THE HUNT

CHAPTER-TWENTY ONE

Wayne's club was an enterprise of a place where the local paranormal population came for drinks--blood, sex, and the occasional fight. And in this area of Dallas, the locals tended to be more werewolves. Which was probably why heads usually turned when vampires moved through the club's packed floor. Either that or Kate assumed, they were admiring Adam's good looks and his winning smile.

Murdock had ramped up the surveillance inside the club after Tony had been spotted.

"Do you see him?" Adam asked.

"Not yet," Kate said as she looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of the werewolf. After she'd seen Tony the other night. Kate had Wayne's security guy pull up the parking lot's footage. Tony had left with the same two vampires that tried to seduce her.

She heard the beep of Adam's phone and saw him step to the side to take the call as she continued to survey the room for Tony.

"Knew you were nothing more than an opportunistic bitch." The insult, in a heavy Texas slang, came from a scrawny guy nursing a beer at a nearby table.

She paused, then turned and looked him dead in the eyes. He didn't flinch, but his two buddies--who obviously had higher IQs--each scooted their chairs back.

"Did you say something to me?"

"Damn right, bitch." He stood, wobbling a little. "You're all warm and fuzzy with Wayne. Then you let those filthy, fang gangers pawn all over you. You're nothing but a gold-digging whore." He spat, and a glob of his spit landed right in front of her on top of the bar's countertop.

Her body tightened, fury rising. "If I was a gold digger," she said, "I wouldn't be at the bar working, I would be snuggled up to Wayne."

"Because he doesn't want a filthy whore." He took a wobbly step toward her. "But I don't care, I like my whore's filthy."

That was it. This asshole's crude insolence was starting to give her a headache. She leaped over the countertop of the bar and lashed out, her punch hitting him in the gut, and when he doubled over to gasp for air, she brought her knee up and nailed him in the balls.

He howled, started to fall, and she grabbed the back of his shirt, ready to toss the impudent bastard across the room--except another man had stepped up and was blocking her way.

Dammit.

Didn't people have manners anymore? The new dumb-ass in the fight had brought a toy, and he held his knife out toward her, his mouth cut into a grimace. "I'll enjoy this, whore."

"Sorry, ugly," she said, "But, I'm not a whore."

He laughed, and she swung around, keeping her hold on the first werewolf and using him as a battering ram to knock the second man back. He went tumbling, crashing into the tables and spilling pitchers of beer. The two men sitting there pushed their chairs back and stood as her second attacker slid on the now-slick floor and fell on his worthless ass.

Her first attacker decided then to get all dominant on her, and he came out of his cringe with a knife in his hand, his face still contorted in pain.

"Don't be foolish," she said. But he was. They always were.

He rushed her, and she moved, almost with supernatural speed, disarming him even as she circled behind him. His knife was now at his throat, and she pressed the blade firmly against his skin.

"You sharpened this blade lately? Do you think this blade would slice your throat if I flicked my wrist?"

He stiffened in her arms, but apparently, he'd gained a few IQ points, because he was smart enough not to say anything. She pushed the knife tighter--just enough to leave a thin line of blood rising--and then yanked it away as she shoved him forward. "Leave," she said. "Now."