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“For running your mouth behind my back and for groping your dancers, that’s why.” He turned to Ass-wipe. “Would you like to hear your reasons?”
The werewolf pushed out from the table and stood. “I’m good.”
“At least one of you is smart. The rest of you can stay if you’re willing to adapt to some changes around here.”
The others nodded their agreements, dropping their former boss as if he’d transformed into literal shit right before their eyes.
Baylor looked at Grease-fingers and Ass-wipe, but they were already halfway out the door. “Well?” he yelled at the remainder of his men. “Do something, you useless idiots!”
Ivy stepped forward, heels clicking on the floor. “Oh yes,” she crooned. “Please do. We’re dying for a good tussle.” She rubbed her hands together, eyes glinting with wicked promise.
No one at the table moved. No one met Baylor’s desperate gaze. No one even breathed too loudly.
But then a shadow was moving at Darien’s left.
He stayed still, a smile playing on his mouth, as he handed this one to Ivy, who was moving before anyone could blink.
A blade glinted in the corner of Darien’s vision, but Ivy stopped it with a hand to the wrist of a man twice her size. With one quick movement, she had the knife in her grip. The man shouted out in pain as she drove her knee up into his groin.
Just as he was doubling over, hands flying to his crotch, Ivy drove the blade through his ear.
The man and the blade fell in unison, the thud of a lifeless body striking the floor blending in with the metallic clatter of the knife landing in a pool of red.
Darien grinned at the speechless men seated around the table. “She’s amazing, isn’t she?”
Silence fell again as Ivy resumed her place at Darien’s side. She tucked her hair behind an ear and fixed her jacket, as if preparing for a speech.
Baylor was at a loss as to what to do. He stared at his men in anger, but none of them moved. “You’re all a bunch of pussies, aren’t you?”
The vampire didn’t get a reply.
He pushed out from the table, knocking over his chair with a loud bang. “I’ll remember this, you pieces of shit.” He stormed past Darien, close enough to breathe on him but not close enough to touch. His brains weren’t total mush, then.
“Good, that went smoothly,” Darien drawled. It was to Whalen that he said quietly, “Keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t take anything he shouldn’t.” The bouncer left promptly. Darien called over his shoulder, “See you around, Baylor.”
The vampire’s voice echoed down the hallway. “Fuck you!”
Darien snickered. He started barking out orders at the last of the men, putting his least hated of his father’s employees in charge of the place for the next little while. Business would continue as usual until they found some new hires and put some new rules in place, mainly ones that focused on the dealings that went on in the back rooms, along with the blurred lines regarding what the men in this establishment were allowed to do to their female coworkers.
When he was finished, he and Ivy headed down to the bar for a drink—and to make sure Baylor, Grease-fingers, and Ass-wipe were off the premises.
They were. That hadn’t taken much.
The place was filling up as the afternoon inched toward evening, the regulars eager to begin their traditions. People arrived in droves, and dancers headed to their perches in sequined outfits and heels that had to be at least ten inches tall.
Darien was throwing back his second shot of tequila when he felt a small hand glide across his upper back, the touch featherlight. He set down his glass and turned around to find a raven-haired hellseher standing before him.
Her hand slid down to his forearm, but she didn’t remove it as she smiled up at him, tossing the hair out of her face. Her full lips were painted the deep shade of rubies, the colorful strobe lights that pulsed to the tune of the music dancing across her smooth porcelain skin. She wore a red satin dress with a low neckline, a slit in each side exposing the long sweep of her legs.
“Can I have a word?” The question was wrapped in honey, her large eyes beseeching.
Darien stepped away from her touch and bumped into a stool at the bar. He stared at her like she was a ghost who’d crawled out of a grave specifically to haunt him. It sure felt like it.
Her hand fell to her side, the smile on her lips fading until not a hint of it was left. “Relax,” she said in that husky bedroom-voice she always used, regardless of whether she was ordering food or about to suck dick. “I’m not here to try to jump your bones or anything.”
“You better not be,” Ivy cut in, stepping up to his side, two overflowing shot glasses in hand. Darien gave his sister a grateful look, because for some dumb reason, his tongue wouldn’t move. “The man’s in love, and I’m not about to stand by while you try to screw that up for him. Got it?”
Christa Copenspire gave Ivyana a tight smile, the light in her eyes fading. “Yeah, I got the memo, Ivy. Thanks.” When her dark eyes flicked to Darien’s, he couldn’t help but bristle under the attention. There was a time when he would’ve gladly drowned himself in the way she was looking at him, but now it only made him want to get out of here—and quickly. “About that word.”
