J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8 - J. R. Ward [359]
Tired and overwrought as the son was, he had power in his veins, power that needed to be triggered. The club and its idiots were the gun. The son was the bullet.
And a fight would revive things real good. “Come on, now,” Mr. D said, getting out.
“This is bullshit.” The words mighta sounded strong, but the tone was still that of a guy whose grain silo was empty.
“It ain’t.” Mr. D walked around, opened the son’s door, and helped him out. "Y’all gotta trust me.”
They walked across the street to the club, and when the bouncer at the head of the wait line glared at Mr. D, he slipped the big man a fifty, which got them in.
“We gonna just have a hang-around,” Mr. D said as he took them through the crowd and over to the bar.
All through the club, hard-core rap thumped, while women dressed in bits of leather paraded by on cock patrol and men glared at one another.
He knew he’d done right when the son’s eyes rifle-sighted a group of college-y guys who was barking loudly and sucking back hot sauce in martini glasses.
“Yup, we just havin’ ourselves a little breather,” Mr. D said with satisfaction.
The bartender came by. “Whatchu want?”
Mr. D smiled. “Nothing for us—”
“Shot of Patrón,” the son said.
As the bartender went off, Mr. D leaned in. “You can’t eat no more. No drinking ’n’ no sex neither.”
The son’s pale eyes shot over to him. “What? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“No, suh, that’s the way—”
“Yeah, fuck that.” When the shot glass came down for a landing, the son said to the bartender, “Start a tab.”
Lash tossed back the tequila while glaring at Mr. D.
Mr. D shook his head and started scouting for the bathroom. Yeah, boy, when he’d tried the food routine he’d ended up hurling for an hour, and hadn’t they already done enough of that tonight?
“Where’s my second,” Lash barked out to the bartender.
Mr. D swiveled his head back around. The Omega’s son was standing there, happy as you please, tapping his fingers on the bar. The second shot came. Then the third.
After the fourth was ordered, Lash’s pale eyes slid over, aggression flaring in them. “So what was this about no eating and no drinking?”
Mr. D couldn’t decide whether he was looking at a bomb about to go off . . . or a miracle. No lessers were able to take food and drink once they’d been turned. The Omega’s black blood nourished them and was incompatible with anything else. All they needed to survive was a couple of hours of rest every day.
“I guess you is different,” Mr. D said with respect in his voice.
“Damn straight I am,” the son muttered, and then ordered a hamburger.
As the guy ate and drank, you could see the color come back into his face and the spaced-out look get replaced by confidence. And while watching that hamburger and fries and all that tequila go down into Lash’s gullet, Mr. D had to wonder whether the son would pale out as the rest of the lessers did. The regular rules were clearly not applying here.
“And what is this shit about no sex?” the son said as he wiped his mouth on a black paper napkin.
“We is impotent. You know, can’t get—”
“I know what it means, Professor.”
The son eyed a blond loose goose at the end of the bar. The woman was no one Mr. D would have had the guts to go after, even if he’d been able to get it up. With her Play-boy body and her prom-queen face, he woulda given her a pass as out of his league. Not that she’d have noticed him to begin with.
She noticed the son, though, and the way she were looking at the guy made Mr. D measure his new boss right careful. Lash was a handsome sonofa, true ’nough, with his cropped blond hair and his chiseled face and those gray eyes. And he had the kind of body the women done go for, big and muscled, his torso an inverted triangle sitting on his hips, ready for all kinds of action.
It dawned on Mr. D that if they was still in school, he’d be proud to be seen with the son. And likely on the outs with the kind of people