Don't Rush Me (Nora Jacobs #1)(20)

“You had a vision,” Henry snaps, displeased with my bad attitude.

“Yeah, a vision,” I snark back. “A picture. Imprints are like movies. I can see what’s going on, but I don’t hear what’s going on in their heads.”

“But what was he?” Parker asks again. “Knowing his race will give us a place to start looking.”

“I don’t know.”

Parker doesn’t set off my bitch meter as much as Henry, but I’m still losing my patience. I’m not in the mood to go into all the details of my gift’s limitations, so I ignore the lot of them and head toward the back of the club. They follow silently and, wisely, don’t bother me as I begin running my hands slowly along the walls of the dim hallway where the restrooms are.

I really don’t have much of a chance of picking up anything useful, but I have to try. Shandra seemed so young and nice, and Terrance is so worried about her. The first imprint that sucks me in is a flash of a woman holding herself steady against the wall while she throws up. I guess even underworlders can’t always hold their liquor.

Next, I’m pulled into a couple who I first assume are making out against the wall, but on closer inspection I realize the woman has her fangs sunk deeply into the man’s neck. The imprint is so strong I can’t pull out of it, and I’m forced to wait out the feeding. Like my vision of Henry this morning, this couple seems to really be enjoying themselves. The fact that the experience seems orgasmic for both of them doesn’t lessen my repulsion. All I see is a monster drinking blood.

When I’m finally free of that imprint, I’m quickly sucked into another one. This time, a man with all black eyes stands in the darkest corner of the hall, and a scantily clad woman kneels in front of him. I roll my eyes and vow never to wander into the dark recesses of a nightclub. I’m just about give up the search when I find what I’m looking for.

Mr. Muscles leans against the wall outside the women’s room. One hand is tucked into his jeans pockets, and the other holds a lit cigarette. Though, it’s a hand-rolled cigarette, so it might not be a cigarette at all. He’s got a bored look on his face, as if he’s waiting for his girlfriend to come out of the restroom.

When Shandra finally exits the bathroom, Mr. Muscles takes a long drag from his cigarette and pulls away from the wall. He steps into her path, accidentally colliding with her.

Shandra shoots him a nasty look and growls at him in a way only an angry troll could manage. “Watch it!”

“Sorry,” he grumbles, blowing the smoke from his lungs into her face.

“Gross!” Shandra waves the smoke away from her face with a cough. “Thanks, asshole.”

She pushes him out of the way, slamming him against the wall hard enough that the guy’s eyes widen in shock. He presses his hand to his chest where she’d shoved him. She probably left a bruise.

Shandra takes two steps before she sways on her feet. Mr. Muscles quickly grabs her from behind to help steady her. As he walks a confused, drowsy, and dizzy Shandra toward an emergency exit at the end of the hall, he looks to anyone watching like nothing but a concerned boyfriend helping his drunken date outside.

Pain flairs behind my eyes and in my temples when the vision fades. I’ve never had so many visions in a row, and my body is protesting. But I can’t stop now. This is working. I wait a moment for a bout of nausea and dizziness to pass, but as soon as I can walk without falling over, I head to the emergency exit.

“Oh, my head is going to hate me forever,” I groan when I push the door open and am sucked into the most intense vision yet.

As soon as Mr. Muscles pushes the stumbling Shandra through the door, she collapses. Mr. Muscles is strong, but he can’t hold her dead weight and struggles to get her unconscious body to the ground without dropping her.

“Damn,” a new voice says. “How much does that bitch weigh?”

Another guy, who looks like he comes from the same gym as Mr. Muscles, jumps out of a car that is backed into the dark alley behind the club just feet from the exit. It’s a ghetto mustard-yellow, low-riding Chevy Nova with ridiculous spinning rims and a chrome exhaust pipe. There’s a decal on the back window that seems out of place on the tricked-out classic car. It looks like a fraternity logo of some sort, but I don’t recognize the symbols. I snort. Yeah, these guys are definitely fraternity types. Stereotypical to the point of painful.

“Too damn much, bro,” Mr. Muscles says with a grunt and a laugh. “Help me get her fat ass in the car. Did you get the security camera?”

“Taken care of,” Muscles Two says as he grabs Shandra’s feet.

Together, the two meatheads are able to tuck Shandra into the backseat of the car. “Damn,” Muscles Two says as he finally gets a good look at Shandra beneath the car’s dome light. “She’s ugly, too.”

“Trolls aren’t exactly known for their looks, dumbass.”

“A troll?” Muscles Two whisper-hisses as he shuts the door. He glances all around the alley, as if suddenly afraid a boogie man is going to jump out at him. “You swiped a troll?”

Mr. Muscles hurries around to the passenger side of the car. “Yeah, and I bet we only have a few minutes before her two troll friends come looking for her, so get your ass in the car, and let’s get the hell out of here.”

Muscles Two’s face drains of color. “Two more? Shit! Are you insane? Those things go berserk. Just one troll could level an entire city in a rampage.”