Midnight Breed - Book - 01 Read online

  time and little purpose.

  “Is anything wrong, Gab?” Megan asked from beside

  her on the taxi’s bench seat. “You seem quiet.”

  Gabrielle shrugged. “I’m sorry. I’m just . . . I don’t

  know. Tired, I guess.”

  “Somebody get this woman a drink—stat!” Kendra,

  the dark-haired nurse, joked.

  “Nah,” Jamie countered, sly and catlike. “What our

  Gab really needs is a man. You’re too serious, sweetie. It’s

  not healthy to let your work consume you like you do.

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  Have some fun! When’s the last time you got laid, any-

  way?”

  Too long ago but Gabrielle wasn’t really keeping track.

  She’d never suffered from a shortage of dates when she

  wanted them, and sex—on those rare occasions she had

  it—wasn’t something she obsessed over like some of her

  friends. As out of practice as she was right now in that de-

  partment, she didn’t think an orgasm was going to cure

  whatever was causing her current state of restlessness.

  “Jamie is right, you know,” Kendra was saying. “You

  need to loosen up, get a little wild.”

  “No time like the present,” Jamie added.

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Gabrielle said, shaking her

  head. “I’m really not up for a late night, you guys. Gallery

  showings always take a lot out of me and I—”

  “Driver?” Ignoring her, Jamie slid to the edge of the

  seat and rapped on the Plexiglas that separated the cabbie

  from his passengers. “Change of plans. We decided we’re

  in the mood for celebrating, so ixnay on the restaurant. We

  wanna go where all the hot people are.”

  “If you like dance clubs, there’s a new one just opened

  in the north end,” the cabbie said, his spearmint chewing

  gum cracking as he spoke. “I been takin’ fares over there all

  week. Fact, took two already tonight—fancy after-hours

  place called La Notte.”

  “Ooh, La No-tay,” Jamie purred, tossing a playful look

  over his shoulder and arching an elegant brow. “Sounds

  perfectly wicked to me, girls. Let’s go!”

  The club, La Notte, was housed in a High Victorian

  Gothic building that had long been known as St. John’s

  Trinity Parish church, until recent Archdiocese of Boston

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  payouts on priest sex scandals forced the closings of dozens

  of such places around the city. Now, as Gabrielle and her

  friends made their way inside the crowded club, synthe-

  sized trance and techno music rang in the rafters, blasting

  out of enormous speakers that framed the DJ pit in the

  balcony above the altar. Strobe lights flashed against a trio

  of arched stained-glass windows. The pulsing beams cut

  through the thin cloud of smoke that hung in the air,

  pounding to the frenetic beat of a seemingly endless song.

  On the dance floor—and in nearly every square foot of La

  Notte’s main floor and the gallery above—people moved

  against one another in writhing, mindless sensuality.

  “Holy shit,” Kendra shouted over the music, raising

  her arms and dancing her way through the thick crowd.

  “What a place, huh? This is crazy!”

  They hadn’t even cleared the first knot of clubbers be-

  fore a tall, lean guy swooped in on the spunky brunette and

  bent to say something in her ear. Kendra gave a throaty

  laugh and nodded enthusiastically at him.

  “Boy wants to dance,” she giggled, passing her hand-

  bag to Gabrielle. “Who am I to refuse!”

  “This way,” Jamie said, pointing to a small, empty table

  near the bar as their friend trotted off with her partner.

  The three of them got seated and Jamie ordered a

  round of drinks. Gabrielle scanned the dance floor for

  Kendra, but she’d been devoured in the midst of the

  crowded space. Despite the crush of people all around,

  Gabrielle could not dismiss the sudden sensation that she

  and her friends were sitting in a spotlight. Like they were

  somehow under scrutiny simply for being in the club. It

  was nuts to think it. Maybe she had been working too

  much, spending too much time alone at home, if being

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  out in public could make her feel so self-conscious. So

  paranoid.

  “Here’s to Gab!” Jamie exclaimed over the roar of the

  music, raising his martini glass in salute.

  Megan lifted hers, too, and clinked it against

  Gabrielle’s. “Congratulations on a great exhibit tonight!”

  “Thanks, you guys.”

  As she sipped the neon yellow concoction, Gabrielle’s

  feeling of being observed returned. Or rather, increased.

  She felt a stare reach out to her from across the darkened

  distance. Over the rim of her martini glass, she glanced up

  and caught the glint of a strobe light nicking off a pair of

  dark sunglasses.

  Sunglasses hiding a gaze that was unmistakably fixed

  on her through the crowd.

  The quick flashes from the strobes cast his stark features

  in hard shadow, but Gabrielle’s eyes took him in at once.

  Spiky black hair falling loosely around a broad, intelligent

  brow and lean, angular cheeks. A strong, stern jaw. And his

  mouth . . . his mouth was generous and sensual, even when

  quirked in that cynical, almost cruel line.

  Gabrielle looked away, unnerved, a rush of warmth

  skittering along her limbs. His face lingered in her head,

  burned there in an instant, like an image set to film. She

  put down her drink and braved another quick glance to

  where he stood. But he was gone.

  A loud crash sounded at the other end of the bar, jerk-

  ing Gabrielle’s attention over her shoulder. At one of the

  crowded tables, liquor seeped onto the floor, spilled from

  several broken glasses that littered the black-lacquered sur-

  face. Five guys in dark leather and shades were having

  words with another guy wearing a Dead Kennedys wife-

  beater tank and torn, faded blue jeans. One of the thugs in

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  leather had his arm slung around a drunk-looking plat-

  inum blond, who seemed to know the punker. Boyfriend,

  apparently. He made a grab for the girl’s arm, but she

  slapped him away and bent her head to let one of the

  thugs put his mouth on her neck. She stared defiantly at

  her furious boyfriend, all the while playing with the long

  brown hair of the guy fastened to her throat.

  “That’s messed up,” Megan said, turning back around

  as the situation escalated.

 
“Sure is,” Jamie added as he finished off his martini

  and flagged a server to bring another round. “Evidently

  that chick’s mama forgot to tell her it’s bad news not to

  leave with the guy who brought you.”

  Gabrielle watched for another moment, long enough

  to see a second biker move in on the girl and descend on

  her slackened mouth. She accepted both of them together,

  her hands coming up to caress the dark head at her neck

  and the pale one that was sucking her face like he meant to

  eat her alive. The punker boyfriend shouted a string of ob-

  scenities at the girl, then turned around and shoved his

  way into the spectating crowd.

  “This place is creeping me out,” Gabrielle confided,

  just now noticing some clubbers openly doing lines of co-

  caine off the far end of the long marble bar.

  Her friends didn’t seem to hear her over the driving

  pound of the music. They also didn’t seem to share

  Gabrielle’s unease. Something wasn’t quite right here and

  Gabrielle could not shake the feeling that eventually the

  night was going to get ugly. Jamie and Megan began talk-

  ing between themselves about local bands, leaving

  Gabrielle to sip what was left of her martini and wait on

  the other side of the small table for an opportunity to

  break in and make her excuses to leave.

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  Essentially alone at the moment, her gaze drifted over

  the sea of bobbing heads and swaying bodies, as she sur-

  reptitiously searched for the sunglass-shaded eyes that had

  been watching her before. Was he with the other thugs—

  one of that gang of bikers still stirring up trouble? He was

  dressed like them, certainly carried the same dark air of

  danger about him.

  Whoever he was, Gabrielle saw no trace of him now.

  She leaned back in her chair, then nearly jumped out of

  her skin when a pair of hands came to rest on her shoul-

  ders from behind.

  “Here you are! I’ve been looking all over for you guys!”

  Kendra said, sounding breathless and animated at the

  same time, as she leaned over the table. “Come on. I’ve got

  a table for us on the other side of the club. Brent and some

  of his friends want to party with us!”

  “Cool!”

  Jamie was already on his feet, ready to go. Megan took

  her fresh martini in one hand, Kendra’s and her pocket-

  books in the other. When Gabrielle didn’t rush to join

  them, Megan paused.

  “You coming?”

  “No.” Gabrielle stood up and looped the strap of her

  handbag over her shoulder. “You go on, have fun. I’m

  beat. I think I’m just going to catch a cab and head back

  home.”

  Kendra gave her a little-girl pout. “Gab, you can’t go!”

  “You want some company for the ride home?” Megan

  offered, even though Gabrielle could tell she wanted to

  stay with the others.

  “I’ll be fine. Enjoy yourselves, but be careful, right?”

  “You’re sure you won’t stay? Just one more drink?”

  “Nah. I really need to take off and get some air.”

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  “Suit yourself, then,” Kendra chided with mock

  venom. She stepped in and planted a quick peck on

  Gabrielle’s cheek. As she withdrew, Gabrielle caught a

  whiff of vodka, and, beneath that, something less obvious.

  Something musky, queerly metallic. “You’re a buzzkill,

  Gab, but I still love you.”

  With a wink, Kendra looped her arms with Jamie’s and

  Megan’s, then playfully tugged them toward the churning

  mass of people.

  “Call me tomorrow,” Jamie mouthed over his shoulder

  as the trio were slowly engulfed by the crowd.

  Gabrielle immediately started her trek for the door,

  anxious to be out of the club. The longer she had stayed,

  the louder the music seemed to get, drumming in her

  head, making it hard to think. Hard to focus on her sur-

  roundings. People pushed at her from all sides as she tried

  to pass through them, squeezing her into the press of

  dancing, flailing, gyrating bodies. She was jostled and

  nudged, pawed at and groped by unseen hands in the dark,

  until, finally, she stumbled into the vestibule near the club’s

  entrance, then out the heavy double doors.

  The night was cool and dark. She drew in a deep

  breath, clearing her head of the noise and smoke and

  the unsettling atmosphere of La Notte. The music still

  throbbed out here, the strobe lights still flashed like small

  explosions behind the tall stained-glass windows above, but

  Gabrielle relaxed a bit now that she was free.

  No one paid her any mind as she hurried down to the

  curb and waited to hail a ride home. Only a few people

  were outside, some passing by on the sidewalk below, oth-

  ers filing up the concrete steps and into the club. She spot-

  ted a yellow cab coming her way, and thrust out her hand

  to call it over.

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  “Taxi!”

  As the empty cab navigated across the lanes of night-

  time traffic and roared up beside her, the doors of the

  nightclub burst open with the force of a hurricane.

  “Hey, man! What the fuck!” Behind Gabrielle on the

  steps, a male voice rose to an octave just north of fear.

  “Touch me again, and I’ll fuckin’—”

  “You’ll fuckin’ what?” taunted another voice, this one

  low and deadly, and flanked by several others that were

  chuckling in amusement.

  “Yeah, tell us, you little asswipe punker piece of shit.

  What’re ya gonna do?”

  Her fingers gripping the door handle of the cab,

  Gabrielle swiveled her head, half in alarm, half in know-

  ing dread of what she would see. It was the gang from the

  bar, the bikers or whatever they were, in black leather and

  shades. The six of them circled the punker boyfriend like a

  pack of wolves, taking turns jabbing at him, toying with

  him like prey.

  The kid threw a swing at one of them—missed—and

  the situation went from bad to worse in the blink of an eye.

  All at once, the scuffle came crashing toward Gabrielle.

  The gang of thugs threw the punker up against the hood

  of the cab, slamming their fists into the kid’s face. Blood

  splattered like raindrops from his nose and mouth, some of

  it hitting Gabrielle. She took a step back, stunned and hor-

  rified. The kid scrabbled to get away but his attackers

  stayed on him, beating him with a fury Gabrielle could

  hardly fathom.

  “Get off my goddamn car!” the cabbie shouted out his

  open window. “Jesus Christ! Take it somewhere else
, you

  hear me!”

  One of the assailants turned his head toward the cab-

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  bie, smiled a terrible smile, then brought his large fist down

  on the windshield, shattering the glass into a spiderweb of

  cracks. Gabrielle saw the cabbie cross himself, his mouth

  working soundlessly within the car. There was a grinding

  of gears, then a piercing screech of tires as the taxi jerked

  into reverse, dislodging the burden from its hood.

  “Wait!” Gabrielle screamed, too late.

  Her ride home—her escape from this brutal scene—

  was gone. With a cold lump of fear lodged in her throat,

  she watched the cab speed off, careering into the street and

  its taillights disappearing into the dark.

  And on the curb, the six bikers were showing their vic-

  tim no mercy, too preoccupied with beating the punker

  senseless to give Gabrielle more than a passing thought.

  She turned and bolted up the steps to La Notte’s en-

  trance, all the while fishing in her pocketbook for her cell

  phone. She found the slim device, flipped it open. Punched

  in 911 as she threw open the doors of the club and skidded

  into the vestibule, panic rising in her breast. Above the din

  of music and voices, and the thundering pulse of her own

  heart, Gabrielle heard only static on the other end of her

  cell. She pulled the phone away from her ear—

  Signal faded.

  “Shit!”

  She tried 911 again. No luck.

  Gabrielle ran for the main area of the club, shouting

  into the noise in desperation.

  “Someone, please help! I need help!”

  No one seemed to hear her. She tapped people’s shoul-

  ders, tugged on sleeves, practically shook the arm of a tat-

  tooed military-looking guy, but no one paid any attention.

  They didn’t even look at her, merely continued dancing

  and talking as if she wasn’t even there.

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  Was this a dream? Some twisted nightmare where only

  she was aware of the violence taking place outside?

  Gabrielle gave up on strangers and decided to search

  out her friends. As she wended through the dark club, she

  kept hitting Redial, praying for a decent signal. She

  couldn’t get one, and she soon realized she would never

  find Jamie and the others in the thick crowd.