“He stays at Micah’s most of the time.”
“You think he’s there now?”
“Probably.”
“Let’s go.” Stryker turned and began the long trek up the hall to the front.
Tristan fell in behind him. The waves of emotional pain pouring off him felt like sludge oozing out of the walls.
“We’ll get this over with as fast as possible, Tris,” he said, pushing open the door to the front. Comforting wasn’t his thing, but he did feel for Tristan. This had to be tough, especially since he already worried over his pregnant mate.
Bauer and Devon were already waiting, a wall of big, tough, and muscular. Hopefully Trace would come quietly. He didn’t want any confrontations, and he knew how bad-ass Trace was.
“Devon, you drive.” Stryker got in the back seat of the Suburban on the driver’s side as Tristan climbed in next to him. Bauer took the front.
Within minutes, they were at The Sentinel, where Micah lived. Stryker had heard Micah was moving back to his home in the burbs, but that he would be keeping the apartment, as well. With any luck, Micah was at the apartment tonight so they could get this shit done and over without a lot of wasted time to fill with awkward, uncomfortable silence.
“Official business,” Stryker told the security guard who looked up and frowned at what must have looked like a football team’s offensive line on the other side of his desk. Stryker liked to operate by the book and flashed his credentials and a very convincing badge. If the guard didn’t let him up, he would have to compel him, but he hoped he wouldn’t have to.
Thankfully, the guard got his drift and decided not to play hero. He waved them past. “Go on up.”
A couple of minutes later, they all stood outside Micah’s door on the eighteenth floor. Stryker rang the bell once then knocked.
After what felt like too long, Micah opened the door, a scowl on his face. Apparently, he had been poking through their thoughts from the other side of the door and didn’t like what he saw.
Micah was considered a young ancient, and he was extremely powerful, possessing an unusual ability to see inside the minds of everyone around him without even trying. Stryker didn’t know where the unusual ability came from, because as far as he knew, Micah didn’t have any mixed-bloods in his family tree. If he did, no one knew about them. Not even Micah.
Still, Micah was a natural-born leader. That much was evident by how he had changed since meeting Samantha. His gift of sight could make him a contender for the head of all AKM facilities, a role the king had left unfilled for decades since removing the last division head. In fact, if Micah’s first mate hadn’t been killed, sending him into a tailspin that had nearly destroyed him, he likely would have risen to the rank of AKM commander hundreds of years ago and would already be entrenched as the division head by now. Micah was highly intelligent, cunning, and now that he had Sam, he was unusually compassionate, which was a side of Micah Stryker had never seen before.
“What’s this shit about?” Micah said.
And he was just as blunt and raw as ever.
* * *
Micah glared at the entourage outside his door. They had come to arrest Trace because he had followed Tristan’s orders. How fucked up was that?
Tristan stepped forward. “Micah, just let us in. Don’t cause any more trouble than there already is.”
Trace appeared in the hall behind him. “What’s going on?”
Micah held his arm up toward Trace, not wanting him to come any closer. If Stryker, Devon, or Bauer made a move, shit would go down and create a bigger disaster than they already had. “Nothing, Trace. Just hang, okay?” He turned his attention back to Tristan. “He was following
your
orders.”
“I know,” Tristan said.
To Stryker’s credit, he hung back, letting him work things out with Tristan. Bauer and Devon stood on either side of Stryker, hands on their side arms, ready to go bodyguard at a second’s notice.
Sam came around the corner, stopping behind Trace, worry on her face. “Micah, what’s going on?”
“They’re here to arrest Trace.”
“Why?” She grabbed Trace’s arm and stepped closer to him. Micah could see concern raging in her mind and wished there was something he could do or say to calm her.
“Because he followed Tristan’s orders.” Micah threw an accusatory glance at Tristan.
“What?” Sam looked confused.
“Never mind,” Micah said. Then he looked between Tristan and Stryker. “If you arrest Trace, you have to arrest me, too. I knew about what was going on between Io and Miriam, and I helped.”
“But you didn’t actually break the law, Micah,” Stryker said. “Trace did when he altered the king’s guards’ memories.”
“At my order,” Tristan said, tossing a challenging look at Micah as if to point out that he was, in fact, owning up to his part in what had happened. “So, I’m under arrest, too, in a manner of speaking.”
“A manner of speaking?” Micah scoffed and stepped in front of Trace, blocking anyone from getting by. “I don’t see you shackled, Tristan.”
“No, but I’ll be reprimanded.”
“Yeah, and Trace will be arrested and put into containment. I can see what’s going down.” Micah tapped his temple.
“I know you can.” Tristan sighed. “But believe me, this isn’t easy for me, either.”
“Fuck you.” Micah glowered in disgust and looked down, jacking his hands up on his hips.
Micah had pulled Tristan’s ass out of the fire and saved his life more times than he could count back when Micah had been in charge of the King’s Army. Tristan had joined his and Malek’s company soon after Micah had become old enough to go into battle. In truth, it was Micah who should be in charge of the team now, not Tristan, but things had gotten fucked up after Katarina’s death, and Micah had found himself lucky to even be allowed to continue on in AKM for all the hell he had put the others through. Still, after saving Tristan so many times, couldn’t the guy return the favor and pull Trace’s ass out of the sling just this once?
“Fuck!” Micah pounded the side of his fist against the wall. There was nothing anyone could do. He couldn’t fix this without causing even more trouble for everybody.
“I’m sorry, Micah, but we have to take him in.” Stryker looked over Micah’s shoulder and addressed Traceon. “Trace, I need you to come with us.”
Trace looked from Micah to Stryker, then back to Micah.
“I’m going with you,” Micah told him, holding his gaze in a solemn, silent oath. “If they take you, they take me.”
Trace looked at Sam, who immediately protested as she reached for Micah with one hand while keeping hold of Trace with the other.
“I’m sorry, Sam,” Trace said. “It’s my fault.”
“No, Trace. You put a lid on that shit right now. This is not your fault. You were only following orders, and as far as my going with you? It’s my choice. I won’t let you go without me. You got that?” He wrapped his arms around Sam and kissed her forehead. “We’ll be fine, babe. I’ll take good care of him.”
Stryker stepped forward to bind Trace. Sam winced and looked away.
“I’ve got him.” Micah took over and swiped the binders from Stryker without asking, and then turned toward Trace, whose hard, pale eyes lifted without emotion to his.
As soon as their gazes met, an unspoken submission passed from Trace to him, making Micah’s inner dom stand up and take notice.
Ever since the night he and Sam had seen Trace at the BDSM party, and Micah had been invited by Trace’s domme, Mistress Diamond, to join her in working Trace over, Micah had exercised a measure of his dom prowess over Trace. Simple shit, such as making Trace sit on the floor next to him like a dog or cuffing his hands behind his back and forcing him to watch Micah make love to Sam or even to watch him work Sam over in his dungeon. But Trace had yet to give himself completely to Micah, and Micah hadn’t pushed, despite wanting to take Diamond’s place as Trace’s full-time—and only—master. Micah could only do so much with Sam, but Trace was a treasure trove of dom-worthy submissive that Micah wanted to sink his teeth—or rather his whip—into.
But with one look, right now, this very moment, Trace told Micah he wanted the exact same thing. So, why hadn’t Trace taken that step with him? Why hadn’t he asked Micah to give him exactly what it seemed he wanted? If only he could see inside Trace’s thoughts the way he could everyone else’s, finding answers wouldn’t be so damn hard.
His brow furrowed as he eyed Trace and stepped forward, the binders held out in front of him. “Trace?” His tone was clear. They
would
discuss this as soon as they had the chance.
A flicker of understanding echoed through Trace’s eyes, but he refused to look away.
Bad little submissive.
“Micah.” He slowly raised his arms in front of him, his hands in loose fists, palms up. He looked almost eager. “Cuff me, Micah.” Trace nudged his joined arms forward. “Bind my wrists.”
Micah heard the excited thoughts racing through Sam’s mind. He had talked to her at length about wanting to dom Trace, and she had made it clear that the idea turned her on, even though she felt like a freak for admitting such a thing. As she watched Micah lift the binders to Trace’s outstretched wrists, she instinctively knew what was happening between them, and her thoughts tittered excitedly, even if the circumstances were less than agreeable.
Micah glanced from Sam back down to Trace’s wrists and wrapped the plastic binder strip around them, then pulled the end through as the plastic zipped over itself, the loop tightening. When he finished, Trace kept his hands extended and pushed them into the air.
“What?” Micah said.
“Too loose.” Trace pushed his hands toward him again.
Micah’s eyes narrowed. So Trace wanted to get things started right now, did he? He grabbed the end of the pull strip then licked his lips before yanking the cuff tighter. “You dare question me, slave?” He spoke quietly, leaning toward Trace, who dropped his gaze to the floor almost shamefully.
Sam’s mind ran rampant with cautious excitement, but the minds of Stryker, Tristan, and the others shifted uncomfortably. They could tell something else was going on between Micah and Trace, but weren’t sure what. Micah was picking up a lot of
What the fuck?
from them.
He tightened the binding further, causing Trace to grunt and wince then let out a sigh that sounded more like relief than suffering as he lowered his wrists. “No.” He paused. “Master.”
Ah, so there it was—what Micah had wanted to hear.
Stryker cleared his throat as if he were interrupting two lovers saying goodbye. “Okay, let’s go.” He kept his gaze down but urged them toward the door.
Micah and Trace exchanged glances one last time then Micah turned and kissed Sam.
“We’ll be back soon, babe.”
Her eyes sparkled knowingly. Micah had a new toy to play with, which meant she did, too. And no matter what happened with Trace’s arrest, they both knew that this was what they had been waiting for.
Apostle had just finished reviewing his plan with Chez and Jarek when a knock came on his hotel room door. With just a thought, he morphed back from his blue-skinned dreck form to the human form Bishop had assigned to him. The itching began instantly and he tugged the T-shirt he’d changed into away from his body as he pushed away from the round table where he, Chez, and Jarek had been going over details.
“This is probably Bishop’s lackey,” he said.
Chez and Jarek looked on with interest as he approached the door, apparently curious what kind of vampire Bishop would have in his employ.
When Apostle opened the door, an unremarkable vampire holding a plastic case bowed his head at him.
“I’m Jessup. Bishop sent me.” Jessup didn’t wait for an invitation into the room, walking in straight away.
Something was off with Jessup. He seemed too docile, too calm, as if he had been trained not to disobey.
Probably one of Bishop’s experimental subjects.
Apostle wondered if Jessup had been subjected to the scorpion torture test, too. He could see how a weaker-minded vampire could be tamed or brainwashed with such torture.
“What’ve you got there?” Apostle shut the door and shifted back to blue, nodding at the case Jessup still held.
“It’s a collection kit. I was told we were retrieving blood from a vampire?”
“Yes, we will be. We’re waiting for her to contact us. When she does, you’ll go to room nine-oh-nine and join our associates to wait for her. I assume Bishop provided you with something to knock her out.”
“Yes.”
“Can I have it?”
Jessup set the case on the bed, popped open the latches, and pushed back the top. The inside was lined with foam and several empty vials were situated in pre-shaped spaces, along with two syringes and a tiny bottle of blue liquid. Jessup pulled the liquid and one syringe out.
“Jarek.” Apostle took the items and looked over his shoulder.
Jarek stood up. “Yes.”
“Take this to Grotek and Chane.” He handed over the bottle and syringe. “When Miriam makes contact, I want them to make sure she gets a dose of this instead of cobalt. After they confirm she’s unconscious, we’ll go in and get her blood.
Jessup looked between them as Jarek made for the door and left the room. “I also have orders to remove us from Grotek’s and Chane’s thoughts so they can’t rat us out if they’re caught.”
“Good. I had hoped you’d say that.” Apostle grinned.
He had every intention of making sure Grotek and Chane got caught. If he framed them, it would tie up the incident with the king’s daughter in a nice, neat bow. The king and his enforcers would think they had the perpetrators and there would be no reason to look further for those responsible. It was a perfect plan. Apostle would get her blood, he and Jessup would never be implicated, Grotek and Chane would take the fall, and Bishop would get what he wanted: pure, powerful, vampire blood to create whatever Frankensteins he was working on in his lab.
“Now what?” Jessup looked around the room.
“We wait.” Apostle arched an eyebrow at the small vampire.