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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,