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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 fuck 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 fuck 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 fuck did he know from female anything?

Frowning, he turned back around, fisted his fresh Jack, and focused on the working girls.

Professionals. Who knew the kind of get-off game he was looking to get into. Much better.

He focused on a dark-haired female who had a face like the Virgin Mary. Marie-Terese, he thought he’d heard her name was. She was the boss of the working girls, but she was also available for hire: At the moment, she was hip-out and come-hithering a guy in a three-piece who seemed very interested in her goods.

Come with me, John signed to Qhuinn.

“Where—Okay, gotcha.” Qhuinn polished off his beer and slid out. “Guess we’ll be back, Blay.”

“Yeah. Have…a good time.”

John led the way over to the brunette, and her blue eyes seemed surprised as the two of them came up to her. With some kind of sultry apology, she stepped away from her prospect.

“You need something?