Lover Avenged (Black Dagger Brotherhood #7)(135)

He had this unshakable sense that he had to act fast, because he didn’t have a lot of time left.





John took his good goddamn time getting to ZeroSum. After he left Xhex’s, he strolled over to Tenth Street and walked in the flurries down to the Tex/Mex place. Inside, he took a table next to a fire exit and, through pointing at pictures on the laminated menu, bought himself two plates of baby backs, a side of mashed, and a side of slaw.

The waitress who took his order and delivered the chow was wearing a skirt short enough to be considered underwear, and she seemed ready to serve him in more than just a dinner kind of way. He actually considered it. She had blond hair and not too much makeup and her legs were nice. But she smelled like barbecue, and he didn’t appreciate the way she talked real slow around him, as if she thought he was dumb.

John paid cash, left a good tip, and hustled along before she could try to give him her number. Out in the cold, he took the long way down Trade. Which was to say he made a detour into each alley he came to.

No lessers. No humans doing bad shit, either.

Finally, he went into ZeroSum. As he walked through the steel-and-glass doors and caught a barrage of lights and music and shady people dressed up slick, his tough-man makeover slipped a little. Xhex would be here—

Yeah. So. Was he such a f*cking nancy that he couldn’t be in the same club with her?

Not anymore. John got his balls right and strode over to the velvet rope, past the stares of the bouncers, and up into the VIP lounge. In the back, at the Brotherhood’s table, Qhuinn and Blay were sitting like a pair of quarterbacks stuck on a bench while their team was choking it out on the field: They were antsy and drumming their fingers, playing with the napkins that had come with their bottles of Corona.

As he walked over, they both looked up and stopped all movement, like someone had just freeze-framed their DVDs.

“Hey,” Qhuinn said.

John sat down next to his buddy and signed, Hey.

“How you doing?” Qhuinn asked as the waitress came over with perfect timing. “Another three Coronas—”

John cut the guy off. I want something different. Tell her…I want a lowboy of Jack Daniel’s on ice.

Qhuinn’s eyebrows popped, but he put in the order and watched as the woman trotted over to the bar. “High-test, huh.”

John shrugged and eyed a blonde two booths down. The second she caught him staring she went into full preen mode, sweeping her thick, shiny hair over onto her back and shoving her breasts out until they strained against her barely there LBD.

Bet she didn’t smell like ribs.

“Um…John, what the f*ck is doing with you?”

What do you mean, he signed to Qhuinn without taking his eyes off the woman.

“You’re looking at that chick like you want to roll her up in a taco and put your hot sauce all over her.”

Blay coughed a little. “You really don’t have a way with words, you know that?”

“Just calling it like I see it.”

The waitress came over and tabled the Jack and the beers, and John went for his booze hard-core, tossing the shit back and opening his throat so that it was nothing but a chute down into his belly.

“Is this going to be one of those nights?” Qhuinn murmured. “Where you end up in the bathroom?”

It sure as f*ck is, John signed. But not because I’m throwing up.

“Then why would you…Oh.” Qhuinn looked like someone had just goosed him in the ass with a two-by-four.

Yeah, oh, John thought as he scanned the VIP area in the event a better candidate presented herself.

Next door, there was a trio of businessmen, each of whom had a woman with him, all of whom looked like they were ready for their Vanity Fair close-up. Across the way, you had your basic six-pack of Eurotrash who kept blowing their noses a lot and going back to the bathrooms in pairs. Up at the bar were a pair of high-flyers with their jacked-up second wives, and another set of cokers who were eyeing the working girls.

He was still on scan mode when Rehvenge himself stalked into the VIP room. As everyone saw him, a ripple of thrill went through the place, because even if folks didn’t know he owned the club, there were not a lot of six-foot-six guys who sported a red cane and a black sable coat and a brush-cut mohawk around.

Plus, even in the dim light, you could tell he had purple eyes.

As usual, he was flanked by two males who were the size of him and looked like they ate bullets for breakfast. Xhex was not with them, but that was fine. That was good.

“I so want to be that guy when I grow up,” Qhuinn drawled.

“Just don’t cut your hair,” Blay said. “It’s too beau—I mean, mohawks require a lot of upkeep.”

As Blay fired back his beer, Qhuinn’s mismatched eyes briefly touched on his best friend’s face before hurrying away.

After signaling the waitress for another Jack, John cranked himself around and stared through the waterfall wall at the gen-pop section of the club. Out there on the dance floor, there were a ton of women looking for exactly what he wanted to give them. All he had to do was go out there and pick among the willing volunteers.

Great plan, except, for no good reason, he thought of The Maury Show. Did he really want to run the risk of impregnating some random human woman? You were supposed to know when they were ovulating, but what the f*ck did he know from female anything?