Rogue's Passion(7)

“Yeah, I thought we were leaving together,” Cindy chimed in.
“I’m sorry, ladies.” And he really did feel bad. He didn’t like to lead women on. He was a man of his word in and out of the bedroom. For a brief moment, he considered taking them to the dark hallway near the restrooms that he’d spotted earlier. Ten, fifteen minutes tops was all he’d need to satisfy the two of them as well as himself. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d made two women come simultaneously.
There was Conry, wagging his tail again. What was going on?
He stood up. “Another time, ladies. I’ll be here tomorrow night.”
A moment later, he was extracting himself from the booth and making his way through the crowd. Once outside, he took a deep breath. The night air was cool and damp, holding a hint of rain. Compared to the stuffy atmosphere inside, it was invigorating. Instead of whistling to Conry like he normally did, he started across the street, checking out his surroundings as he went.
Movement near the front of the club drew his attention. A dark figure darted from the shadows and crouched near a parked car. Given the way he carried himself, Asher knew he was military.
Shit. Had someone tipped them off? If he were recognized as a warrior of the Iron Guild, they’d come after him, and if captured, he’d meet the same fate as Fallon.
He scanned the streets. Just a few groups of late-night partygoers laughing and staggering down the sidewalks on both sides of the road. There weren’t any Night Patrol units either, which was a little unusual for this part of town. Usually they were everywhere.
The man near the parked car didn’t seem to have noticed him, so Asher crept along the far side of the street to get a closer look. The guy was shrugging a backpack from his shoulders. Unease prickled down Asher’s spine, making the little hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
The guy huddled over the pack for a moment, then turned and ran.
“Holy Fates,” Asher hissed, as the realization hit him.
He ran, his arms and legs pumping.
He flew through the air as the front of the club exploded.
 
    







 
    Dark and Deadly: Eight Bad Boys of Paranormal Romance by Jennifer Ashley, Alyssa Day, Felicity Heaton, Erin Kellison, Laurie London, Erin Quinn, Bonnie Vanak and Caris Roane
    
 


 
CHAPTER 3
Down in the wine cellar of the Grape and Bean, Olivia struggled to get her bearings straight.
The wooden ladder she’d used to reach the top shelf now lay at an awkward angle over one of the standup tables. Dozens of bottles had fallen from their slots and shattered on the floor. Broken glass and red wine was everywhere. One tall rack that obviously hadn’t been bolted to the wall had tipped over, taking with it several boxes of unopened Reidel wine glasses. The overhead pendant lights were swinging precariously, casting grotesque shadows on the stone walls.
The sound had been deafening. Like a Metro comm-train crashing into the building, only the nearest line was more than a mile away. It had to have been an earthquake. Though she’d only been five years old when the Big One hit, this had to be right up there. She’d done a report in school once about a man pinned under the rubble for almost a week. Recalling the photo on the book cover showing the twisted stairwell that had been his home, she prayed she’d be able to get up the narrow flight of stairs to the tasting room.
“Marco,” she called out, gingerly stepping over a case of wine that now sat between her and the door. “Are you okay?”
She pushed the handle. It didn’t budge. Panic bloomed in her chest, making it hard to breathe. She sucked in a few raspy gulps of air as blood pounded loudly behind her eardrums. The room suddenly shrank to half its size. Claustrophobic. Had something fallen in front of the door on the other side, blocking her in?
“Calm down,” she said aloud. “A freak-out isn’t going to help.” She tried the door again. It still didn’t move. She pounded for a good five or ten minutes, pausing only to yell for Marco. Her fist hurt. Her voice became hoarse. Each time she stopped, she held her breath, waiting for an answer, but all she could hear was the far-off sound of sirens. Damn these stone walls.
Using her shoulder, she pushed with all her strength, but nothing happened.
Where was he? Where was that couple celebrating their anniversary?
If only she had her cell phone, but it was in the back office.
Hitching up her skirt, she planned to kick at the door with the heel of her cowboy boot, but right before she did, she noticed the frame had shifted near the bottom. Maybe that’s what was jamming the door.
She searched the room for something to use as a crowbar and spotted one of the wrought-iron chairs. Perfect. That just might work. She grabbed the closest one—damn, it was heavy—and shoved the flat metal foot against the frame, trying to wedge it into the crack between the jamb and the door. Now, if she could get the angle right. Using the seat as a lever, she wrenched with all her strength. Not expecting it to work, she was shocked when the wood suddenly gave way. She lost her balance and nearly fell to the floor.