• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

He wished he had sunglasses and earplugs.

He glanced back at the couple—er, threesome. He wasn’t sure, but the woman seemed to have her hands down both their pants.

How about a blindfold, too, he thought.

With Qhuinn in the lead, the five of them filed by a roped-off area that was guarded by bouncers the size of cars. On the other side of the steakhead barricade, separated from the riffraff by a wall of falling water, there were fancy people sitting in leather booths, the type who wore designer suits and no doubt drank liquor John couldn’t pronounce.

Qhuinn headed for the back of the club like a homing pigeon, picking out a spot against the wall with a good view of the grinding on the floor and easy bar access. He took drink orders from the ladies and Blay, but John just shook his head. This was so not a good environment to get even slightly loose in.

All of it reminded him of the time before he’d come to live with the Brotherhood. When he’d been out in the world alone he’d been used to being the smallest one around, and man, that was true here. Everyone was taller than he was, the crowd looming over him, even the women. And it brought out all of his instincts. If you had few physical resources to protect yourself with, you had to rely on your twitchy senses: Two feet and hauling ass was the strategy that had always saved him.

Well, saved him except for that one time.

“God…you are so tight.” In Qhuinn’s absence, the girls were all over Blay, especially Betty, who seemed to think he was a stroking post.

Blay had no game, evidently, because he had no quick comeback. But he was definitely not brushing them off, letting Betty’s hands go wherever they wanted.

Qhuinn sauntered over from the bar to the sound of brass balls clanging. Jesus, he was in his zone, two Coronas in each hand, eyes leveled on the girls. He moved like he was already having sex, his hips shifting with his stride, his shoulders doing the roll of a guy whose parts were in working order and ready to be used.

Man, the girls were eating that shit up, their eyes flaring as he came through the crowd.

“Ladies, I need a tip for my efforts.” He slipped Blay one of the beers, took a swig of another, and held the other pair over his head. “Gimme a little of what I want.”

Betty was on the ball, putting both her hands on his chest and stretching up. Qhuinn tilted his head a little, but didn’t help her much. Which only made her work harder. As their lips met, Qhuinn’s lifted into a smile…and he reached out and pulled the other girl close. Betty didn’t seem to mind in the slightest, and helped draw her friend in.

“Let’s go to the bathroom,” Betty stage-whispered.

Qhuinn leaned around Betty and laid a French kiss on her friend. “Blay? You want to join us?”

Blay threw back his beer, swallowing hard. “Nah, I’m going to hang out. Just want to chill.”

His eyes called his bluff when they flipped to John for a split second.

Which pissed John off. I don’t need a babysitter.

“I know, buddy.”

The girls frowned as they hung from Qhuinn’s shoulders like a set of drapes, as if John was being a buzz-kill drama queen. And they looked positively bitched when Qhuinn started to back off from them.

John pegged his buddy with hard eyes. Don’t you fucking dare think of bailing. I will never speak to you again.

Betty cocked her head, her blond hair slipping over Qhuinn’s forearm. “What’s wrong?”

John signed, Tell her nothing is wrong and go get laid. I’m fucking serious, Qhuinn.

Qhuinn signed back, Don’t feel right leaving you.

“Is something wrong?” Betty chirped.

If you don’t go, I’m leaving. I will walk out of this club, Qhuinn. For real.

Qhuinn’s eyes closed briefly. Then before Betty could something-wrong them all again, he said, “Let’s go ladies. We’ll be right back.”

As Qhuinn pivoted around and the girls shimmied away with him, John signed, Blay, go get laid. I’ll wait here. When his friend didn’t reply, he signed, Blay? Getcha ass going!

There was a moment’s hesitation. “I can’t.”

Why?