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John had to admit the guy looked tight tonight: black open-collared shirt, black trousers, black boots, black leather jacket. With his dark hair and his mismatched eyes, he was getting a lot of attention from the human females. For example, right now two brunettes and a redhead were strolling down the line, and what do you know, all three of them did a head snap as they went by Qhuinn. He was characteristically shameless as he stared back.

Blay cursed. “My man over here is going to be a menace, aren’t you?”

“You’d better believe it.” Qhuinn jacked up his pants. “I’m starving.”

Blay shook his head, then scanned the street. He’d done this a number of times, his eyes sharp, his right hand in his jacket pocket. John knew what was in that palm of his: the grip of a nine. Blay was armed.

He’d said he’d gotten the gun from a cousin of his and it was all hush-hush. But then, it had to be. One of the rules of the training program was that you weren’t supposed to carry when you were out and about. It was a good rule, built on the theory that a little knowledge was a dangerous thing, and trainees shouldn’t front like they had half a brain when it came to fighting. Still, Blay had said he wasn’t going downtown without some metal, and John had decided to pretend he didn’t know what that bulge was about.

And there was also a little part of him that thought if they ran into Lash, it might not be a bad idea.

“Well, hey, ladies,” Qhuinn said. “Where you off to?”

John glanced over. A pair of blondes were standing in front of Qhuinn, looking like his body was the candy counter at a movie theater and they were wondering whether to start with the Milk Duds or the Swedish Fish.

The one on the right, who had hair down to her ass and a skirt the size of a paper napkin, smiled. Her teeth were so white they gleamed like pearls. “We were going to Screamer’s, but…if you’re heading in here, we might change our plans.”

“Make it easy on all of us and join us in line.” He bowed, sweeping his arm in front of him.

The blonde looked at her friend, then pulled a little Betty Boop maneuver, hip and hair swinging. It looked well rehearsed. “I just love a gentleman.”

“I’m one to my very core.” Qhuinn held his hand out, and when the Betty took it, he pulled her into line. A couple of guys frowned, but one look from Qhuinn and they cut the crap, which was understandable. Qhuinn was taller and wider than them, a semi to their station wagons.

“This is Blay and John.”

The girls beamed up at Blay, who flushed the color of his hair, then the two did a cursory pass over John. He got a quick pair of head nods and then the focus was back on his friends.

Putting his hands in the windbreaker he’d borrowed, he moved out of the way so Betty’s friend could squeeze in next to Blay.

“John? You okay there?” Blay asked.

John nodded and looked at his friend, signing quickly, Just zoning out.

“Oh, my God,” Betty said.

John shoved his hands back into his pockets. Shit, she’d no doubt noticed he’d used sign language, and this was going to go one of two ways: She’d either think he was cute. Or she’d pity him.

“Your watch is so hot!”

“Thank you, baby,” Qhuinn said. “I just got it. Urban Outfitters.”

Oh, right. She hadn’t noticed John at all.

Twenty minutes later they finally made it up to the club’s entrance, and it was a miracle John got in. The bouncers at the door surveyed his ID with everything but a proton microscope, and they were just starting to shake their heads when a third came up, took one look at Blay and Qhuinn, and let them all in.

Two feet past the door and John decided he wasn’t into the scene. There were people everywhere, showing so much skin they might as well have been at the beach. And was that couple over there…shit, was that guy’s hand up her skirt?

No, it was the hand of the guy behind her. The one she wasn’t kissing.

All around, techno music blared, the shrill beats ringing through air that was stuffy with sweat and perfume and something musky that he suspected was sex. Lasers speared the dimness, evidently aiming right