Stephanie’s dead green eyes stared at him.
He shook his head as Rachel opened her mouth to scream. He covered her mouth with his hand. “I don’t want to do this, please, help me, I need you!” His heart raced and he grabbed her dress, pulling it down to see her breasts. One popped free and he bit into it, her taste exotic.
She kneed him in the balls and he went down on his knees, rage building that she would
Rachel ran to the door, shouting, but the walls were thick. No one heard her over the deafening music. She fumbled with the doorknob. He’d locked the door. It gave him time to grab her.
She spun away from his grasp.
She stumbled toward the back door, the employee entrance. Pushed it open.
Kent chased after her, caught her in the alley, and pushed her against the wall with such violence that she lost her balance and fell to the ground.
“Please don’t, Mr. Galion, don’t-”
He didn’t hear her pleas. He didn’t smell the garbage from the bin, or see the graffiti staining the dark brick walls.
All he saw was this female, his prize, his satisfaction. After he unzipped his pants, he reached down and ripped off her dress, taking satisfaction in the sound of the fabric tearing.
She fought back, but he didn’t feel the scratches on his face or the dampness of her tears or the sticky blood on the side of her face where he’d slammed her into the wall. All he felt was a driving urge to screw the blonde, shutting out the last whisper of his conscience that told him to let her go.
“You’re mine,” he growled, twisting her arm so hard it snapped.
Detective Grant Nelson was nursing his first beer of the night, enjoying the alternative music as well as the attractive women. He’d gotten off duty two hours ago, gone home, showered and changed, and headed straight to Velocity for some much-needed R amp;R as he began his weekend off. His hair still felt damp on the back of his neck. He hadn’t bothered shaving, and suspected that’s why he was getting so many sideways glances from girls too young for him. His stubble, darker than his light brown hair, made him look dangerous, and for some reason the twenty-somethings liked hard-edged cops.
Julie Schroeder, the club’s assistant manager-who was also his ex-girlfriend-made her way through the crowded floor of the popular, neon-lit club until she reached him. They’d broken up months ago, but Grant maintained a cordial relationship with all his ex-girlfriends, and he and Julie still got together on occasion. Truth be told, he had a hard time staying away from her, though they both knew that together they were a lethal combination.
“Julie.” He leaned close to her ear so she could hear him, touching the small of her back just firmly enough that she’d know he’d come here alone-and hoped not to leave alone. “How you doing?”
“We have some trouble in the back,” she said.
He put his beer down and slid off the stool. He glanced around as he followed Julie through the club, but didn’t spot any other cops in the room. But that wasn’t surprising; Velocity wasn’t a blue bar. That’s why Grant liked it-to keep his work separate from his fun.
Except when there was trouble. Now he sure wouldn’t mind some backup.
Julie said, “One of my staff complained earlier this week that Kent Galion was making inappropriate overtures, and I told her to take the rest of the night off and I’d talk to him. I was sure it was all a misunderstanding, but last night a different waitress made the same complaint. I tried talking to him after that, but he wasn’t paying attention. Acted distracted. Then I saw him follow Rachel back to the break room. Now the door’s locked.”
“Normally I wouldn’t be worried, he’s generally a nice guy, but there were three complaints, and then Ike said he wasn’t acting like himself tonight. Thought he might be sick or something.”
“Three complaints?”
“Stephanie said he’d propositioned her Monday night. On Wednesday she left early; I told her to get her head on straight. I feel bad, but Kent? She hasn’t come back, missed her shift tonight. I probably pissed her off.”
Grant tried the door. “Key?”
“I tried. Something’s blocking the door.”
“Call nine-one-one. Get Ike and try to get in this way. I’m going to grab Reggie and go around the alley.”
Grant ran back through the club and tagged the bouncer, appreciating the 300-pound, six feet three inches of solid black muscle for backup. “There’s trouble in the alley,” he said in a low voice. Reggie didn’t question, just followed.
They sprinted down the alley, Grant in the lead. Hearing a woman scream, he picked up speed.
In the cone of light under the security lights above the employee entrance, he saw Kent yank a woman back behind a dumpster and backhand her. He didn’t have time to think about why Kent Galion, a man he’d known socially for years, was attacking a woman. It made no sense-drugs? Alcohol? Likely both, but he’d never seen Kent drink, let alone do drugs.
Grant shouted, “Freeze! Police! Freeze, Galion!”
Kent didn’t hear him, and instantly Grant thought PCP. Kent’s pants were down around his ankles and he held Rachel tightly to him. A completely fucked situation. But Grant had to get the girl to safety. He didn’t see a weapon in Kent’s hands, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a small knife or gun.
“Kent!” Grant shouted.
Kent turned to him, eyes wild and sweat beading on his brow, his expression not unlike that of a trapped animal-odd, considering he was the predator and the waitress was the prey.
Grant rushed and tackled Kent as if he were back playing college football, slamming the bastard onto the rough concrete alleyway. They rolled, and Grant winced as his shoulder twisted beneath him, but he didn’t let Kent up. He maneuvered on top and took advantage of Kent’s vulnerable position of wearing no pants to slam a knee into the asshole’s groin and hold it there. “You fucking pervert,” Grant growled at him. “What were you thinking?”
He didn’t have his handcuffs on him, but he rolled Kent onto his stomach and stood, pulling his gun and pointing it at Galion’s head. “Don’t move.”
He glanced over his shoulder. Reggie had taken off his T-shirt and put it on the half-nude waitress, his beefy arm around her. “Rachel?” Grant said. “You okay?”
She was bleeding from a head wound and pale as a ghost, eyes wide, her entire body shaking while she cradled her broken arm. In shock or close to it.
“You got him?” Reggie asked.
“Keep her warm,” Grant told Reggie as he turned his attention back to Kent Galion.
Galion wasn’t moving. Shit, shit,
“Officer Nelson?” Reggie said.
Grant ignored the bouncer and squatted next to Galion, feeling for a pulse with one hand, his entire body tense. At first he couldn’t feel anything, then realized that the pulse was so rapid he couldn’t count individual beats. Kent was hot as a furnace.
“Dammit, Kent, what shit are you on?” he muttered.
Julie and Ike came out through the back door. “A table blocked the-” Ike saw Galion on the ground. “My God, what happened?”
“What was he drinking?” Drugs and alcohol were a piss-poor combination.
“Club soda.”
