we go someplace a bit more private.”

“I don't think so.”

His expression hardened. Even more unnerving the golden eyes seemed to suddenly glow with an inner light. As if someone had lit a candle behind them.

“I must speak with you, Darcy. I would prefer that our relationship remain cordial, you are after all a beautiful and tempting young woman, but if you make this difficult, then I am prepared to do whatever is necessary to have my way.”

Darcy's heart clenched with a flare of sudden fear. “How did you know my name?”

He leaned forward. “I know a great deal about you.”

Okay, this was going from weird to downright creepy. Gorgeous gentlemen in thousand-dollar suits, with their own personal entourage, did not stalk impoverished bartenders. Not unless they intended to kill and mutilate them.

Two things she hoped to avoid.

She took an abrupt step backward. “I think you had better finish your drink, collect your goons, and leave.”

“Darcy…” His hand reached out as if he would physically force her to join him.

Thankfully his attention seemed to waver and his head turned toward the door.

“We have company,” he growled toward Frick and Frack. “Deal with them.”

On cue the two thugs were charging toward the door with startling speed. The man rose from the barstool to watch them leave, as if half expecting an army to come charging into the club.

It was enough for Darcy.

She might not be Mensa material, but she did recognize opportunity when it came-a-knocking.

Whatever the man wanted from her it couldn't be good. The more distance she could put between them the better.

Dodging toward the far end of the bar she ignored the man's sudden shout behind her. She didn't even bother glancing toward the crowd for help. A screaming woman in this place was just another part of the show. Instead, she turned toward the back of the club. Just down the hall was a storage room with a sturdy lock. She could hide until one of the bouncers missed her from the bar. They could deal with the crazed stalker.

It was, after all, in their job description.

Concentrating on sounds of pursuit from behind Darcy didn't notice the thick shadows ahead of her. Not until one of the shadows moved to stand directly in her path.

There was a brief glimpse of a beautiful bronzed face and cold black eyes before the strange man spoke a single word and she was falling to the floor as the darkness engulfed her.