• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By some miracle, the two neurons in John’s head that were still working rationally pointed out that the best thing for him to do was go home. If he stayed here, in this club, he’d just replay what that female had said over and over again, until he got so out-of-the-head mad that he did something truly stupid.

“John? Let’s go home.”

Fuck. This was supposed to be Blay’s big night. Instead he was getting buzz-killed out of his chance to get laid good and hard. I’ll call Fritz. You stay with Qhuinn.

“Nope. We go together.”

Suddenly John felt like crying. What the hell was on that piece of paper? The one you gave her?

Blay flushed. “Zsadist gave it to me. He said if we ever got into a crack to show it.”

So what was it?

“Z said it was from Wrath as king. Something about the fact that he’s your ghardian.”

Why didn’t you tell me?

“Zsadist said to show it only if I had to. And that included to you.”

John rose from the chair and smoothed down his borrowed clothes. Look, I want you to stay and get laid and have a good time—

“We come together. We leave together.”

John glared at his friend. Just because Z said you had to babysit me—

For one of the first times in recorded history, Blay’s face got hard. “Fuck you—I’d do it anyway. And before you go all UFC, I’d like to point out that if our roles were reversed, you’d do the same goddamn thing. Admit it. You so fucking would. We’re friends. We back up. ’Nuff said. Now cut the shit.”

John wanted to kick over the chair he’d been sitting on. And he almost did.

Instead, he used his hands to sign, Shit.

Blay took out a BlackBerry and dialed. “I’ll just tell Qhuinn I’ll come back and pick him up whenever he wants.”

John waited and briefly imagined what Qhuinn was doing somewhere dim and semiprivate with one or both of those human women. At least he was having a good night.

“Yo, Qhuinn? Yeah, me and John are heading home. Wha—No, everything’s cool. We just had a run-in with security…No, you don’t have…No, everything’s tight. No, really. Qhuinn, you don’t have to stop—Hello?” Blay stared at his phone. “He’s meeting us by the front door.”

The two of them left the little room and weeded in and out of hot and sweaty humans until John felt rabid-claustrophobic—like he’d been buried alive and was breathing dirt.

When they finally made it to the front door, Qhuinn was standing to the left against the black wall. His hair was messed up, his shirttail was hanging out, his lips were red and a little swollen. Up close he smelled like perfume.

Two different kinds.

“You okay?” he asked John.

John didn’t answer. He couldn’t stand it that he’d ruined everyone’s night and just kept walking to the door. Until he felt the weird calling again.

He paused with his hands on the push bar and looked over his shoulder. The head of security was there watching him with her smart eyes. She was, once again, in a bank of the shadows, a place he suspected she preferred.

A place he suspected she always used to her advantage.

As his body tingled from head to foot, he wanted to put his fist through the wall, through the door, through someone’s upper lip. But he knew that wouldn’t get him the satisfaction he craved. He doubted he had enough upper-body strength to punch through the sports section of a newspaper.

The realization naturally pissed him off even more.

He turned his back on her and walked out into the chilly night. As soon as Blay and Qhuinn joined him on the sidewalk, he signed, I’m going to wander around for a while. You can come with me if you like, but you’re not going to talk me out of it. There is no way in hell I’m getting into a car and going home right now. Got it?

His friends nodded and let him lead the way, staying a couple feet behind him. Clearly, they knew he was a quarter of an inch away from losing it and needed the space.

As they went down Tenth Street, he heard them talking quietly, whispering about him, but he didn’t give a shit. He was a bag of anger. Nothing more.

True to his weak nature, his march of independence didn’t last long. Pretty damn