by J. R. Ward
Qhuinn looked around. “To the back. Where the hell is the back?”
“I thought you knew?” Blay said.
“Nah. Just didn’t want to come off as an idiot—Wait, I think we have a winner.” He nodded to a roped-off area that had two huge guys standing in front of it. “That just screams VIP. Ladies, shall we?”
Qhuinn walked over like he knew exactly what he was doing, said two words to the bouncer, and whaddaya know, the rope was down and the three of them were parading in.
Well, Blay and Qhuinn were parading. John was trying not to run into anyone else. He’d lucked out that the guy at the door had been some kind of pansy. Next time he’d probably manage to land on a hit man. Who was armed.
The VIP section had its own private bar and bartenders, and its waitresses were dressed like high-class strippers, showing a lot of skin as they went around on a lot of heel. The male patrons were all in suits, the women in expensive bits of nothing much. It was a fast, flashy crowd…that made John feel like a total poser.
There were banquettes on both sides of the room, three of which were open, and Qhuinn picked the one farthest back, in the corner.
“This is the best,” he pronounced. “Next to the emergency exit. In the shadows.”
There were two martini glasses on the tabletop, but they sat down anyway, and a waitress came over to clear. Blay and Qhuinn ordered beers. John passed, thinking he needed to stay tight tonight.
They’d been chilling for no less than five minutes, Blay and Qhuinn barely getting a start on their Coronas, when they heard a female voice say, “Hey, daddies.”
All three of them looked up at the blond Wonder Woman standing in front of them. She was a knockout in a very Pam Anderson kind of way, more breast than anything else.
“Hey, baby,” Qhuinn drawled. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Sweet Charity.” She put both hands on the table and leaned in, flashing her perfect chest and her tanning-salon skin and her gleaming, bleached teeth. “Want to know why?”
“Like I want my next breath.”
She bent down a little farther. “Because I taste good and I’m a giver.”
Qhuinn’s tight smile was all about sex. “Then come over and sit by me—”
“Boys,” came a deep voice.
Oh, Jesus. A huge guy had come up to their table, and John didn’t think it was a good thing. With a beautiful black suit and a pair of hard amethyst eyes and a cropped mohawk, he looked like both a thug and a gentleman.
Okay, that was a vampire, John thought. He wasn’t sure exactly how he knew, but he was sure of it and not only because of the size thing. The guy just gave off the same vibe as the Brothers did: power in check on a hair trigger.
“Charity, you mine elsewhere, feel me?” the male said.
The blonde seemed a little bummed as she pulled back from Qhuinn—who was looking pissed. Except then she trotted off and…well, shit, pulled the same routine two banquettes down.
As Qhuinn’s expression lost some of its edge, the mohawked male bent low and said, “Yeah, she wasn’t just after the pleasure of your company, big man. She’s a pro. Most of the women you see walking around in this section are. So unless you want to pay for it, go out to the open-access area, pick up a few, and bring them back here, deal?” The guy smiled, flashing a tremendous set of fangs. “By the way, I own this place, so while you’re here I’m responsible for your asses. Make my job easy and keep righteous.” Before he turned away, he looked at John. “Zsadist said to say hello.”
He left on that note, checking out everything and everybody on his way to an unmarked door in the back. John wondered how the guy knew Z, and figured that no matter the connection, that mohawked brass-baller was definitely someone you wanted on your side.
Otherwise you might want to pick up a Kevlar bodysuit.
Or better yet, leave the country.
“Well,” Qhuinn said, “that’s an important tip. Shit.”
“Um, yeah.” Blay shifted in his seat as another blonde strolled by. “So…um, you want to head out to the floor?”
“Blay, you little slut.” Qhuinn hustled out of the banquette. “Of course I do. John—”
I’m going to hang here, he signed. You know, save our table.
Qhuinn clapped him on the shoulder. “Fine. We’ll bring something back from the buffet for you.”
John frantically shook his head, but his buddies just turned away. Oh, God. He should have stayed home. He so should have skipped this.
As a brunette waltzed by he glanced down quickly, but she didn’t stop, and neither did any of the others—like the owner had told all the women to leave them alone. Which was a relief. Because that brunette? Looked like she could eat a man alive, and not necessarily in a good way.
Crossing his arms over his chest, John leaned back in the leather seat and kept his eyes on the beers. He could feel people staring at him…and no doubt they were wondering what the hell he was doing here. Which made sense. He wasn’t like Blay and Qhuinn and couldn’t front like he was. All the music and the drinking and the sex didn’t energize him; they made him want to disappear.
He was thinking seriously of bailing when a blast of heat hit him, like from out of nowhere. He looked up to the ceiling, wondering if he was sitting under an air vent and the furnace had just come on.
No.
He glanced around—
Oh, shit. The head of security was coming through the VIP section’s velvet rope.
As the dim overhead lights hit her, John swallowed hard. She was in the same outfit as before, wearing a muscle shirt that showed off her powerful arms and a pair of leathers that were tight over her hips and long thighs. Her hair had been trimmed since he’d seen her, the brush cut gleaming.
The second her eyes met his he looked away, his face the color of a fire engine. In a panic he convinced himself that she was going to know what he’d done when he was thinking of her earlier today. She was going to know he…came while she was on his mind.
Damn it, he wished he had a drink to play with. And a cold pack for his cheeks.
He grabbed Blay’s beer and took a swig as he sensed she was coming this way. Man, he couldn’t decide whether it would be worse if she stopped…or didn’t stop.
“Back again, but looking different.” Her voice was low, like a banked fire. And made his blush worse. “Congratulations.”
He cleared his throat. Which was stupid. Like he could say anything?
Feeling the fool, he mouthed the words, Thank you.
“Your friends go trolling?”
He nodded and took another pull on the Corona.
“Not you, though? Or are they bringing you something?” That amazing voice of hers was pure sex, making his body tingle…and his cock stiffen. “Well, in case you didn’t know, the bathrooms back there have some extra room and extra privacy.” She laughed a little, as if she knew he was aroused. “Have fun with the girlies, but keep tight. Then you won’t have to deal with me.”
She walked away, and as she went the crowd parted for her, men big as football players getting out of her way. As John watched her go, he felt a sharp shooter in the front of his trousers and looked down. He was rock-hard. Thick as his frickin’ forearm. And as he shifted in the seat, the friction of his pants made him bite down on his lower lip.
He put his hand underneath the table with the intention of moving things around down there so he could get some more room behind his fly…but the instant he came into contact with his erection, the image of that security guard popped back in his mind and he nearly lost it. He whipped his palm back so fast it banged into the underside of the table.
John rolled his hips, looking for relief but making the burn worse. He was itchy and dissatisfied, his mood quickly getting a dangerous edge. He thought about the release he’d given himself in his bed and decided that he could use another. Like now.
Like right now, before he came again.
Shit, maybe he could take care
of himself here. With a frown, he looked over to the hallway that disappeared into the back and had doors on either side.
One of which happened to open.
A small redheaded woman who looked like a professional came out fluffing her hair and rearranging her bright pink getup. Right behind her was…Phury?
Yeah, that was definitely him, and he was tucking his shirt into the waistband of his slacks. The two didn’t say a word to each other: The woman went to the left and started talking up a group of men; the Brother kept walking forward, like he was on his way out.
When Phury looked up, John locked eyes with him. After an awkward moment the warrior lifted his hand in greeting, then took off for a side exit, disappearing outside. John swigged up some more beer, utterly stunned. Sure as hell that woman hadn’t been in a bathroom with the guy because she was giving him a back-rub. God, he was supposed to be celi—
“And this is John.”
John jerked his head around. Whoa. Blay and Qhuinn had struck gold. The three human women with them were all very pretty and mostly undressed.
Qhuinn pointed to each of them. “This is Brianna, CiCi, and Liz. Girls, this is our man John. He uses sign language to talk, so we’ll translate.”
John finished off Blay’s beer, feeling like a jerk as the communication barrier reared its ugly-ass head again. He was thinking about how to word his I’m-going-to-bail speech when one of the girls sat next to him, trapping him in the banquette.
A waitress came by and took orders, and after she left all this chatter and giggling sprang up, the girls’ high notes mixing in with Qhuinn’s deep voice and Blay’s shy, low laugh. John kept his eyes down.
“God, you are so good-looking,” one of the girls said. “Are you a model?”
The conversation abruptly lagged.
Qhuinn rapped his knuckles on the table in front of John. “Yo, J. She’s talking to you.”
John lifted his head in confusion, meeting his buddy’s mismatched eyes. Qhuinn nodded pointedly toward the girl next to John, then bugged out his peepers, a kind of Would you get with the program here, my man?
John took a deep breath and glanced to his left. The girl was staring up at him with…shit, absolute starstruck devotion.
“ ’Cause you are, like, so beautiful,” she said to him.
Holy Christ, what did he do with that?
As the blood hit his face and his body tensed, he signed quickly to Qhuinn, I’m going to have Fritz pick me up. I’ve got to go.
John beat feet out of the banquette, half trampling the girl who’d sat next to him. He couldn’t wait to get home.
Chapter Thirty-eight
When Jane’s alarm went off at five A.M., she had to hit the snooze button. Twice. Usually she was out of bed and in the shower before knew she was upright, like the beep-beep-beep didn’t so much wake her up as spring her out of bed like a toaster. Not today. Today she just lay against her pillows and stared at the ceiling.
God, the dreams she’d had during the night…dreams of that ghostly lover coming and taking her, riding her hard. She could still feel him on her, in her.
Enough, though. The more she thought of all that, the more her chest hurt, so, with a Herculean pull, she diverted her attention to work. Which, of course, then just got her tangled up about Manello. She couldn’t believe he’d kissed her, but he had…he’d laid one right on her mouth. And as she’d always wondered in the back of her mind what he’d be like, she hadn’t pulled away. So he’d kissed her again.
He was good, which wasn’t a surprise. What was a news flash was the fact that it had felt wrong. Like she was being unfaithful to someone.
The damn alarm went off again, and she cursed as she shut it up with her hand. Goddamn, she was tired, even though she thought she’d gone to bed early. At least, she assumed it had been early, though she wasn’t exactly sure when Manny had left. She recalled him helping her up here and settling her into bed, but her head was so scrambled she couldn’t remember what time it had been or how long it had taken her to fall asleep.
Whatever.
Throwing off the covers, she headed for the bathroom and started the shower. As steam boiled up and clouded the air, she shut the bathroom door, pulled her T-shirt off, and—
Jane frowned as a feeling of wetness welled between her legs. Doing a quick count of the days, she figured her period must be wonky—
It wasn’t her period. She’d had sex.
Cold shock replaced the heat from the steam. Oh, God…what had she done. What had she done?
Jane wheeled around, even though she had nowhere to go—only to clamp her hand over her mouth.
Written on the mirror, revealed by the steam, were the words, I love you, Jane.
She stumbled backward until she hit the door.
Shit. She’d slept with Manny Manello. And hadn’t remembered a thing.
Phury took a seat in Wrath’s study, this time on the delicate pale blue wing chair by the fireplace. His hair was still wet from the shower, and he had a cup of coffee in his hand.
He needed a blunt.
As the rest of the Brotherhood filed in, he looked at Wrath. “Mind if I light up?”
The king shook his head. “I’d consider it a public service. We could all use the contact high today.”
God, wasn’t that the truth. Everyone was off. Zsadist was twitchy over by the bookcases. Butch was distracted by the computer on his lap. Wrath looked exhausted behind a mountain of paperwork. Rhage was pacing around, unable to settle—a sure sign that he hadn’t found a fight during the night hours.
And Vishous…V was the worst of them. He stood by the door, staring into space. Icy before, he was glacial now, a sinkhole in the room. Shit, he was even more grim than he’d been the night before.
As Phury lit up, he thought about Jane and V and idly wondered what the sex they’d had had been like. He imagined that, while they had had plenty of pummel sessions, there had been lovely moments of communion, too.
Yeah, nothing like the stuff he’d had in that bathroom. With that prostitute.
He pushed his free hand through his hair. Were you still a virgin if you’d been in a female, but hadn’t finished? He wasn’t sure. Either way, he wasn’t going to ask anyone. It was all just too skeevy.
Man, he’d hoped being with someone would help him move on, but it hadn’t. He felt even more trapped, especially as the first thing he’d done when he’d walked through the mansion’s door was think of Bella: He’d prayed she didn’t catch him coming back smelling of that human woman.
Distance was going to require something else, evidently.
Unless…damn, maybe it just required itself. He probably should move out of the house.
“Let’s do this,” Wrath said, convening the meeting. In quick succession he reviewed some issues concerning the glymera; then Rhage, Butch, and Z reported on events in the field. Which wasn’t much. The slayers had been relatively quiet of late, likely because the Fore-lesser had been killed about two weeks ago by the cop. This was typical. Any shift in Lessening leadership usually resulted in some downtime in the war, although it never lasted for long.
As Phury lit up his second blunt, Wrath cleared his throat. “Now…about the Primale ceremony.”
Phury drew in hard as V’s diamond eyes lifted. Damn…the male looked like he’d aged a hundred and fifty years in the last week, his skin sallow, his brows down, his lips tight. He’d never been a party to begin with, but now he looked death-knell drawn.
“What about it,” V said.
“I will be there.” Wrath glanced over. “Phury, you too. We’ll go at midnight tonight, okay?”
Phury nodded, then braced himself, because it looked as if Vishous was going to say something. The brother’s body tensed up, his eyes darting around, his jaw working…but then nothing came out of his mouth.
Phury exhaled a stream of smoke and stamped the blunt out in a crystal ashtray. It was brutal to watch your brother bleed, to know he suffered wh
ile you couldn’t do anything about it—
He froze, an eerie calm coming over him, one that had nothing to do with the red smoke.
“Christ on a crutch,” Wrath said, rubbing his eyes. “Get out of here, all of you. Go relax. We’re all losing it—”
Phury spoke up. “Vishous, if it weren’t for the Primale shit, you would be with Jane, right?”
V’s diamond eyes shifted over and narrowed into slits. “What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”
“You would be with her.” Phury looked over at Wrath. “And you would let him, right? I mean, I know she’s a human, but you let Mary come into—”
V cut him off, voice hard as his eyes, like he couldn’t believe Phury was being so thoughtless. “There’s no making it work. So just fucking drop it.”
“But…there is.”
Vishous’s eyes flashed violent white. “No offense, but I’m on my last nerve. Backing off would be a really good plan for you right about now.”
Rhage surreptitiously moved over next to V, while Zsadist came to stand beside Phury.
Wrath rose to his feet. “How about we drop this.”
“No, hear me out.” Phury got up from the chair. “The Scribe Virgin wants a male from the Brotherhood, right? For the purposes of breeding, right? Why does it have to be you?”
“Who the fuck else would it be?” V growled as he leaned into a charging stance.
“Why not…me?”
In the silence that followed, a grenade could have gone off under Wrath’s desk and no one would have noticed: The Brotherhood just stared at him like he’d sprouted horns.
“Well, why couldn’t I? She just needs DNA, right? So anyone who’s a Brother should be able to do it. My line is strong. My blood is good. Why couldn’t it be me?”
Zsadist breathed, “Jesus…Christ.”
“There’s no reason I couldn’t be the Primale.”
V’s aggression bled out of him, leaving him with an expression like someone had nailed him in the back of the head with a frying pan. “Why would you do that?”