Personal Demon
Page 27

“No making eyes at forty-year-old humans,” Max said.
Jaz grinned. “Nothing to do but party until the sun comes up.”
“Then collect our share, go home and party some more.”
Max and Tony threw open the doors and we walked in, the guys still laughing, so boisterous you’d think they’d already had a few hours at the open bar.
“Hey, boss?” Jaz called back. “You joining us?”
“Unlike some of us, I have responsibilities, Jasper. Money to count. A donation to make…”
“You’re really cutting the take in half?”
Guy smiled. “More or less.”
“I’ll help you,” Bianca said.
Tony dropped back beside her. “Do you have to, Bee? I was hoping you’d come play.”
“Guy needs help—”
“No, I don’t. You go, Bee. Boss’s orders. Have fun. Get sloshed. Enjoy yourself.”
After one lingering look at Guy, Bianca let Tony lead her into the club.
 
THERE WERE A handful of high tables next to the dance floor. The best seats in the house and always full. But when we strolled in, bouncers were already clearing two.
A server approached. “Mr. Benoit just called—”
“And said give us whatever we want,” Jaz cut in. To me, “You drink tequila?”
I didn’t, not straight, but I said yes. Hope Adams might not down tequila shots, but I was sure Faith Edmonds would.
Jaz ordered a bottle and Max asked for Scotch.
“Where’s Sonny?” Jaz asked.
“Took off,” Tony said. “Bathroom, maybe.”
We settled in, Jaz, Tony and me at one table, Bianca, Max and Rodriguez at the other.
The server returned.
 
Jaz stared at the bottle of cheap tequila. “Holy shit, you trying to poison us? The good stuff. The best stuff.”
Her gaze darted around the table. “Mr. Benoit didn’t say—”
“Then call him. Or, better yet…”
He was lifting his cell phone when Sonny appeared, a bottle of Patron Silver tequila in one hand and Glenlivet single-malt Scotch in the other.
“I didn’t trust them to fill the order right,” he said.
“Bro, you are a lifesaver. Grab a seat—” Jaz looked at the three chairs, already taken.
He pushed his chair back and tugged my arm, patting his lap. I obliged as Sonny passed the Scotch to Max, then opened the tequila.
“Guy is going to kick your asses,” Tony said, waving at the bottle.
We glanced at Bianca, waiting for her to tell us to stop.
“Jaz can handle it,” she said, mouth tight as she passed Max her glass.
“Sure, I can.” Jaz grinned, the subtext—that Guy wouldn’t chastise him for anything—flying over his head.
“We deserve this.” He handed me the first tequila shot. “Faith deserves this. When’s the last time we pulled off a big job without a hitch? Without one scratch or one close call? We owe that to our newest recruit. The minute someone even thought of causing trouble, she knew it. How cool is that?”
“How fucking useful is that?” Rodriguez said, shaking his head. “Do you know how many times I could have used your power, Faith? Would have saved me a whole lotta time in juvvie.”
“But then you wouldn’t have gotten all that special high-tech training,” Jaz said. “And put it to such good use.”
A round of laughter. I glanced around, unaccustomed to talking so openly about my powers, but no one was close enough to overhear. With the booming music, we could barely hear each other.
Jaz lifted his shot glass and whispered, “Ready?” Then, ignoring the salt and lime on the plate, we downed them together. The tequila hit my gut like a fireball and I struggled not to gasp. Jaz’s arms vibrated around me as he laughed, silently, not giving me away.
“So you really can read minds?” Tony asked as he finished his shot.
“Only chaotic thoughts. Sometimes.”
Jaz shook his head. “Most times, judging by that demonstration at the hall.”
Tony leaned forward. “So what am I thinking now?”
“Whatever it is, you don’t really mean it. For example, you can think you’d like to strangle Jaz, but unless you mean it, I won’t detect it.”
“What if it’s just wishful thinking?” Sonny said.
Jaz snatched the bottle from him and they parried insults for a minute.
“Cut it out, you two,” Rodriguez called over. “I want to hear more about this power. How about we all think something bad, and see if Faith picks it up? We’ll—”
I didn’t hear the rest, caught up in the vision of a voluptuous redhead, writhing, bound to a bed. I followed it to a red-haired woman on the dance floor, then tracked it back to the source.
“Tony!” I shuddered. “Please. I think I need brain soap after that.”
“What did you hear?” Jaz asked.
“Not hear. See. In living color.” I glanced meaningfully at the redhead.
“Shit,” Tony said.
“You doubted her?” Jaz smacked Tony’s arm. “Dumb ass. I warned you. So what was he thinking about the girl?”
I shook my head.
Sonny waved the bottle. “Another couple of these and she’ll tell us.”
“Shit, guys,” Tony muttered. “I was just joking.”
“Uh-uh,” Jaz said. “Remember what she said. If you aren’t serious, she doesn’t hear it. Or see it, apparently.”
Sonny refilled our shot glasses. Tony gulped his, then took a second. I lifted mine.
“You don’t have to drink it,” Jaz whispered. “If you don’t, I won’t. No one will say anything.”
My head was still spinning from the first, and I knew this one would take me over the edge. But I wanted to drink it. Hope Adams wouldn’t. One shot—sipped and probably in a margarita—would have been her limit. But tonight I didn’t want to be Hope. Didn’t want to be twenty-seven years old, happy in my dead-end job, dumped by a middle-aged werewolf, struggling to make my family proud of me, staving off the demonic urges by sipping chaos, never satisfied, never full. Tonight, I wanted to be Faith Edmonds, twenty-one, no job, no responsibilities, chugging back chaos like tequila shots, getting sloshed in a nightclub, on the lap of the hottest guy in the room.