glowing atop the square flamingo-pink building. While the club lacked the security of a castle keep with a hundred knights to protect her, and it looked like Miami Vice on acid, it was safer than standing alone in the creepy darkness of a barren sidewalk. It was only a couple blocks away. Taking a fortifying breath, she headed toward the bar.
Just as she reached the edge of the building, its doors burst open. Ear-deafening music blared; the minty-burn scent of cigarette smoke rolled out with two men clumsily exiting the club. They were propelled by a large gentleman who had their shirts twisted in his hands. Taller than Dane and bigger than one of those professional wrestlers she'd seen on television, the mountainous fellow turned the intoxicated men toward each other and proceeded to bang their heads together. Marissa cringed as the men moaned in pain with each resounding thud.
The bouncer let go of their shirts and they slid to the ground. "You losers stay out of this club. Don't come back again or I'll get rough." He turned around and lumbered back into the noise-and-smoke-filled club.
Get rough? Marissa wondered what the giant thought attempted skull cracking constituted. She crept closer, wondering if they needed medical treatment. She stopped short and stared at the so-called losers.
Probably in their early 20s, both had spiked hair, pierced faces, and tattoo-covered arms. Dressed in tattered shirts, hole-riddled jeans, and Army boots, they looked like rejects from a punk-rock band. They had yet to realize that Marissa stood a mere foot away from them. Fascination outweighed fear. She felt like a biologist who'd just discovered a new species.
"Snipe?"
"What, Bullet?"
"That's the third club we've been tossed out of tonight."
"Fourth."
The one called Snipe grinned, revealing teeth that hadn't seen a toothbrush in years. "Wanna go for a fifth?"
Bullet, whose two eyebrow rings trumped Snipe's demure one, grinned back, also revealing a lack of concern about dental hygiene. "Yeah, man."
They stood up, whooping and hollering and dancing around like a pair of demented cranes. When the strange ritual ended, they turned toward Marissa. Surprise registered on their faces.
"Hey, it's a babe," said Snipe. "You working 'round here, girlfriend?"
"Yeah, little momma...you lookin' for a date?" asked Bullet. Babe? Girlfriend?Little momma? Marissa didn't like their snide tones or the glazed looks of interest entering their red-rimmed eyes.
"Cease your name-calling," she said, pointing an imperious finger at them. "You should be more respectful of a lady."
"A lady?" Snipe's yellow grin promised trouble. "I don't see no lady. Hey, Bullet, you ever seen a lady?"
"Not on this street. Seen a lot of hookers, though."
Marissa's mouth dropped open in outrage. "I'll have you know I'm not a—" Her lips wouldn't form the word. "A woman who grants sexual favors for money."
Snipe and Bullet looked at each other, then at Marissa.
"What did she say?" Bullet scratched the side of his spiked head.
Snipe punched Bullet in the arm. "Never mind, stupid. We'll tape her mouth shut so we don't have to listen to her talk."
They slouched toward Marissa, their grins curled with gleeful malice.
Three
F EAR CHILLED MARISSA . Too late, she realized her predicament. These boys intended to harm her. No use thinking about how she should have kept walking until she found Dane. She would have to speak to him about remaining at her side. What was the point of having a bodyguard if he wasn't here to guard her body?
Marissa tucked the crumpled list into her bra then took the guard's stance she'd learned from her karate master. "Aye ah!" she yelled.
Bullet sneered. "We seen The Karate Kid, babe. You can't fake us out with that crap." Snipe lunged for her; she spun and struck him in the chest with an around kick. He stumbled backwards, fell to his knees, and collapsed.
"Holy shit!" Bullet looked at her with wide eyes then bared his ugly teeth. "You
Savannah Young, Sierra Avalon