“Tell your boss we’re gonna come back every night and toss this place until we hear from him,” Nathan warned. “The longer he takes, harder the Order’s gonna push.”
Syn merely stared, unfazed, watching the arena empty further. Only the drunks and diehard fight fans remained now, a clot of about forty people still riveted to the match winding down in the cage.
Nathan stared into that crowd and felt his veins go tight as his gaze locked on to a pair of young women in the front row of the straggling spectators.
Holy hell.
Carys was easy enough to spot. Her loose caramel waves bounced around the shoulders of her form-fitted black sweater as she cheered on her man, dark denim hugging her backside. She jumped up and down on high-heeled black boots, clapping her hands and whistling as the clock ran out and Rune’s victory was assured.
The other female was a surprise Nathan neither wanted nor needed tonight.
With her back to him, Jordana Gates stood beside Carys, dressed by contrast in a soft gray pencil skirt and pale pink silk blouse. Her long white-blond hair was gathered into some kind of knotted updo at her nape.
Jesus, she looked like she belonged in a boardroom meeting uptown, not a blood match down in the cages of Boston’s least reputable club.
Except Jordana seemed as rapt as Carys with the match taking place tonight. Neither woman paid any attention as Nathan left Syn standing behind him and made his way toward the pair. He smelled liquor on them even before he was halfway across the room. And now he noticed that the women were less than steady on their feet, even Jordana in her conservative pumps.
When the bell on the match rang out, Carys and Jordana cheered Rune’s name along with the handful of spectators around them. Nathan stalked forward, idly aware that Rune had peeled off his gloves and collar in order to catch Carys as she threw open the cage door and flew into his arms.
He felt Rune’s dark gaze light on him in disapproval for the Order’s interruption of the night’s commerce, but Nathan’s focus was trained elsewhere now.
Jordana went still suddenly, then slowly turned around. Her gaze collided with Nathan’s glower, a connection he felt like a lightning strike that sent heat straight to his groin.
If he’d thought Jordana looked suited for a board meeting from behind, facing her now threw that lame comparison out the window. Her blouse was carelessly untucked in front, the first three buttons unfastened, creating a tempting plunge of bare flesh that ended just between the perfect swell of her br**sts.
Her skin there was flushed, a pretty rose hue that traveled up her throat and into her cheeks now as well. He couldn’t help imagining her blood rushing through those delicate capillaries. Hell, he could almost taste it. His mouth watered at the thought, making his fangs punch out of his gums.
Desire ignited in a flash, hot and consuming. His c**k answered the surge of need coursing through him, suddenly straining behind his black combat fatigues.
Nathan knew his pupils were winnowing down to narrow slits as he drank in the sight of Jordana’s disheveled beauty. The amber light of his transforming irises bathed her face in a dim glow.
His body’s swift reaction shocked him. And he was more than a little disturbed that he couldn’t seem to master his urges when it came to this particular woman.
Never one to back down, however, Nathan advanced on her. He called a command to his teammates to sweep out the back rooms and VIP lounge, ordering them to send every last person out of the place.
“The party’s over,” he snarled, his eyes still rooted on Jordana.
She scowled up at him, planting her hands on the tempting curves of her hips. “What right did you have to do that?” she demanded, her words sounding thicker than normal, no doubt thanks to the alcohol she’d consumed.
Nathan held her annoyed stare. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice this place makes its profits off illegal blood sport and gambling. Not to mention other deviant amusements you’d rather not know about,” he added. “It’s about time someone shuts this hellhole down.”
“No,” she said, tossing her head back and forth. The motion collapsed her loosely gathered mane and sent the platinum waves tumbling around her shoulders and down her back. “No, I’m talking about you, Nathan. What right did you have to storm into my life and mess everything up?”
He frowned, taken aback, not only by the question but by the sound of his name on her lips. “I stormed into your life?”
“Yes, you did.” She moved closer to him, until there was hardly an arm’s length between them. Then closer still. “You’re a dark, dangerous storm, Nathan.” She tilted her head back, her glacial blue eyes arresting, even in the darkness of the club. “If I’m not careful, I’m going to leap off a cliff with you.”
He blew out a curse, peering harder at her. Christ, just how much had she had to drink tonight? She might be speaking nonsense due to one too many cocktails, but her steady, searching gaze and parted lips were communicating to his senses clearly enough.
“You’re the worst thing that could ever happen to me, Nathan.”
“At least we agree on something.” She listed toward him and he growled, whether with need or irony, he wasn’t sure. “Collect your things, Jordana. I’m going to have one of my men take you home.”
“No,” she murmured, shaking her head. “No, I don’t want to go home to my apartment alone. I want to wait for Carys.”
He glanced over, recognizing that Carys was in no better shape herself. Plus, she was wrapped around Rune in one of the booths outside the cages. It didn’t appear she would be leaving for a while, and Nathan had no intention of allowing Jordana to hang around the club in the condition she was in now.