The Tycoon's Rebel Bride (The Anetakis Tycoons #2)(35)



“Unless you have a membership, I can’t allow you inside.”

Theron seethed with impatience and then he turned to Reynolds. “Take care of this. Pay the man whatever is necessary for membership and then rejoin me inside. I’m going in after Isabella.”

“But sir, membership is not instant….”

Theron heard no more as he pushed by the man and went inside. He trusted that Reynolds and the others would be able to overcome whatever objections the club’s security guard had to his presence.

The club was different than Theron was expecting. From the moment a gentlemen’s club was mentioned, it conjured images of a seedy, back-alley environment where prostitution and drug use ran rampant. Here, though, it seemed the establishment catered to an upscale clientele.

The interior was clean, lavish even, reminding Theron of many high-roller areas of casinos. The waitresses, through scantily clad, weren’t cheap-looking-tart material. The patrons were well-dressed, smoking expensive imported cigars and sipping only the finest brandy.

It was a place Isabella shouldn’t even know existed.

Theron weaved around the tables, sharp-eyed, his brow creased in concentration as he took in every single woman. Toward the front of the room, more men were assembled in front of a curtained platform. Evidently a show was imminent.

He dismissed the men when he saw no women among them. Where the hell was Isabella and had Reynolds gotten his information correct?

He glanced toward the entrance and saw Reynolds and the two other security men rush in. Theron gestured curtly at them, and Reynolds wove his way through the tables to where Theron stood.

“Why do you think Isabella is here?” he demanded.

“I have it on good authority she is,” Reynolds said grimly. “You’re looking in the wrong—”

He was cut off when music began blaring behind Theron. He winced and turned around only to see the curtain rise and stage smoke slither sensuously up the long legs of a woman.

She wore thigh-high boots that only accentuated her slim legs and drew attention to her shapely behind. She began rocking in rhythm to the music, her hips swaying as her arms fell gracefully to her sides.

As the smoke cleared, she raised her arms and gripped the pole in front of her. But Theron’s gaze was drawn to the tattoo in the small of her back.

He knew that tattoo. Knew it damn well. He should; he’d spent plenty of time fantasizing about it.

And then she turned, whirling around in a mass of blond hair—fake blond hair. He saw her eyes before she saw him. He saw the fear in her gaze, the wild panic as she surveyed the room full of men all eyeing her like a tasty treat.

Theron’s blood boiled.

She looked up and locked gazes with him, her fear turning to utter shock as recognition flickered in her eyes.

Thirteen

I sabella blanched when she saw Theron who was clearly furious standing beyond the group of men all crowding the stage. He vibrated with rage, and his eyes flashed as he stared her down.

She had the sudden urge to cross her arms over her br**sts and run for cover.

Before she could seriously contemplate doing just that, Theron stalked forward, closing in on the stage like a predator on the hunt.

He didn’t stop at the edge, didn’t call out to her to come down. He jumped onto the platform, and in one swift motion hauled her into his arms and threw her over his shoulder.

She gave a startled cry just as the music stopped and the place erupted in chaos. She raised her head to see Reynolds, Maxwell and Davison fend off the security guards trying to come to her aid.

Customers rose from their seats and viewed Theron with gaping mouths, but were too civilized to embroil themselves in the situation. It would probably ruin their thousand-dollar suits anyway.

The floor spun crazily as Theron leaped down. The force drove the breath from her, and she wiggled trying to get him to ease his grip.

He merely tightened his arm over the back of her legs as he strode for the exit. Then she heard him snarl, “Back off, she’s mine.”

And surprisingly, he walked through the door and into the night.

Still stunned, Isabella made no effort to free herself from his grasp, not that it would have done any good. His arm was like a steel band around her body, and he walked effortlessly, bearing her weight as if it were nothing.

He stopped at his car, and leaned down to thrust her through the opening into the interior. Immediately, he climbed in beside her and slammed the door.

“Imperial Park,” he said curtly.

Laying at an odd angle on the seat, she attempted to straighten herself, but her legs bumped into him, and she pulled them hastily away which only made her position more precarious.

Damn the boots. She felt gawky and ungainly. A glance down made her gasp in dismay when she saw that her cle**age was precariously close to spilling from the suggestive top. She folded her arms over her chest and scooted back until her back hit the other door.

She opened her mouth to speak, but he silenced her with a glare.

“Not a word, Bella. Not one damn word,” he said menacingly. Anger vibrated off him in waves. “I’ll have a full explanation when we return to the hotel. Until then I don’t want you to say anything.”

She swallowed then gulped as she stared wordlessly at him. Never had she seen him so…angry! He was usually so unbothered. Cool and collected. He was the epitome of order and calm.

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