Animalistic (Tiger in Her Bed)

She shuddered inwardly. What was up with that? Her creep o’ meter hit an all-time high. “Next time, tell him to make an appointment if he wants to see me,” she said, mustering every last ounce of her bravado to sound tough.

This time the driver glared at her and her wit instantly evaporated. The man looked scary to boot. She wasn’t a defense attorney so she didn’t know how to interact with colorful individuals.

They drove for a short time before they finally pulled into a dark alley. Her kidnappers herded her into the back door of a building that turned out to be a gentlemen’s club. There was a stage with poles. Two cages hung from the ceiling. Oversized LCD screens mounted on the walls. The gaudy place was deserted; not a customer was in sight. As they walked further in, a surly bartender who wiped down the counter eyed her with suspicion.

“Where’s Rob?” asked the driver.

The bartender gestured with his chin.

The kidnappers pushed her into a dressing room. When a burly man resembling a Rottweiler came to her, she suddenly understood where she was now; Darbo’s club where she first tried to serve him.

“You again?” she said to him dismally.

He motioned for her to sit on a chair.

When she didn’t do it, the driver grabbed her shoulders and pushed her to sit down.

“Don’t touch me,” she snarled. “I don’t know where your hands have been.”

The other door in the dressing room opened and a man with a squirrelly face flounced in. Frank Darbo was as unpleasant as she remembered. A woman with a skimpy outfit followed him, looking terminally bored.

“Ah, the lawyer gal.” Darbo pointed at her with the cigar in his hand. The acrid smoke from it added an even more unpleasant smell to the room. “You caused me so much trouble.”

“What do you want? Are you going to kill me?”

“Kill you?” Darbo laughed boisterously. “That’d be too easy. If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already.” He grabbed a chair and sat on it. “Despite how I look, I always play fair.”

“Is that so?” Arielle gave him a dirty look. “If you always play fair, our client wouldn’t have sued you in the first place. She got injured while working in your club.”

“Bitch was clumsy; ain’t my fault. But you—you caused me lotsa grief. You humiliated me in front of my esteemed colleagues.”

“Is this about you getting beaten up by John Alexander?” she asked. “Weren’t you the one who threw the first punch? Why are you taking this out on me?”

“Because of you, I was humiliated, and I don’t take that kind of embarrassment lightly. So in return, I will give you a taste of your own medicine.”

“What do you mean?”

Darbo only laughed. “You’re gonna dance on that stage and we’re gonna take a few pictures. For your boss and her clients. Maybe we leak a few on the internet. And we’ll see after that if you still have a career in law.”

“Over my dead body.”

Darbo leered with a toothy smile. “That can also be arranged.” He snapped his fingers and the two men who kidnapped her held her to the chair. The Rottweiler produced a syringe from his jacket pocket.

A new terror washed over her. “What is that? Let me go!”

“It’s something to make you relax. Don’t worry, you’re gonna feel good and cooperative.” Darbo signaled his bodyguard.

“No!” She watched helplessly as the Rottweiler secured her arm and stuck the needle into her vein. The effect was immediate. Her head was light and bubbly. Her eyelids were heavy. She felt as if she was floating among the clouds…

Chapter Eleven

John arrived at Quinn’s apartment while Vanessa was working her magic, tracing Arielle’s call to Trent’s cell phone. Trent rushed over to Quinn’s place after he told the alpha his problem. Quinn then woke Vanessa for help. She was a genius with computers and had a connection with some hacker group. By the time Trent arrived at Quinn’s place, Vanessa was already hard at work behind the computer screen, talking with her hacker friends via the deep web. Ten minutes later, John showed up. Quinn had also called him over.

“What happened? Aren’t you supposed to be having sex right now?” John said with a laugh.

Trent growled, almost losing it. He wasn’t in the mood for jokes. He was worried sick. Knowing that Arielle was in danger, he couldn’t think rationally. His actions were driven by pure instinct. Years of experience as an intelligence officer in the Air Force, where he was conditioned and trained to act calmly with full composure in difficult situations, all went down the drain in an instant. His alter beast raged inside him, demanding immediate action. His patience was wearing thin with every second that ticked by.

“Stop goading him. You’re not helping,” Quinn chastised John.