"Don't we all?" a deep, sexy female voice close to her ear said. Damali quickly pivoted on the stool, ready to do battle. "But if you're angling for a free drink, just name your poison."
"First you need to back up off me," Damali said slowly, watching the very tall Native American-looking woman slide onto the barstool next to her. She tossed her long French braid over her shoulder and sighed. Damali didn't like the odds, and they were getting worse. She could feel the females moving in on her quickly and quietly as the men slid away, making room for them.
One by one the chairs filled in around her. She glanced at the bartender, then the tall, older woman who was a fly-ass fifty, serving royal blue peacock and black stilettos.
"Pour this child a Jack Daniels," the woman beside her said. "My tab."
"This ain't no bargain," Damali said, accepting the drink with her eyes and not touching it. Another older sister had slid into a chair on her right. Her dark face seemed vaguely familiar, and her intense black eyes had that same knowing quality the others possessed.
She flipped her hand to dismiss Damali's open assessment. Sister was rockin' so much ice that the diamonds were practically blinding. Pure confidence radiated from her, almost like a heat wave. She was serving red stilettos that bordered on being "come f**k me" pumps. The red pants suit, killer. Everything about her aura demanded respect, even if she might have to kill her.
Damali raised her glass to them. Her gaze surveyed what she quickly counted as six or seven women. All older. All of varying hues and dressed to the nines, so confident and cocky that they hadn't even worn good battle shoes... All of them, obviously, professional assassins who could be patient and wait to do their hits. "Well, I have to hand it to you, ladies. You sure know how to try to take a sister out in style."
The one in red chuckled and sipped her martini slowly. "Too dramatic." She looked down the bar at the others. "See what man trouble will do? Make you simple."
Tension coiled around Damali's spine. Fury ate at her tender insides. She picked up her glass and poured it slowly into the woman's lap. "Yeah. It'll do that. So, let's get this party started."
She'd expected the instant lunge, and had mentally placed her reach to the bottles and barstools. She'd expected the cool sister to jump up. At least one of her girls should have flinched. But instead she just looked down at the stain and the liquor running down her shapely leg, and dabbed it with a finger, tasted it, made a face, and shook her head.
"See, that's youth," she said in an even tone. "You don't do that tacky mess in public. You take it to the ladies' room."
Damali was off her stool. "Any time."
"Now would be good," the bartender said, clearing it with one lithe move to stand before Damali with a sly smile. "Shall we?"
"It's your house," Damali said through her teeth. "You lead the way."
Martini glasses, champagne flutes, and rock glasses were set down calmly in unison as the women flanking the leader stood.
"Baby girl, do you have any idea who you're up against?"
Damali stepped back farther, one hand on her hip, the other pointing out her complaint. "No, bitch, do you?"
It was the first time she saw a flicker of rage cross their faces. The woman in red cocked her head to the side. "What did you call me?"
Damali wasn't sure if it was the tone of her voice or the level of shock held within it, but something very strange gave her pause. Within seconds the tall, older sister was up in her face.
"Take your ass to the bathroom before I embarrass you out here in public."
What? Damali looked at her like she was crazy. The dance floor had cleared. Several bouncers had come into the open area, but didn't move. The woman snapped her arm out and pointed hard in the direction of the back of the club. Damali balled up her fist, preparing to sucker-punch her. But then the woman did something Damali never expected. She simply turned on her heels and strutted forward, her head high with her shoulders back.
Curiosity was jacking with Damali's senses. Had all the female vampires just calmly walked to the ladies' room, or was she hallucinating? There was a silent dignity about them that didn't fit. Not to mention, they should have all been throwing down, right through here. Not marching toward the bathroom like offended church ladies. If they hadn't attacked, that meant one thing-they needed information. But what?
As she cautiously followed their regal promenade, Damali worked the puzzle in her head. Carlos had to be part of this. Maybe they were really worried about where their esteemed councilman had gone. Yeah... that had to be it.
The sister in red swung open the heavy door, almost yanking it from its hinges and making it slam against the wall. Bright fluorescent light greeted them, Damali entering the tight confines last. She made a quick assessment. No windows. All-white metal stalls and tile with pink accent borders. The pink was disorienting. In a vamp joint? Then she stopped as they stood before a huge mirror and cast a reflection, just like she did.
She opened her mouth and slowly closed it.
"That's right, damn it!" the woman in red said. "You'd better get a grip and know who you're talking to. I'll have you know I've run empires before you were even thought of, sister!"
"Chica, this is bad," another said, shaking her head. "We gonna have to kick your ass now, for real."
"Aw, ladies," another tall beauty said. "You know that's not why we brought her here."
The bartender stepped forward and offered her a fist pound. "We've got bigger problems."
"All right, Eve," the sister in red said, giving Damali a hard glare.