On Her Six (Under Covers)

by Christina Elle

  She frowned and her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

  “I overheard the bartender say the lime juice turned.” It’s the best he could come up with. “Some guy ran to the bathroom after having some of it. I was just in there. Wasn’t pretty.” In case the women didn’t catch his drift, he covered his mouth with his hand and puffed out his cheeks to imitate pre-puking.

  The women turned green. “Um, like, yuck.”

  “Here,” he said, taking the glass from her hand, “let me get you something else.” He smiled and glanced deep into River’s brown eyes for effect. Her hand willingly opened. “In fact, let me buy all of you a round.”

  They grinned and giggled.

  Ash held up his finger. “Be right back. I promise.”

  He dropped the glass into the first trashcan he came across and nestled his way between two people at the bar. “Three vodka Sprites,” he said when the first available bartender glanced his way. He didn’t take his eyes off the bartender’s hands. Never once did Die Hard III lower the glasses or drop anything into them.

  Ash had cash ready when the bartender came back.

  “It’s on za house,” he said.

  Arm suspended in the air with cash in-hand, Ash asked, “You sure?”

  The man nodded. “It’s on the za house.”

  Odd, but he didn’t question it. Instead, he carried the three glasses to River, Sonya, and Kendra as promised, a surge of chivalry surging through him for having saved the women from what could have been a terrible evening—and beyond.

  Movement caught his attention. After years as a sniper, Ash could spot a fly in the middle of a dark room.

  But this was no fly. This was an annoying, blond cockroach who didn’t know when to mind her own goddamn business. The woman was going to kill him. If he didn’t kill her first.

  Grinding his teeth, he handed the drinks to River and her friends. He kept his gaze on Blondie, who made her way toward the back of the club with a purpose.

  “What a gentleman!” Kendra purred as she ran her free hand up his arm to his shoulder.

  “Our hero!” River followed, repeating the motion on his other arm.

  The touches reluctantly turned his attention to the muses. “My pleasure, ladies.”

  When the three women took a sip from their respective glasses, he turned back to Blondie. She had stopped in front of a door in the back left corner of the room, her back to him.

  His eyes narrowed, and his blood pressure rose to dangerous levels. What the fuck is she doing?

  Pissed his surveillance would have to be cut short in lieu of dragging his neighbor back to her house and throwing her over his knee, Ash spun on his heels to fetch her.

  He didn’t make it two steps before all hell broke loose.

  …

  There was no one at the door to pat Sam down or search her bag. Not a good sign. Especially given the broken-down look of the place. Didn’t these kinds of places have metal detectors or those magic wand things looking for weapons?

  People crowded in front of the door, pushing and shoving one another to get in. Their bodies were strung tight, their muscles taut with excitement.

  She took her place in the back of the group, wondering what all the hype was about. This Vamp stuff her neighbor referred to must be why these people were at the club. The joint didn’t look very special. If anything, it looked the exact opposite of special.

  Shuffling along with the crowd, she didn’t bother looking down at whatever her heels sloshed through on the pavement. Based on the foul stench around her, she didn’t want to know.

  Most of the club’s eager patrons looked pretty normal. Guys wore blue jeans and button-down shirts; girls wore short skirts and belly-baring tops.

  Within minutes, she was inside the most disgusting place she’d ever seen. “No wonder there’s no bouncer,” she mumbled as she made her way into the dim room. “They probably let all sorts of people into this junk hole.”

  The walls were plain aside from the grime and mold climbing to the ceiling. The air was stale and hot, making her the tiniest bit thankful for her situation at home. She might not have working AC, but at least the air was clean. She’d have to breathe through her mouth for the remainder of the night. The floor grabbed the soles of her heels like bubblegum as she brushed past groups of people, who didn’t seem to notice or care about the filth surrounding them. The place reminded her of Chuck E. Cheese during summer break—lots of soiled kids and germs lurking everywhere.

  The party was in full swing, crowds bunched together, jumping and shaking to the music. Couples lined the dance floor, groping each other and kissing as if it was their last dying wish.

  She had to fight her way to an open seat at the bar. She peered over the crowd in search of her neighbor but came up empty. When she turned to the bar, she met eyes with a hunky fair-eyed bartender.

  He nodded his greeting, sliding a martini glass with blue liquid toward her.

  “Oh,” she said, surprised, “I haven’t ordered yet.”

  The bartender offered a sweet smile. “It’s on za house.”

  “Well, that’s nice.” She allowed him to push the glass in front of her. The free drinks were probably a way to make up for the lacking decor. She fingered the stem of the glass as she scanned the room again.

  Lovers at the bar.

  Lovers in the shadows.

  Lovers on the dance floor.

  The man next to her had his hand so far up his lady’s leg it was hard to tell if she was a woman or a puppet.

  Is everyone making out? What kind of club is this? And where is John Black?

  She turned to the bartender who had given her the complimentary drink. “Must be something in the drinks, huh?” She nodded her head toward the man and his puppet.

  The bartender chuckled with a wicked hint. “Ya.” He bobbed his head toward the full glass in front of her. “You drink.”

  She lifted the glass to her mouth, smelling the inviting aroma of fruit and liquor, before remembering her reason for being at Club Hell.

  “Hey, Sven—can I call you Sven?” she asked through a convincing smile, setting the drink on the bar.

  He shook his head. “Hans.”

  “Okay, Hans. Is Viktor Heinrich around?”

  His smile dropped and his spine snapped to attention. A soldier preparing for battle.

  Interesting. His reaction gave her the answer she wanted. If Heinrich wasn’t here tonight, he was definitely involved in the club.

  She leaned forward and rested her forearm on top of the bar. “I’m an old friend. We go way back. I just want to pop in and say hi. See how he’s doing.”

  Hans didn’t blink once while she spoke, his stare so intense it was as if he peered down into her soul and pulled out the lie she’d just fed him.

  Then after a moment, his eyes cleared and he blinked. “Don’t know Viktor.”

  Her fist rested under her chin. “Hmm, you sure? I could have sworn he told me he owned this place.”

  Hans’s eyes betrayed him for a brief second, flitting to the back left corner of the club, before he recovered and gave her a slight shake of his head. Then he turned to the bartender standing next to him—a bit too close, in Sam’s opinion—and whispered something. The second bartender, who could have been Hans’s twin brother based on looks and size, turned and gave her the same evaluating gaze. Both men’s lips curled into snarls.

  Sam may not be a cop, but she had instincts, and at that moment, they were on full alert.

  She shot from her chair, a nervous chill running through her. Leaving the free drink behind, she pushed her way past the people making out and crossed the dance floor.

  “Hey!” one person shouted, spraying saliva. “Watch it!”

  “What the—” came another.

  Sweat-drenched appendages slid across her skin as she moved farther through the crowd to the back of the club. Gross. She swiped her slick arms on her tank top to be rid of the nasty sweat.

 
In the back corner, she spotted a door covered in shadow. That must have been where Hans glanced. Was it Viktor Heinrich’s office? Was he in there? Was he alone?

  Only one way to find out.

  She looked behind her. Her legs wobbled and threatened to give out. This was the moment she’d been waiting for. She unzipped the top of her handbag and reached for the can of homemade pepper spray. It contained Maybel’s extra-special recipe. The woman had learned a hell of a lot more than just peacekeeping tactics during her time with the CIA.

  “C’mon, Viktor,” Sam said, her lip curling. “Just show me your miserable face.” She hoped the pepper spray would disable him enough for her to interrogate him. She hadn’t had enough time to come up with a rock-solid plan. She’d had to seize the moment. But no matter what, she’d find out once and for all what happened to her father. She had to. By any means necessary.

  Two more steps and she was there.

  With her free hand, she reached for the door handle.

  Her heart hammered against her ribcage. Finally! She was finally going to meet Viktor Heinrich face to face. She couldn’t suppress the giddy anticipation bubbling inside of her.

  Commotion exploded to her right. Screams erupted.

  She turned.

  The overgrown bartenders huddled around a body almost matching in size to theirs, manhandling him, five against one.

  Three women stood to the side, in short dresses of black, blue, and purple. They turned their heads long enough for Sam to notice their eyes.

  Red and black.

  Vamps.

  The man flailed his arms, screaming at the bartenders, “How did you do it? Tell me, damn it! How did you fucking do it?”

  Sam searched the room in a frenzy. No one around her seemed to notice or care about the fight. Everyone went about their business, groping one another.

  Then her heart caught in her throat. She lost her ability to breathe when she realized every eye in the club looking her way was red and black.

  Oh God.

  No. No. No. This couldn’t be happening. Not when she was so close to busting Viktor Heinrich.

  One bartender held the large man’s arms behind his back, but he still managed to kick two of Hans’ twin brothers in the face. The captive man fought to free himself of the tight muscle-bound hold, twisting and writhing, when Sam caught a glimpse of his face.

  John Black.

  No! Her knees were definitely going to give out. Blood rushed to her head. She blinked rapidly to keep herself from fainting.

  Another bartender pushed his comrades out of the way and punched John in the face. Sam gasped as blood spewed from his mouth, trailing down his chin and neck. He spit a red patch back at the men in front of him and smirked.

  The man John kicked in the face recovered, eyes glowing in fury, shouting something Sam didn’t catch. It sounded foreign. German?

  The bartenders surrounding John snapped to attention as Hans had done when she asked him about Heinrich, and they hauled him toward a back door in the opposite corner of the club.

  No. No. No!

  Her gaze darted from the office door to John. John to the office door.

  Do the right thing and try to save John, who apparently couldn’t save himself? Or stay and get her long-awaited revenge?

  As she contemplated, the seconds ticked by in her brain like resounding gongs. She’d waited for this moment and now it was within her grasp. Could she let it slip away with the probability it may never present itself again?

  Her knuckles screamed in protest as her grip tightened on the door handle, the other on the can of pepper spray.

  Who was John Black to her anyway? Only her neighbor. No one special to her. She didn’t have an obligation to him like she did to Rose, Estelle, Maybel, or Celia. Had one of them been in trouble, Sam would have flown over the crowd and pummeled each and every one of those German brutes.

  She turned toward her neighbor, nibbling on her bottom lip.

  If he was being beat to a pulp and forcibly removed from the club, she could bet he wasn’t partners with Heinrich. He couldn’t be. Plus, he’d saved her when she’d been attacked by that vamp. She owed him.

  Another quick glance at the office door and then at John. Her grip relaxed on the door handle. “You better be worth it!”

  Pepper spray still in hand, Sam ran as fast as her legs would carry her, ignoring the looks and shouts of the other patrons as she knocked them out of her way.

  Within range of the scuffle, and running on pure adrenaline, Sam shot two of the burly men in the back of the neck with the spray.

  They squealed and twisted in agony, hunching over. The skin on their necks began to peel away, leaving deep, irritated welts. Blood oozed onto their shirt collars. What had once been crisp, white cotton was now drenched with dark, scarlet stains.

  Noticing their brothers wounded, two more broke away from the pack, headed in her direction.

  John screamed, “No! What are you doing? Get out of here!”

  Yeah right.

  Once the two men were close enough, she sprayed their faces as if she held a can of Aqua-Net and was determined to destroy the Ozone layer in one shot. They fell to their knees screaming, gouging at their closed eyes, which started dripping with blood.

  With eyes wide and mouth open, John glanced at the bleeding bartenders and then at Sam.

  Surrounding vamps convulsed and their eyes darkened.

  Out of nowhere, three more Germans came after her. John was still being forced toward the exit.

  “Get back here!” she screamed.

  “Go!” John shouted back, still flailing and shifting. “Run, goddamn it! Run!”

  Vamps closed in on her, their teeth gleaming like feral beasts, a frantic thirst on their face. Even if they weren’t actual vampires, if they couldn’t get a drink from the bar, she was sure they’d be fine with a drink from her neck. They appeared that desperate.

  Withdrawal. They must be going through withdrawal. Just like the perp who held her at gunpoint. She’d escaped that scenario. But a group of them? There was no way she’d survive.

  Step by step, at an agonizingly slow pace, the giant men and dark-eyed monsters drew closer, ready to swallow her whole in the dark heart of the circle.

  She had to do something or she wouldn’t live to see Viktor Heinrich brought to justice. She’d never know what her neighbor’s involvement was. Her father would forever be considered a traitor. And, she’d never hug Grandma Rose or laugh with the 19th Street Patrol gals again.

  Thoughts of her grandmother whirled through her mind as the darkness closed in around her.

  Chapter Ten

  Sam squeezed her eyes shut and scattered the remaining pepper spray in the direction of anything that moved. Screams pierced her eardrums, but she kept her finger locked on the trigger.

  When the can sputtered, she chucked it at one of the incoming bartenders. It bounced off his forehead as he advanced.

  “Run!” John screamed again. “Now! Get out of here!” He was almost to the door.

  Did he really think screaming the same thing over and over would make her listen? She was committed to the situation now. There was no backing down.

  If they made it outside, who knew what would happen. She had to save him.

  Another circle of Hanses and vamps closed in around her. Sweltering body heat stifled the air, smothering her, robbing not only her breath, but her courage, too.

  “Leave her alone!” John strained against the powerful hold. He sounded like a wild man about to draw his last breath. “Over here! Come get me you sons a bitches!”

  John wiggled one arm free, managing to elbow a Hans in the face; blood spurted from the man’s mouth before his comrade restrained John’s arm. Bloody-nosed Hans gave John a four-knuckle shot of his own. Sam winced and cried out as John doubled over.

  Sweaty hands clawed at her body, pawing along her skin as she tried to squirm away.

  Like possessed zombies vying for a tast
e of her, the monsters huddled into the circle, reaching, angry, and hungry.

  Keep moving. Come on, Sam! Keep moving!

  Sinking to her hands and knees, she opened her purse in search of her next homemade weapon. An iron-clad grip yanked at her hair, pulling the follicles from the roots. A wail tore from her lungs, but she continued to rummage inside her purse, pushing away the piercing pain in her head and neck.

  Where are they?

  A strong arm reached around her neck and tightened like a rattlesnake strangling its prey.

  “No!” As she’d been taught in self-defense class, she dipped her chin and bit down hard on the forearm. A howl cut through the room as the arm yanked back. She tasted salt, but not metal. Thank God. She wanted to hurt the person, not draw blood into her mouth.

  Another grabbed her, forcing her to her feet. She wasn’t giving in. Blindly throwing a right hook, she connected with the bartender in front of her. His head snapped to the side and he stumbled backward, finally allowing her to locate what she was looking for in her purse.

  Earplugs.

  She shoved one in and then the other as she watched John being propelled through the back door. The look of desperation and fury on his face was almost enough to crush her will.

  The door slammed closed behind him.

  While arms reached and voices screamed at her, she yanked the air horn out of her purse and let it howl.

  Everyone but Sam doubled over, grabbing their ears and screaming at the slicing sound.

  She inhaled a deep breath, starving for the oxygen left in the wake of the dissipating bodies. One by one they fell like dominoes.

  It was as if she was the only person in the room—a statue standing among an ocean of bodies lying flat and lifeless on the ground.

  The man who had received her right fist removed his hands from his ears to see his palms covered in his own blood. Dark red clumps dripped onto the floor. Other vamps ceased moving all together, stretched out on their backs, barely breathing as their bodies convulsed and blood ran from their ears onto the filthy cement.

  She kicked off her strappy heels and ran toward the back door. Lightheaded, she leaped over bodies. Adrenaline on high alert, her heart pumped blood to her brain in rapid amounts. She was sure her heart was going to burst out of her ribcage at any moment. She was like a ticking time bomb.