Thad didn't even notice when she left the table. Damn if that wasn't enough to prick a girl's ego. He'd harassed her for weeks for a date before she'd given in. Thad was a good friend, she'd known him most of her life. He was a nice guy, but too intent on impressing the boss's daughter to pay much attention to his date. She understood. She wasn't tall and curvy and a part of the social sphere Thad wanted to enter. She was short, perhaps too curvy. Her long hair wasn't blond; it wasn't brown. It was what her mother called dirty blond. It was straight; it wasn't silky. Her br**sts weren't large, and she wasn't available for a quick one-night stand.
That pretty much canceled her out for most men.
Slipping through the throng of dangers, she headed for the exit.
The Cantina sat below the major convention center and hotel in the county. It was connected to it and provided a major source of entertainment for the guests there.
It was often a major source of entertainment for Mikayla. In the past weeks, she hadn't quite been in the mood for entertainment, though.
Pulling the keys to her Jeep from her jeans pocket, Mikayla was suddenly thankful that Thad had been running late today. It meant she'd had a reason to drive her own vehicle to the club rather than riding with him.
It gave her a ride home.
Moving through the shadowed parking lot, she pressed a key between two fingers defensively, prepared, just in case. She'd learned the hard way that nothing was really safe. That at any second something could happen. Something one didn't bring on oneself.
Watching the shadows warily, her gaze canvassing each area that could hide a threat, she moved as quickly as possible to her Jeep.
It had been impossible to park close to the entrance of the Cantina. She'd been forced to park in a lot across the street. The only place available at the time was far, toward the other end.
She should have gone home when she realized she couldn't park close enough to the bar to be safe. But Thad had been so insistent.
This would teach her.
Quickening her step, she waited until she was close enough to the vehicle before hitting the automatic door locks. She heard the click as she rounded the car. Her hand was reaching out for the door latch when she'd realized how serious her error had been.
Hard hands grabbed her from behind.
"Fucking troublemaking cunt!" A harsh growl sounded behind her.
Mikayla didn't have three younger brothers for nothing, and she sure as hell wasn't going to be a victim who didn't fight back.
Fear roiled through her. Terror became a creature, snarling, fighting, as adrenaline surged through her bloodstream and nothing but the instinct for survival ruled.
She swung her fist with the key tight between two fingers.
A male grunt sounded in the darkness as she felt herself being thrown, flipped around as she slammed into the back of the Jeep.
Her face raked against the side of the canvas top as her breast was driven against the spare tire. A cry of pain tore from her lips, and with the next breath she was screaming, kicking, scratching, the key gripped between her fingers as she lashed out. In the dark, she couldn't see much: a shadowed face. Her attacker wasn't much taller than she, but he was strong.
His fingers wrapped around her throat, clenched. Mikayla drove the keys into a soft midsection. A hard grunt, the fingers loosened, but a second later it felt as though a sledgehammer had driven into the side of her face.
A fist. Distantly, she realized it was a fist. Every muscle in her body went lax for precious seconds as shock and pain traveled through her body. The keys fell from her fingers, her only weapon of defense gone as she felt those fingers, too strong, wrap around her throat once again.
She was going to die.
Mikayla could feel that knowledge rattling inside her brain. She couldn't fight against strength. She was too weak now. Her senses felt scattered, her breath so short.
She was definitely going to die.
Nik walked out of the Cantina, his gaze searching the brightly lit front entrance of the club as he looked for Mikayla. Cars whizzed by, their headlights flickering through the shadows as he narrowed his eyes in his search for her.
Mikayla had managed to get out of the bar before he realized she had left. She had disappeared into the throng and he'd lost sight of her. By the time Nik realized she was leaving he was too far behind to catch up with her.
She must have been parked close, he thought. The only way she could have gotten away from him so quickly was if she was parked directly in front of the Cantina.
His jaw tightened.
He was turning to stalk to the far end of the lot to his Harley when he heard it: a muted cry.
He stopped, pausing, his gaze searching the parking area across the street.
Where had it come from?
There. Again.
Moving, Nik raced across the street, seeing two shadows struggling at the far end of the parking lot. He was pounding across the blacktop when he heard a strangled cry of feminine rage.
The taller shadow fell back briefly. But only briefly.
Nik wasn't close enough.
"Mikayla!" He called out her name as he raced between the cars.
The shadow paused, twisted, and in less than a second sprinted off.
Nik watched in horror as hair the color of the softest wheat shone for the briefest second in the flashes of the car lights on the other side of the parking area.
Almost in slow motion she crumpled to the ground just before he could reach her.
Fuck. Fuck.
He was too late.
Horror raced through his system as he hurriedly crouched beside her, his hands running over her quickly as he searched for the telltale dampness of blood, the sign of broken bones. The hilt of a knife.
"No." Weak, panting, she pushed at his hands as they moved over her br**sts. "What are you doing?"
She sounded muffled, strangled. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness. He could see her face now, no blood. One hand pushed at his as the other rose to rub at her neck.
"Miss Martin?" He brushed her hair back from her face as he helped her sit up. "Are you okay?"
If he were a lesser man, a normal man, he would have been shaking.
His hands framed her face as she stared up at him, her head wobbling as he felt her shuddering.
"Mikayla?" He tried to smooth out the ruined sound of his voice, compliments of a fire that had burned too bright, too hot, too long ago.
"I'm fine." Her voice was low, weak. "Who are you?"