With another rush of happy-happy-joy-joy, the group next door let off a fresh buckshot of hilarity and Butch glanced over. At the center of the party was a little blond guy in a slick suit. He looked fifteen, but he'd been a regular in the VIP section for the past month, throwing cash around like it was confetti.
Obviously, the guy made up for his physical deficiencies through the use of his wallet. Another example of green being golden.
Butch finished his Scotch, fingered for the waitress, then looked at the bottom of his glass. Shit. After four doubles, he didn't feel buzzed at all, which told him how well his tolerance was faring. Clearly, he was a varsity alcoholic now, no more of that training at the junior levels thing.
And when the realization didn't bother him, he realized he'd stopped treading water. Now he was sinking.
Well, wasn't he a party tonight.
"The Reverend says you need a friend."
Butch didn't bother glancing up at the woman. "No, thanks."
"Why don't you look at me first?"
"Tell your boss I appreciate his-" Butch glanced up and clapped his mouth shut.
He recognized the woman immediately, but then again, ZeroSum's head of security was pretty damn unforgettable. Six feet tall, easy. Hair jet-black and cut like a man's. Eyes the dark gray color of a shotgun barrel. With the wife-beater she had on, she was popping the upper body of an athlete, all muscles, veins, and no fat. The vibe she gave off was that she could break bones and enjoy it, and absently he looked at her hands.
Long-fingered. Strong. The kind that could do damage.
Holy hell... he would like to be hurt. Tonight he would like to hurt on the outside for a change.
The woman smiled a little, like she knew what he was thinking, and he caught a glimpse of fangs. Ah... so she was not woman. She was female. She was vampire.
The Reverend had been right, that bastard. This one would do, because she was everything Marissa wasn't.
And because she was the kind of anonymous sex Butch had had all his adult life. And because she was just the Page 9
J R Ward: Lover Revealed
sort of pain he was looking for and hadn't known it.
As he slipped a hand into his Ralph Lauren Black Label suit, the female shook her head. "I don't work it for cash. Ever. Consider it a favor for a friend."
"I don't know you."
"You're not the friend I'm talking about."
Butch looked over her shoulder and saw Rehvenge staring across the VIP section. The male shot back a very self-satisfied smile, then disappeared into his private office.
"He's a very good friend of mine," the female murmured.
"Oh, really. What's your name?"
"Not important." She held out her hand. "Come on, Butch, a.k.a. Brian, last name O'Neal. Come back with me.
Forget for a while whatever makes you hammer those shots of Lagavulin. I promise you, all that self-destruction will be waiting for you when you get back."
Man, he really wasn't psyched about how much she had on him. "Why don't you tell me your name first."
"Tonight you can call me Sympathy. How 'bout that."
He eyed her from bangs to boots. She was wearing leather pants. No surprise. "You happen to have two heads there, Sympathy?"
She laughed, a low, rich sound. "No, and I'm not a she-male, either. Yours isn't the only sex that can be strong."
He stared hard into her cast-iron eyes. Then looked back at the private bathrooms. God... this was so familiar.
A quickie with a stranger, a meaningless crash between two bodies. This shit had been the cash-and-carry of his sex life since he could remember-except he didn't recall ever feeling this kind of sick despair before.
Whatever. Was he really going to stay celibate until he kicked it when his liver corroded? Just because a female he didn't deserve didn't want him?
He glanced down at his pants. His body was willing. At least that part of the math added up.
Butch slid out of the booth, his chest as cold as winter pavement. "Let's go."
On a lovely tremble of violins, the chamber orchestra glided into a waltz and Marissa watched the glittering crowd coalesce in the ballroom. All around her, males and females came together, hands linking, bodies meeting, stares locking. The mingling of dozens of different variations on the bonding scent filled the air with a rich spice.
She breathed in through her lips, trying not to smell so much of it.