Wicked Games (McCade Brothers 1.50)

“Kylie told us about the creepy letter,” Ginger said. “Do you think a guy who gets his rocks off putting a bunch of threats on paper would actually show up tonight and make trouble?”

“It’s possible,” Trevor replied. “This person might feel the need to witness firsthand what kind of reaction his letter caused, or he might want some kind of acknowledgement.”

“We’ll help look for her,” Lee Ann offered. She gestured to Ginger. “We’ll go back and check the restroom.”

“You have a phone?” Ian asked.

Lee Ann nodded and pulled hers out of her white cowboy boot. “Always, sugar.”

He nodded, waited while Trevor took her number, and sent them both a text. He replied and looked at Lee Ann. “Got it?”

“Got it,” she confirmed.

“Okay.” Turning to Trevor and Kylie, he said, “I’ll go this way. You two take the middle. We’ll all meet back here. Text if you find her.”

Ginger squeezed his arm, and then she and Lee Ann were gone. Trevor took Kylie’s hand and pulled her away. She trailed behind, craning her neck to give him an anxious look before the crowd swallowed her up. He took a deep breath and plunged into the fray.

Chapter Seven

Stacy pushed her way through a jungle of humanity. Her head wasn’t liking the whole vertical thing too much anymore, and her stomach wanted her to rethink the three drinks, but she kept moving.

The bone-jarring beat of the music made her head pound. The flashing lights assaulted her eyes. She swallowed hard and put her chin to her chest.

God, she felt awful. Her mind tossed out a fantasy of Ian coming up behind her, scooping her into his arms, and carrying her out into the blissfully cool, head-clearing air. He’d put her down and take her hand. Then he’d tell her he didn’t give a rat’s ass about her past, he only cared about her future…and he’d ask her to marry him and share it with him. She’d wrap her arms around his neck, bury her face against his chest, and tell him she loved him. She’d always loved him, and, for her, there would never be anyone else. He’d drive her home, tuck her into his bed, and hold her close for the rest of the night, and the next night…and the rest of their lives.

Let go of the grand-gesture fantasy. It’s not gonna happen. Fate didn’t arrange happy-ever-after endings for girls like her, and she couldn’t let herself believe differently just because

he’d shown up tonight. She had her Worst Nightmare to thank for that. Were it not for the threat, he’d clearly been prepared to do precisely what she’d asked him to do—leave her alone. Once he realized she’d eliminated the threat with her preemptive strike, Ian could go back to leaving her alone.

The already impossible-to-navigate interior of the club blurred behind a stinging sheen of tears. She squeezed her eyes shut and gave up fighting her way through the crowd like a salmon swimming upstream. Instead, she let the momentum of the people around her carry her in whatever direction prevailed. Go with the flow for a minute, get yourself together.

A sharp pain slashed across her left side. “Ow!” She sucked in a breath and turned, ready to tell the gladiator standing beside her to watch it with the sword, but before she could open her mouth, something cold and hard pressed into her spine. At the same time, a low, harsh voice whispered, “Keep walking.”

“What?” She tried to turn the other way now, but the unyielding rod dug into her back and the voice said, “That’s a gun, and I’m your worst nightmare. Unless you want me to blow a hole through you right now, don’t turn around. Don’t make a sound. Keep your mouth shut and walk.”

My worst nightmare? Her heart froze, her lungs stopped working, and she completely forgot about the pain in her side. A gun? All three drinks in her stomach immediately reversed course. She bent forward and threw up, while little gray dots swam at the edges of her vision. She would have gone down completely, but her assailant grabbed her hair and pulled her head up. Hard.

“I said walk!” The gun stabbed into the center of her back and sent another spear of agony along her side. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, but managed to stay on her feet.

Her side was killing her, but if she refused to take another step, the maniac behind her could shoot her down in the middle of Deuces and disappear in the ensuing chaos. The chances of surviving a bullet fired point-blank into her spine didn’t sound good.

She looked right, then left, without turning her head, hoping to catch a glimpse of Kylie, or Trevor, Ginger, Vern…anyone who would recognize she was in trouble. She couldn’t find a soul.

The flashing lights and constant movement of the crowd worked against her. Nobody in the tightly packed club could tell there was a gun-wielding, crazy nut on her ass. Even if someone came up from behind, her stupid wings covered the gun.

Could she reach out and grab on to some of the people around her, and try to get their help? Sure, but unless they also had guns, incredible instincts, and some awfully quick reflexes, the psychopath behind her would simply shoot several people instead of just one. She couldn’t let that happen. Too bad she’d left one of the only people who had the kind of instincts and reflexes she needed sitting half-naked in the VIP room.

A rough hand shoved her in the direction of the door leading backstage. Stacy resisted. Normally the backstage area bustled with activity. But tonight, with the party out front and no performances scheduled, the narrow hallway would be a dead zone. No performers, no techs, no runners…no help. Nothing. She liked her odds better right here in the main part of the club.

Resistance earned her another jab with the pistol, which sent more pain ricocheting along her side.

“Go through the damn door, or I’ll put a hole in you,” came the cold, hollow voice again.

Stacy’s sweaty palm slipped off the knob on the first attempt. She got another grip and tried again. “I can’t. It’s locked.”

She jumped and gasped when a booted foot shot past her and connected with the door, just above the knob. The flimsy lock popped and the door swung in. “I’ve got the key,” her captor taunted, and shoved her into the hallway.

She realized the voice belonged to a woman. The knowledge sent her fear skyrocketing. Something told her Worst Nightmare wasn’t an obsessive admirer trying to save her from the evils of Hollywood, or a member of the morality police, determined to punish her for her immodest past. No, this was personal. Had she slept with the woman’s boyfriend? Stripped for her husband? Maybe he sat on the couch every Thursday night and ignored her while he watched Vegas Vixens? She honestly didn’t have a clue—didn’t even know who the crazy bitch was—but it hit her with sudden certainty that one of her choices, somewhere along the line, was about to come back and bite her in a big way…a big, deadly way.