All the King's Men: The Beginning (10 page)

Damn straight he would. Dysfunctional team meeting from hell aside, right now Tristan was the luckiest guy in the world.

Chapter 6

At 1:00 a.m., Micah glanced at Malek in the passenger seat. They'd gotten nowhere with the investigation of the drecks' murders, and a sweep of the vics' homes had only revealed more of the same.

"What say we can this investigation and head to the Garter?" Micah said. Already, Micah could feel his sanity slipping. He'd been an ass at AKM tonight. He knew he was already the least favorite member of the team as far as the rest were concerned, and why Tristan continued to put up with him was a mystery, but he usually kept his ill temper to himself. He'd had no right ripping into Ari and Io the way he did. Thanks to Jackson and the impending end of their relationship, he was becoming even less cordial and more temperamental than usual. He wasn't fooling himself about that, and if he could, he would break it off first, but doing that was akin to peeling off his own fingernails one by one. Or cutting off his own leg. A mated male just didn't break up with the one he had mated. That kind of shit didn't happen. Vampire matings weren't like human marriages, which could be dissolved without so much as a blink. No. Vampires mated on a level so deep that for a male to lose a mate often meant death. And since Micah had already lost one mate, losing another was probably going to kill him. Which meant this was probably the last opportunity he would have to spend with Malek before he lost his sanity…and most likely his life.

Malek glanced across the seat at him. "Micah, we've got work—"

Micah held up his hand and cut him off. "Dumb and Dumber aren't going to mind if we cut out an hour or two early." He tapped the file sitting on the console between them. "It's not like they'll spring back to life if we put in our full shift."

"Micah." A warning tone edged Malek's voice, but compassion dwelled there, too.

"Malek…" Micah met his gaze for a split second, and then turned his attention back to the road. He needed this time with his oldest and dearest. Not that he would spill his guts and beg absolution for all the sins he'd committed in the last thousand years, because, let's face it, he wasn't into spilling. The two of them could just sit in silence the whole time for all Micah cared. That was fine by him. He needed this. And when he was gone, Malek would understand that Micah had wanted to leave him with something good. One last memory to remind him that, at one time, Micah had been a good guy. A male of integrity and compassion who sought the best in people. Who lent a hand to those in need. Selfless and giving. Not the male he had become after Katarina's death. Not the male who left a lot to be desired now. Malek would understand when Micah was gone that his suggestion tonight was a gift meant expressly for him…something for Malek to hold on to and take strength from in the days to come.

Something in his tone—or maybe even his expression—got through, and Malek nodded. "Okay. Let's go. It won't hurt if I'm a few days early, anyway."

Malek went to the Black Garter one night a month. Only one. That was all the sexual exposure he allowed himself, and even so, his visits were only to watch. He never picked up a woman. He hadn't taken a female home in centuries. Not since Carmen's death. How he managed to keep a cap on his
suffering
and not lose his mind was something Micah had never figured out. Malek had tucked away Carmen's memory and worshipped it as if they were still together, even though on the conscious level, he knew she was gone.

Weren't the two of them a pair? He and Malek were the two most broken and maladjusted members of Tristan's team, except that Malek had handled the loss of his mate better than Micah had. It was the only thing that distinguished them from one another.

More than one person had asked if he and Malek were brothers, they looked so much alike. Both had long, dark, almost black hair, and they both had striking facial features, although Malek had softer edges. Micah's face was all hard, severe angles. And where Micah had navy blue eyes that were so dark they almost looked black, Malek had brown eyes. Back before they'd met Katarina and Carmen, they'd been quite the popular pair, catching maidens' eyes everywhere they went, often landing in their beds.

Now look at them. Micah was a sexual deviant, and Malek was celibate. Oh, what the passage of time can do to a person.

He turned the SUV around and headed in the direction of the Garter as light snow began to fall. Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot, and he and Malek headed through the front door into the elegant vestibule, with its scantily clad hostess and her well-dressed bodyguard. Well, he was probably more like a bouncer, but with his crisp, black suit and red, silk tie, he looked more like a member of the Secret Service than the bouncer of a gentlemen's club. And underneath that suit coat, he was probably packing firepower worthy to protect the president. The Garter's owner protected his girls. This wasn't the place for rowdy or boisterous bill waving and cat calls. The patrons treated the dancers with respect, or they got the boot and weren't allowed back.

Micah and Malek paid their entry fee and made their way through the long, dimly lit hall toward the main room, where sultry, bass-heavy music provided the soundtrack for the dancer on stage. A long, meticulously appointed bar stretched along the left wall, and cocktail waitresses dressed in various negligees came and went with drinks for the patrons.

The place was packed tonight, so Micah turned his mental abilities on a man who sat at a table midway to the stage. With a thought, he influenced the man to vacate his seat, and he and Malek quickly slid in to take his place. Humans were so easy to manipulate.

The Black Garter's setup was made more for the single observer or small groups than larger ones, and the recessed floor surrounding the main stage held only small tables with no more than two upholstered easy chairs apiece. In the back and along the walls were tables and booths for groups of four or more, but if you wanted close to the action, you came alone or with no more than one other person.

Then, of course, were the VIP rooms for bachelor parties.

However, what many men liked about the Garter were the rooms in back where they could buy a private dance with one of the girls. Micah had used those rooms a time or two, where the rules were a little more lax than out here in the public, but the girls were still treated respectfully.

Micah was in the mood for a private dance tonight. It might help take his mind off Jackson.

"What can I get you boys?"

He looked up into the heavily made up eyes of a blonde with surgically enhanced breasts as she stood between him and Malek, tray in hand. She wore a black, silk teddy.

"Lagavulin on the rocks, please," Malek said with only a cursory perusal of her outfit.

"Same for me." Micah appraised her legs. She did have nice legs. "And can you tell me if Scarlet is dancing tonight?"

She smiled politely and winked. "She sure is, honey. She'll be dancing soon."

Micah stopped her before she could walk away to get their drinks. "I'd like to buy a private dance with her."

Her smile turned upside down in a pouty display of sympathetic refusal. "Scarlet's already booked up tonight, honey, but Sasha's got a couple more openings for privates. How does that sound?"

Micah shook his head, disappointed. "No, thank you. Maybe I'll catch Scarlet next time." Scarlet was the only dancer he wanted to buy a private dance from, and it wasn't because she was the Garter's primary dancer. He was drawn to her…had been ever since the first time he'd seen her dance the night he met Jackson. And despite the bond that had formed with Jackson, Micah had still come back here to see Scarlet dance occasionally. But the couple of times he had tried to buy a private with her, she'd been booked. Looked like he would have to end his days without her special attention.

"I'll take one of those openings with Sasha," Malek said to the waitress, and he turned over his credit card.

Malek wasn't as particular as Micah, but then he only wanted the private performance so he could jack his rocks off when he got home. Not that Micah was criticizing, because he wasn't. This was just how Malek coped with his
suffering
, and since Malek never criticized Micah about how he handled his own shit, Micah wouldn't disparage Malek for how he handled his.

"Sure thing, honey." She winked and smiled again. "I'll be right back with your drinks."

The dancer on stage ended her performance, and four others took up the smaller spotlight platforms on either side of the main stage and in the back of the room.

"So," Malek said, "What's up with you and Jackson?"

Micah's pulse went from zero to sixty in half a second. If it had been anyone else asking—especially that closeted nosebug Arion—Micah would have told him to fuck off and mind his own business, but this was Malek, who only had Micah's best interests in mind. Micah clamped down his irritation.

"Nothing."

Malek regarded him with a cautious if not curious sidelong glance. "Nothing, huh?"

He never had been able to lie to Malek. With a sigh, he flexed his shoulders and shifted in his chair. "He's going to leave me."

At least Malek had the courtesy to look away. Mating shit wasn't such a pretty topic between them. "I'm sorry, man."

Their waitress returned with their drinks and set them on red cardboard coasters outlined with the lacy image of a black garter. "Your private with Sasha is at two fifteen," she told Malek.

He accepted his receipt. "Thank you."

After she left, Micah leaned forward, elbows on the table as if hugging his drink. He turned toward Malek. "When he leaves, I don't want you or anyone else to see me."

Malek's gaze met his, and a sober moment of understanding passed between them. "You gonna be all right?"

Micah glanced away. He already knew he wouldn't be. When Jackson left him, he would be fucked. As in way fucked. Up shit creek without a paddle. Crossing the River Styx without a token for Charon would be easier. He would be stuck in everlasting purgatory and hell all mixed into one. "Yeah. Sure." He lifted his glass to his lips and sipped. "But I'll be fucked up. You saw how I was with Kat."

"Yeah. I did."

When Micah looked back at Malek, his old friend's expression—along with the thoughts of doubt rolling through his mind—told him he wasn't buying Micah's load of shit. He slumped his shoulders and looked into his liquid amber. "I'm not stupid, Malek," he said softly. "I know I'm in trouble. Big trouble. Jackson…" He closed his eyes and took a heavy breath before continuing. "Mating Jackson has awakened everything I felt for Kat after she died. It's like I'm feeling it all over again." He slowly swirled his drink, making the ice clink the sides of the glass. "And he doesn't love me. He never did. I can hear his thoughts and know there's someone else. I see what they do with one another, but there's nothing I can do to stop him, and yet I can't walk away." He lifted his gaze to Malek's and saw complete and total understanding reflected back at him. Like any other male of their species, Malek knew Micah was between the proverbial rock and a hard place. Micah looked back down into his glass. "It's just a matter of time, Malek." A matter of time before his mental faculties short-circuited and tossed him like a rag doll into
suffering
so intense he'd be lucky to remember his own name when the end came.

Malek's hand squeezed his shoulder, and Micah looked up into eyes filled with compassion. "Is there anything I can do?" Malek said.

Micah offered him a sad grin and shook his head. "Just make sure no one sees me like that. Keep them away. You stay away, too. I don't want to hurt you or anyone else." He fixed Malek with a serious stare. "I mean it, Malek. Don't you come looking for me. We clear?"

Malek blinked once and let his gaze fall to the table. When he spoke, his voice was soft but resigned. "We're clear."

Breathing more easily, Micah pulled away and leaned back in his chair, drink in hand. "You're the only one I trust with this, Malek. The only one I can count on."

"I know. And I won't let you down."

Micah nodded tightly and kept his gaze averted. "Thank you."

Silence filtered into the space between them, and they pretended to watch the dancers on either side of the stage, but Micah's mind was elsewhere. It was as if an hourglass sat over his soul, counting down to destruction. When he met Jackson and formed the one-sided tether to him, Jackson had been like a clear blue sky after a late summer storm, letting the sunlight shine onto the newly brightened landscape. Now, their relationship
was
the storm.

Micah glanced out of the corner of his eye toward Malek, who, on the outside, feigned interest with the stripper to the left of the stage, but his mind was a tidal wave of emotion. Malek knew that, in his way, Micah had just said good-bye, and a thousand good memories of the time they had spent together before losing their mates so long ago trained through his thoughts.

Back in the time of King Bain the First, he and Malek had spent countless nights in pubs and inns where they watched females dance and sing for their entertainment, and where they partook of feminine desire and pleasure upstairs in one of the many private bedrooms. That had been where Micah had learned how to be with a woman. Where he had been taught how to touch a female, kiss her, and delight in what she offered. And he had taken his education home to Katarina at the end of that first war.

God, how he'd loved Katarina. But she was gone, and it looked like he would be joining her soon.

The lights dimmed, and the music faded, bringing Micah's mind back to the Garter as the hard synthesized beats of White Zombie's "More Human than Human" pulsed out of the speakers. A few seconds later, the MC, hidden somewhere off stage said, "Gentlemen…Scarlet." It was all the introduction she needed.

The curtain opened, and Scarlet rested in a curled position, head down, her long black hair—most likely a wig—hung down like drapes to hide her face. She was the sexiest damn creature Micah had seen in forever. That woman could dance. And stretch. And flex. And work a stripper pole like no one's business. Micah went stiff at the thought of her riding up and down his body the way she did that damn pole, which was odd since most mated males didn't get turned on by anyone other than their mate. Then again, Scarlet was a woman worth getting hard over. She never failed to arouse him. As in really arouse him. Heck, maybe the fact that he had first seen her dance on the same night that he had met Jackson had somehow linked him to her. After all, she had been the reason he'd gone in search of relief that night in the first place. He had been lustfully roused by her performance to the point of distraction, and after trying to buy a private dance with her to explore the possibilities between them further, he had come away disappointed, because her schedule had been full. Same as it was tonight and the other times he had come here. He couldn't get here early enough to get on the woman's calendar, so he was relegated always to be part of a crowd instead of an audience of one.