The Strip (6 page)

Charlie grabbed her denim jacket and the small canvas cross-body purse by the door, slipping it over her shoulder. Her phone was inside. She pulled it out and dialed Mary Jane as she opened her door, stepped out into the private lobby, and let the door close behind her.

Almost instantly, she felt the eyes of the cameras on her from above. She glanced up as the phone in her hand rang once, twice, a third time. Finally, Mary Jane answered, her voice muffled.

“I’m talking about you and me going out and getting liquored up.” The elevator began to climb. Claire watched the numbers light up one at a time.

“Charlie, it’s like 1 a.m. or something-”

“It’s one a.m. our time, but here in Vegas, it’s only ten. If we’re lucky, we can catch the tail end of a playoff game.”

“Oh hell no am I getting out of this mega-fine bed to go and watch hockey with you, Charlie.” Mary Jane was sounding more awake now.

Charlie chewed on her cheek. The elevator was almost there. She would have taken the stairs, but then she’d have been at M.J.’s door by now and the girl still needed some convincing.

“Okay, then we’ll go wherever you want, I promise. Just get me out of here and get me drunk, M.J. I’m desperate.”

Mary Jane was silent for several heartbeats. The elevator doors dinged open. Charlie stepped inside. She knew Mary Jane was seriously considering this opportunity.

M.J.’s going-out preferences tended a little toward the
un
-safe. Like mega-flirting with guys that she knew hated each other. And hitching rides with bikers with too many tattoos. And, dancing on bars when she’d neglected to put on any underwear. That kind of thing. So, usually, Charlie would dictate where they went out, if for no other reason than to keep from getting into any fights.

“I thought you were exhausted, Charlie.” Now Mary Jane sounded concerned. It was no secret amongst the band members that Claire hadn’t been sleeping well. And that kind of irked her. She didn’t want pity. She wanted oblivion.

“I am, M.J.” Charlie sighed. “Trust me. Now, are you gonna help me out or not?”

Mary Jane seemed to come to a decision. Her voice was much more solid when she finally said, “Okay, but we should wake the boys.”

“No. No way. No boys tonight. I’m sorry, M.J., but I seriously need to spend a few hours without being surrounded by overprotective testosterone. It’s girl’s night. Deal?” The elevators dinged open once more and Claire stepped out onto M.J.’s floor. She glanced at each door number as she went down the aisle, noticing that this floor had a lot more rooms on it than hers did.

“All right.” Mary Jane took a deep breath on the other end of the line. “It’s a deal. But if you want to let loose and have fun for once, then you have to do everything I tell you to do. No ifs, ands, or buts. Deal?”

A man with amber eyes watched as Claire and Mary Jane moved through the multiple security screens before him. As the women made their way past the casino tables and slot machines and headed toward the exit, he turned to look over his shoulder at the men standing behind him. There were four other men in the room, their unnaturally stark eyes riveted to the screens. The tallest of them, a silver-haired gentleman dressed in a very expensive suit, pressed some sort of communication device beside his ear. When it cleared for sound, he spoke.

“I need Mitch and his team to shadow Miss St.James and her female companion.”

“Understood,” came the static reply.

The man lowered his arm and drew a deep, slow breath. “Vince, you follow them too. Stick to Claire no matter what the others do. See that she’s back in her room before day break.”

A man with long, straight black hair and a goatee nodded beside the older gentleman. His gold eyes flashed as he took one last look at Charlie before she disappeared from the casino’s inside cameras and reappeared on outdoor cameras that led down the sidewalks in front of The August hotel. Then he turned and left the room.

* * * *

There were five of them, total. Three of Phelan’s men seemed to move around a heavily built werewolf with buzz-cut brown hair. If Cole had heard them right, his name was Mitch. The fifth werewolf moved alone, separate from the others.

All werewolves were tall, to a certain extent. Cole had never met one under six feet. However, amongst werewolves, just as some were stronger and faster or possessed powers that others did not, some were definitely taller than others.

This fifth of Phelan’s men was very tall. He wore solid black and the material blended with the inky color of his hair. Cole could smell the strangeness coming off of him. It was the same scent that Eva Black had possessed, though not as tinged with darkness. It was magic. And whether the werewolf was a witch or a warlock, Cole would have no way of knowing for certain until the man began to cast one of his spells.

Since their arrival a few hours earlier, Cole’s men had fanned out across the city; he’d brought them all. He wasn’t taking chances. More than a dozen werewolves under his command had begun to close in on the Strip like red radar blips, their circle shrinking around the epicenter created by Claire St.James. At the moment, they outnumbered Phelan’s men three to one.

Cole suspected that Gabriel Phelan’s absence had much to do with that faux pas on their part. It was nearly impossible for a pack to organize itself efficiently while its leader was away. There was something about an alpha’s proximity that had an effect on his pack. It drew it together, made it more cohesive and stronger.

Phelan wouldn’t be back from New York until the following night. The billionaire real-estate mogul was counting on two things at that moment. He was counting on his pack’s ability to keep Charlie safe in what he undoubtedly considered his territory: Las Vegas. He was also counting on no other alpha being aware that Claire St.James existed.

And he was wrong on both counts.

Cole knew the exact moment in time that Phelan’s men realized they were surrounded. Mitch and his crew began to scent the air, their heads upturned, their eyes searching the shadows of the streets and alleys around them.

At the same time, the black-haired magic-using werewolf straightened, his head cocking slightly to one side. Malcolm’s lips curled into a smile when the man slowly turned in place, realizing that he was not alone in the darkness of the alley.

The mage’s amber eyes began to glow as they searched the shadows. “I can smell you, alpha,” he whispered. And then those eyes settled on the silhouette of Cole’s tall, strong form. The werewolf mage smiled. “Not to mention, see you.”

Malcolm calmly stepped out of the shadows of the alleyway and watched as the man’s eyes widened, almost imperceptibly.

“Malcolm Cole,” he greeted. “The serial killer who wasn’t.”

“I suppose that depends on your definition of the term,” Cole answered, easily. After all, he had indeed killed many a man. His smooth accented voice filled the space in the alleyway and he could see that his power was registered in the eyes of the other man.

The black-haired werewolf wasted no time. “You’re here for the Dormant.”

Malcolm didn’t answer. It wasn’t a question, anyway. Instead, he looked down and casually adjusted one of the leather bands on his wrists.

The magic user seemed to mull something over. Cole knew that he was aware he was going to lose tonight’s battle. He would have to fall back and regroup. And Phelan might kill him for his failure.

Malcolm was impressed when the mage tried another tactic. “If you take her tonight, Cole, before she has even had a chance to get to know you, she will hate you. You understand that, don’t you?”

Malcolm’s eyes flashed emerald in the darkness. He pinned the other werewolf with that terribly intense gaze and smiled, flashing fangs.
Oh I know
, he thought.
Better than you can imagine
. But, since when had that stopped him?

The other werewolf said nothing more. His amber eyes were shuttered, closed off. They were at a stale-mate of words. The only discourse left to them would have been combat, and no intelligent werewolf would go up against Cole in that capacity at that juncture. He was too strong, too hungry, and his men were everywhere.

“I will bid you goodnight, Malcolm Cole,” the man finally said. His tone was tight. Cole watched him warily. Witches and wizards were dangerous. Warlocks, more so. But their spells took time. While the other man might decide to begin casting a spell against him in that alleyway, Cole would never give him the luxury of finishing it.

Malcolm watched as the werewolf turned and, with one last glance over his broad shoulder, headed out of the small, dark alley. The dark-haired man stepped out onto the well-lit sidewalk beyond and then strolled casually toward The August, where its looming glass and steel unforgivingly fractured the Nevada sky.

When he was out of sight, Cole turned to gaze across the street, where Jake leaned against the wall of a club, his strong arms crossed over his chest. The club was the same one that Claire St.James and her dark-haired companion had entered twenty minutes before.

Jake’s gaze met Malcolm’s and the blonde werewolf smiled, nodding once. Phelan’s men were temporarily taken care of. Malcolm nodded back and Jake slipped into the club.

It was time to move in for the kill.

* * * *

Mary Jane ordered a beer for Charlie and a shot of Goldschlager for herself and then turned to speak to Charlie in hushed tones. “Okay, here’s what I want you to do.”

Charlie began to down her beer, chugging it in record time as if it would help her prepare for whatever devious plan M.J. had for the both of them. “I want you to dance with the first person who asks you tonight, no matter how creepy or untrustworthy you might think he is.”

Charlie spit out a bit of her beer and wiped her mouth on the back of her jacket sleeve. “What?” she coughed.

“You heard me. No holds barred tonight, chicky-poo.” Mary Jane pointed a red-nailed index finger at her friend’s chest. “You, my dear, are too harsh. You are too quick to judge guys. You think they all want to rip your clothes off and do you on the floor.”

Charlie slowly put down her beer and chewed on the inside of her cheek, her delicate brow arched just a touch.

Mary Jane blinked. And then she sighed and downed her entire shot of Goldschlager. She slammed the glass back down on the table and shrugged. “Okay, so maybe they
do
all want to rip your clothes off and screw you on the floor. But you can handle them. You may as well have fun until it starts getting nasty.”

“You mean, I should tease them.”

At that, Mary Jane smiled brightly and nodded. “Exactly! Now you’re catching on. This might actually prove to be a fun night after all.”

This time, it was Charlie’s turn to blink. She had meant it rhetorically and hadn’t intended Mary Jane to take her seriously at all. But she didn’t have a chance to rebuke her friend before one of the waitresses at the club was sidling in at their table.

“Hi,” she greeted, as she took two shot glasses filled with amber liquid from her black tray and set them in front of the girls. “These are from that gentleman over there,” she nodded toward a man who was sitting at the end of the bar at the center of the club. “And he was wondering if he could have a dance with the dark haired young lady when you’ve finished them.” The waitress smiled at them and then spun away, off to deal with another table of customers.

Charlie and Mary Jane both stared at the man at the bar. He looked like a blonde supermodel. No, better than a supermodel because he didn’t look pubescent. He was quite tall and he appeared to have been sculpted from granite and then given a tan. His six-pack actually rippled beneath the tight material of his gray t-shirt. His eyes were a stark amber color, and looked like they might begin to glow at any moment. Unearthly and intense. They sort of reminded Charlie of Jessie.

“Holy fuck,” Mary Jane whispered. She glanced from the man to Charlie and then back again. “He wants to dance with
me
?”

Charlie smiled. “Yep,” she drawled. “That’s what the lady said.”

“She must have heard him wrong. He must have meant you.”

“Nope,” Charlie continued, her smile growing. For the first time in weeks, she was feeling kind of satisfied. For once, M.J. was getting the male attention instead of her. And from a Greek god, nonetheless.

“I…” Mary Jane seemed to be at a loss for words.

Charlie helped her out. “I suggest you not hurt the boy’s feelings,” she instructed calmly. “Drink the shot and then go and give him his dance.” She nudged one of the shot glasses closer to her friend. “But be careful, M.J.,” she added, her smile becoming a perfect white grin. “He honestly looks as if he might bite.” She spared another glance at the man at the bar, and added, “Or eat you whole.”

Mary Jane made a low moaning sound, meant for only Charlie to hear. “I like it when they bite,” she muttered under her breath.

Charlie could see that a blush had risen across her friend’s neck and face. And that was impressive – because, almost nothing could make M.J. blush.

“Don’t we all,” Charlie agreed quietly before she took another swig of her beer. She wasn’t about to touch the shot glass – Tequila. She could smell it from here. But, she had a feeling that Mary Jane wouldn’t let the precious liquid go to waste.