He stalked up the street, swinging around to the front entrance. He knew the back area would be heavily guarded and locked. Breaking in would make too much noise, and he’d hit tough henchmen straight away.
Even though the place was quiet, he was hoping the front doors were unlocked. To his relief, he saw that there were only a few shady characters coming out through the wide swinging doors. They moved between the club and their motorcycles parked on the curb, filling their saddlebags, and peeling off one at a time in separate directions.
Drugs, I’d bet any money on it.
Once the tough guys had all driven away, Ray shifted into his panther form and waited by the door, concealed in a shadow. He didn’t have to wait long until one of the guys came out, heading to the cars nearby. He easily slipped through the narrow gap, flowing undetected through the darkness as if he were made of smoke.
He stuck close to the wall, his nose high. There were five guys in this room, one in the parking lot. He could smell a few guys in a back room, as well as the faint but unmistakable scent of Augusta.
He had to get into the back and preferably draw those guys out so he could rescue her without getting shot.
Ray crouched low under the tables and stalked along on his belly. He snuck up behind one man and took him down swiftly without making a sound. His powerful jaws around the guy’s throat meant he didn’t even have time to scream before he died.
Ray was relieved that there were no girls dancing at the poles. He would have hated to rope innocents into this. He’d never forgive himself if someone not involved in this dark business got hurt.
He slid along under a table, going for the next guy. The four who were left had just turned around and noticed their friend had disappeared. Ray held his breath, waited for them to turn away again, then pounced.
He rode the big guy down with his claws stuck deep in his back. This one did have time to scream on the way down, and it made the three remaining men draw their guns and fire.
Fuck! This is just a damn mess, now.
The three goons fanned out to separate corners of the room. Behind him, the guy that had left for the parking lot came running back in, slamming the doors open.
“What’s going on? What are you shooting at?” he yelled.
“Something’s in here,” said one of the others. “It looks like Dave and Curly are dead or knocked out. Whatever it is, it’s fast, and it’s fucking invisible.”
“Probably a kitty looking for milk,” one of them giggled. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.”
Ray’s coat bristled.
So they knew I’d come.
On soft paws, he stalked toward one of the other men and slashed his tendons before disappearing back into the shadows. All the men were yelling and screaming, firing into the dark.
“What’s going on,” roared a voice from the back area. The goons from the other room where Augusta had to be came out to investigate.
Little Stevie and Matchstick Malone. I should have guessed.
The men argued among themselves, pointing at shadows. Then Little Stevie headed to the wall, and Ray realized he was going to turn on an overhead light.
If they are all out here, Augusta is unguarded.
He ran toward the back room, a flash of liquid shadow in the dark. Just as Little Stevie flicked the switch, he made it through.
“There’s no one here,” Little Stevie yelled.
“Yeah, well, I’m betting Curly and Dave are dead. Where the fuck are they, anyway?”
Ray kept going. He only had a few minutes at most until they figured everything out.
When he came running into the spare room, at first, he saw nothing and thought Augusta wasn’t there. He was confused because her scent was so strong.
When he saw her hanging from the ceiling, a terror like nothing he had ever known bolted through him. Even though it made him feel weak and sick, he moved faster than he ever had before, crossing the room in one leap and shifting midair to lift her and slash the rope through with a partial shift of his hand.
They fell. Ray, breaking her fall with his body. He pulled the rope from her neck, his heart constricting in his chest as he saw her face had turned blue, and there were awful red welts around her throat.
“Augusta? My God.”