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Sergi takes a shot from a girl who can’t be more than eighteen. I almost pull out my Glock to put a bullet in his shaved head, but what good does that do me? I need his magic. I might kill him later if I find out he’s fucking with kids.
He spreads his hands. “Welcome, my friend. You look like you have had a day.”
The girl who’s with him stares, her eyes huge. She moves behind him as though I’m the devil.
“It’s all right, Tabatha. He can’t hurt you.” He pats her hands.
“What did you call her?” I hiss. I’m going to kill him. I can feel it as my palm starts to itch.
“Tabatha.” He frowns at me. “That’s her name. Are you all right, my friend?” He stands as I lower myself into the red booth.
“I’m not your friend,” I grunt out. Tabatha. It echoes in my head like that high-pitched ring they use to test your hearing.
I look at them and close my eyes, trying to breathe. My demons have arrived and they are not here to play tonight. They’re lighting a bonfire and I’m starting to burn.
“I want my usual,” I hiss. “As pure as you’ve got.”
Pulling out Lucky’s money, I toss five hundred on the table. He looks down then back up at me.
“I don’t know… you show up and look like this.” He motions with his hand at my blood-splattered clothes and beat-up hands. “Then you want me to give you all my good stuff for—” He doesn’t get anything else out. Tabatha screams, her big eyes dilated with fear and whatever else she’s on.
Somehow my Glock is in his mouth. “I’m going to say this once. Don’t ever think you can tell me no.” I whisper almost seductively, “Now you can give me what I want or you can die. The choice is yours.”
“Whoa… Poet?” I look over at a bouncer running toward me. He’s a Disciple.
“Put the gun down, man. We’re open.” I think his name is Ducky or Mucky, something like that. He stands there looking uncomfortable as his eyes dart from me to Sergi. The girl starts talking in Russian to Sergi.
“It’s all fine. Right, Sergi?” He blinks and tries to smile that stupid smile that dares me to blow his brains all over Edge’s freshly painted walls.
Sergi nods and I pull out my Glock. Slowly he straightens. “Relax, Poet. I was joking. You can have it all.”
I push him back as he stumbles over a chair. His mean eyes narrow, but he straightens and spits out Russian to the girl. She reacts immediately as she goes into her purse and comes out with all the things I need. I pick up three baggies filled with white powder.
“Trust me, you’ll be in heaven soon and talking to God with that stuff.” He sniffs and straightens his stupid Adidas tracksuit.
“Needles?”
He raises a brow, a small smile on his face as he nods to Tabatha. My hand goes to my locket around my neck. She places them on the table as I grab her small wrist and hiss, “How old are you?”
She looks scared, which makes my blood boil. I’m not right in the head. The sound system blasts on and the DJ starts spinning dance music. The lights dim, though no one is even hanging out in this area.
She licks her small lips. “I’m twenty-one, of course,” she says with a strong Russian accent.
“Poet, I had no idea.” Sergi laughs, but when I look over at him, three of his thugs stand behind him. I drop her wrist as I straighten and smile, daring them to make one move. With the mood I’m in, I might kill them for no other reason than the ugly, cliché shit they’re wearing.
“You had no idea what?”
“If you want Tabatha by all means.” He waves her toward me. Her eyes zero in on the blood on my hands.
I grab the needles and heroin. He laughs and leans over the table.
“We got guns too, cowboy.”
One of the Russian bodyguards unzips his tracksuit.
“Jesus Christ, shut up.” I need to leave before I do something that could hurt our chances of taking down Satan’s Seeds. I do not need to be thrown in jail.
“I’m done.”
Tucking my gun in the back of my pants, I don’t even bother to look back. Sweet Neverland and its fairies are calling to me. I take the steps two at a time to the office door. I’ll deal with Sergi later—if there is a later.
Pounding on the door, I wait. It buzzes open to Fish buttoning his pants while on the phone. A dark-haired woman wipes her mouth as she reaches for her bag and some lipstick. Not that I give a shit that Fish gets blown in the office, but I do need space, so the girl needs to go. Especially anyone with dark hair. Christ, I’m starting to act like Reed.
