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“I am a thief not to tell Butch,” she said softly. “Aren’t I.”

“I love you,” Mike murmured.

Her eyes watered as she looked from her son’s face up to his father’s. Michael Rafferty was a good man. A solid man. He was never going to be Hugh Jackman handsome or Bill Gates rich or King of England powerful. But he was hers and he was Sean’s and that was more than enough. Especially on nights like tonight, during conversations like this.

“I love you, too,” she said.

Vishous materialized behind ZeroSum and walked down the alley to the front of the club. When he saw the Escalade curbed on Tenth Street, he was relieved. Phury had said Butch had split from the mansion like Jeff Gordon and not because he was a happy guy.

V went into the club and headed straight for the VIP section.

But he didn’t make it.

That female head of security stepped in front of him, her jacked body blocking his way. As he gave her a quick once-over, he wondered what it would be like to tie her up. She’d probably leave scars in the process, and wouldn’t that be a fun way to kill an hour or two.

“Your boy needs to leave,” she said.

“He at our table?”

“Yeah, and you better get him out of here. Now.”

“What’s the damage?”

“None yet.” They both took off for the VIP area. “But I don’t want things to get that far, and we’re right on the edge.”

As they weeded in and out of the crowd, V glanced at those muscled arms of hers and thought about the job she had in the club. Hard-core for anyone, but especially a female. He had to wonder why she did it.

“Do you get off cracking males?” he said.

“Sometimes, but with O’Neal I prefer the sex.”

V stopped dead.

The female glanced over her shoulder. “There a problem?”

“When did you do him?” Though he somehow knew it had been recently.

“The question is when I’ll be with him again.” She nodded toward the VIP checkpoint. “But it won’t be tonight. Now go get him and haul him out of here.”

V narrowed his eyes. “’Scuse the old-school, but Butch is OPP.”

“Oh, really? Is that why he’s in here almost every night getting faced? His mate must be a real darling.”

“Don’t go near him again.”

The female’s expression hardened. “Brother or not, you do not tell me to do anything.”

V leaned in close and bared his fangs. “Like I said, you stay away from him.”

For a split second, he thought they were going to go at it, he really did. He’d never thrown hand to hand with a female before, but this one…well, she didn’t really seem female. Especially as she eyed his jaw like she was measuring her uppercut reach.

“You two want a room or a boxing ring?”

Vishous turned to see Rehvenge standing not three feet away, the male’s amethyst eyes glowing in the dimness. Under the floodlights, that mohawk was as dark as the floor-length sable coat he wore.

“Do we have a problem?” Rehvenge glanced back and forth as he took off his fur and handed it to a bouncer.

“Not at all,” V said. He glanced at the female. “Nothing doing, right?”

“Yeah,” she drawled, crossing her arms over her chest. “Nothing.”

V pushed past the bouncers in front of the velvet rope and went straight for the Brotherhood’s table—oh…man.

Butch looked totally wasted and not just because he was drunk. His face was drawn in grim lines, his eyes half-closed. His tie was out of whack, his shirt partially unbuttoned…and there was a bite mark on his neck that had bled a little onto his collar.

And yup, he was spoiling for a fight, glaring at the rowdy table of highfliers two banquettes down. Shit, the cop was a hairbreadth away from jumping them, all coiled and ready to spring.

“Hey, my man.” V sat down real slowly, thinking no sudden movements was a good plan. “What up?”

Butch threw back his Scotch without looking away from the class-A asses next door. “How’re ya, V?”

“Good, good. So how many of those Lags you have?”

“Not enough. I’m still vertical.”

“You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Not particularly.”

“You got bit, buddy.”

As the waitress came over and picked up the cop’s empty, Butch touched the bite