Oh… shit. He was falling asleep…
Panicked, he tried to open his lids, but it was too late. They had become masonry walls. The vortex had him and he was being sucked down no matter how much he tried to pull himself free.
His grip loosened on the glass in his hand and he dimly heard the thing hit the floor and splinter. His last thought was that he was just like that tumbler of vodka, shattering and spilling, unable to hold himself inside anymore.
Chapter Three
A couple of blocks to the west, Phury picked up his martini and eased back into a leather banquette at ZeroSum. He and Butch had been pretty quiet since landing at the club about a half hour ago, the two of them just doing the people-watching thing from the Brotherhood's table.
God knew there was plenty to see around here.
On the other side of a waterfall wall, the club's dance floor was tweaking with techno music as humans rode waves of Ecstasy and coke and did dirty deeds in designer clothes. The Brotherhood never hung on the general-pop side, though. Their little slice of real estate was in the VIP section, a table all the way in the back next to the fire escape. The club was a good spot to R amp; R. People left them alone, the booze was top-drawer, and it was smack-dab in downtown, where the Brotherhood did most of their hunting.
Plus it was owned by a relative, now that Bella and Z were mated. Rehvenge, the male who ran it, was her brother.
Also happened to be Phury's drug dealer, too.
He took a good long one from the rim of his shaken-not-stirred. He was so going to have make another buy tonight. His stash was weighing low again.
A blond woman shimmied past the table, her breasts bobbing like apples under silver sequins, her postage-stamp skirt flashing her ass cheeks and her lame thong. The getup made her look like something more than just half-naked.
Dirty was maybe the word he was looking for.
She was typical. Most of the human females in the VIP section were within an inch of getting arrested for indecent exposure, but then, the ladies tended to be either professionals or the civilian equivalent of whores. As the prostitute hit the next banquette over, for a split second he wondered what it would be like to buy some time with someone like her.
He'd been celibate for so long, it seemed totally off the page even to think like that, much less follow through on the idea. But maybe it would help him get Bella out of his mind.
"See something you like?" Butch drawled.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh? You mean you haven't noticed that blonde who just flashed by here? Or the way she was checking you?"
"She's not my type."
"Then look for a long-haired brunette."
"Whatever." As Phury finished his martini, he wanted to throw the glass into a wall. Shit, he couldn't believe he'd even thought about paying for sex.
Desperate. Loser.
God, he wanted a blunt.
"Come on, Phury, you have to know that all the chicks here case you when you come. You should just try one."
Okay, way too many people were pushing him tonight. "No, thanks."
"I'm just saying-"
"Fuck you and shut it."
Butch cursed under his breath and didn't comment any further. Which made Phury feel like an asshole. As he should. "I'm sorry."
"Nah, it's cool."
Phury waved down a waitress, who came right over. As his empty was taken away, he muttered, "She tried to set me up with someone tonight."
"Excuse me?"
"Bella." Phury picked up a soggy cocktail napkin and started folding it up into squares. "Said there was some social worker at Safe Place."
"Rhym? Oh, she's very cool-"
"But I'm-"
"Not interested?" Butch shook his head. "Phury, man, I know you're probably going to bite my head off again, but it's time for you to get interested. This shit with you and the females? Gotta end."
Phury had to laugh. "Be blunt, why don't you?"
"Look, you need to live a little."
Phury nodded over at the bionic blonde. "And you think that buying sex constitutes living a little?"
"With the way she's looking at you, you wouldn't have to pay," Butch said dryly.
Phury forced his brain to try on the scenario. He pictured himself getting up and walking over to the woman. Taking her by the arm and moving her into one of the private bathrooms. Maybe she'd blow him. Maybe he'd prop her up on the sink and spread her legs and pump into her until he came. Total elapsed time? Fifteen minutes, tops. After all, he might be a virgin, but the mechanics of sex were pretty simple. All his body would need was a tight hold and some friction and he'd be good to go.
Well, in theory. He was limp in his trousers right now. So even if he wanted to bust his cherry tonight, it wasn't going to happen. At least, not with her.
"I'm good," he said as his fresh martini arrived. After he swirled the olive around with a finger, he popped it into his mouth. "Really. I'm good."
The two of them went back to the silent routine, with nothing between them but the dim thumping from the music on the other side of the waterfall wall. Phury was about to bring up sports because he couldn't handle the quiet when Butch stiffened.
A female across the VIP area was staring their way. It was that security chief, the one who was jacked like a male and had a male's haircut. Talk about a hard-ass. Phury had seen her cuff drunken human men around like she was whapping dogs with a newspaper.
But wait, she wasn't looking at Phury. She was all about Butch.
"Whoa, you've had her," Phury said. "Haven't you."
Butch shrugged and swallowed the Lag in his glass. "Only once. And it was before Marissa."
Phury glanced back at the female, and had to wonder what that sex had been like. She seemed like the kind who could make a male see stars. And not necessarily in a fun way.
"Is anonymous sex any good?" he asked, feeling like he was twelve.
Butch's smile was slow. Secret. "I used to think it was. But when that's all you know, sure, you think cold pizza is fantastic."
Phury took a pull on his martini. Cold pizza, huh. So that's what was out there waiting for him. How inspiring.
"Shit, I don't mean to be a buzz kill. It's just better with the right person." Butch tossed back his Lag. As a waitress headed over to pick up for a refill, he said, "Nah, I stop at two now. Thanks."
"Wait!" Phury said, before the woman took off. "I'll have another one. Thanks."
Vishous knew the dream had come to him, because he was happy in it. The nightmare always started out with him in a state of bliss. He was, in the beginning, wholly happy, utterly complete, a Rubik's Cube solved.
Then the gun went off. And a bright red stain bloomed on his shirt. And a scream sliced through air that seemed dense as a solid.
Pain hit him like he'd been ripped into by bomb shrapnel, like he'd been doused in gasoline and matched up, like his skin had been taken off in strips.
Oh, God, he was dying. No one lived through this kind of agony.
He fell to his knees and-
V shot up from the bed like he'd been boot-licked in the head.
In the penthouse's cage of black walls and night-backed glass, his breath sounded like a hacksaw going through hardwood. Shit, his heart was pounding so fast he felt like he should put his hands up to keep it in place.
He needed a drink… now.
On sloppy legs he went to the bar, grabbed a fresh glass, and poured himself about four inches of Grey Goose. The long-tall was almost at his lips when he realized he wasn't alone.
He unsheathed a black dagger from his waistband and whirled around.
"It is only I, warrior."
Jesus Christ. The Scribe Virgin stood before him swathed in black robes from head to foot, her face covered, her tiny form dominating the penthouse. From beneath her hem a glow spilled out onto the marble floor, bright as the noonday sun.