Blood Kiss - Ward J. R. - Страница 40

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Butch stopped talking as he realized the entire table of males was looking at him. “What?”

“You haven’t heard about Magic Mike?” Rhage demanded.

“No.” He leaned back again as his drink was delivered. “Thanks. Is it like Barney?”

“It’s about strippers,” Hollywood countered.

Butch frowned and lowered the glass from his lips. “I’m sorry?”

V came in from the pantry with a thick pouch of tobacco, a pack of rolling papers, and a scowl like somebody had stripped his favorite sex toy of its batteries.

“Naked,” Vishous muttered as he sat where Marissa should have been. “Buck-ass naked. And they’re humans. Christ, it’s like being shown up by a pack of dogs.”

“In thongs,” someone else bitched. “Dogs in thongs.”

Butch followed through on taking a drink this time, swallowing the burn, welcoming the heat in his gut. Okay, fine, it was a bit of a surprise to find that he kept going until the glass was empty, but hey, he had a lot to think about. On one level, the fact that his shellan was watching a movie with her buddies, even if it did involve some nakey, really wasn’t a big deal.

On another level, he wanted to find the electrical box and cut the power to that part of the mansion.

Then torch the DVD. And the screen.

And take his mate to bed just to show her all the tricks he had over some actor in a—oh, God, a thong?

“It’s fine,” he heard himself say as he motioned to a doggen for a refill. “I mean, first of all, they love us—and second, it’s not like it’s an X rated—”

“They show a cock pump,” Lassiter said with a wide smile, like he was helping. “And in action. You know, it’s on a cock and it’s pumping—”

Vishous unsheathed a dagger from somewhere and pointed the thing at the fallen angel’s head. “You keep talking like that and I’ma trim your hair. With my eyes closed.”

Lassiter laughed. “Yeah, whatever, big boy. I thought you had more mojo than to get worked up over something like this. You really that insecure?”

“You want insecure,” V said. “I’ll make you—”

“Okay, okay,” Butch cut in. “Leave it, V. It’s fine, it’s great—they’re just enjoying themselves. What’s wrong with that? It’s not like they’re sleeping with the guy.”

“You sure about that?” Lassiter smiled. “You don’t think they’re fantasizing about—”

The collective growl that rose up from the Brotherhood was so loud, it managed to agitate the crystals in the enormous chandelier hanging over the table. And the fallen angel was an idiot, but he wasn’t stupid.

Moving slowly, like there were multiple guns pointed at him, he put his hands up in submission. “Sorry. Whatever. I’ll stop before all this lame-ass uncomfortability you bunch of morons are sporting kills me.”

“Wise choice,” Butch said dryly. “Not that I wouldn’t mind hitting you right now. Although that’s not specific to this sitch.”

Lassiter went back to eating, shoving food into his face.

The Brothers weren’t so quick to do a reset on things, those narrowed eyes and bared fangs still trained on the angel with the big mouth.

“Come on, boys, it’s fine.” He cut a piece of lamb off and put it in his mouth. “Mmm. Delish.”

In reality, the stuff tasted like cardboard, but he made a show of the yummies. He couldn’t keep it up, though.

Two minutes later, he was shoving a full plate away and nursing his second whiskey. “Really. They should have a little independence. They don’t need to be locked at our hips, and listen, life here revolves around us. It’s about time they do something just for them. Really. This is great.”

Next to him, V lit up a fat hand-rolled. “Is it. You like the idea of Marissa looking at some other male’s junk?”

“It’s not an X-rated—” As his voice squeaked, he cleared his throat. “I mean, it couldn’t be … no, it’s not—”

“I already checked,” Rhage muttered. “They have the DVDs—they’re probably watching the extended, uncut versions.”

“So the strippers aren’t circumcised?” Lassiter put his palms up again before the growling got even worse. “Jesus, you guys are so damn touchy.”

Butch shook his head and decided the angel was on his own. “So, yeah, I mean, a little gyrating—a pec pump or two. It’s nothing to get worked up over. Fritz, can I have a refill over here again?”

The butler hustled over to pick up the empty glass. “Would any of you care for dessert? We have homemade ice cream and Petit Gateau.”

Butch glanced at Hollywood. “What do you say there, my man?”

When Rhage just swished his ginger ale around in his glass, Butch cursed and said to Fritz, “This one here will have some even if no one else does.”

“Bring me the dessert,” Rhage spoke up.

Fritz bowed with Butch’s glass in his hand. “But of course, sire. I shall fix you a plate directly—”

“No. I want the whole dessert. All of the cake and all of the ice cream.”

Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd that was how Hollywood ended up with a morose audience of however many playing witness to his consuming fifteen small chocolate cakes and two gallons of vanilla ice cream.

It was like watching paint dry, except there was no chemical smell and the room was the same color before and after.

The good news was that the booze was doing its job, fuzzing out Butch’s mind, making his body both numb and horny. “May I have another?” he asked a passing doggen who was removing the final chocolate-smudged plate. “Thank you so much.”

When his glass came back, he pushed his chair away from the table. “I’m out. I’ve got some work to do.”

And no offense to any of them, but hanging around in their vibe was just making him more depressed. Any more of this and he was going to start braiding the noose.

Walking out, he paused in the grand foyer. Looked up the stairs. Tried to imagine his Marissa ogling some actor in his underwear.

“Really. It’s fine. Good for her.”

He took his phone out and called up their text string. Hesitating, he thought he’d just send her something, you know, to remind her that …

Wow.

In his human iteration, he would never have given a shit about something like this. Marissa wasn’t only the love of his life; she was a female of worth who would never cheat on him. And hello, it wasn’t like she’d checked into a seedy motel with the guy, for fuck’s sake. She was hanging with her friends just like he hung out with his.

This was ridiculous.

He was not the jealous type—

The sound of shitkickers approaching had him glancing over his shoulder. It was Rhage, and the brother had a frothing glass of Alka-Seltzer in his hand.

Hollywood looked up the stairs. And dollars for dipshits, he was thinking exactly what Butch was.

“I’m going up,” the guy announced.

“Now, wait, wait, wait.” Butch grabbed that huge forearm and squeezed. “It’s not like you can just burst in there.”

“Why not?”

“It’s girls’ night.”

“So I’ll put on a dress.”

“Fucking hell, Rhage. Really?”

Next out were V., John Matthew and Tohr. And everyone else, including Wrath—and even Manny, who, in spite of being a full-blown human, was right there along with the hound-faced rest of them.

“We are not going up there,” Butch announced. “We’re going to go play some pool, and get drunk, and talk about all the kills we had in the attack on Brownswick. We’re going to have a great fucking night—day, whatever the hell it is. Now pick your balls up off the floor and let’s start behaving like men.”

“He has skills. I’m just saying.”

As Doc Jane spoke up, the captivated audience that was focused on the big screen was in total, very unmuted agreement.

Payne let out another of her now-trademark wolf whistles.

Xhex cursed and threw more Milk Duds at the image, yelling, “Damn, son, you get that shit! You get it!”

Marissa just laughed again. She couldn’t decide what was more amusing, the movies or the company—probably the company. Although the humans were not hard on the eyes, she had to admit.

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