Page 13 of Of Blood and Smoke

Kenneth glanced at Micha, who then added, “Boccelli has been distributing an unauthorized product under the cover of your business. We are aware he is an important client of yours and are choosing to respectfully inform you of our intentions.”

We had no such knowledge, but politeness dictated we suggest it.

The man leaned forward slightly. “I was unaware. I can speak to him.”

“That is unnecessary, we’ll take it from here,” I stated.

The server stopped several feet from our table, and I beckoned her forward with a couple fingers, leaving my arm on the chair rest. She deposited our drinks, and a whiskey for our host before retreating to the bar.

One of Kenneth’s arms snaked up and snatched his tumbler before he sipped his beverage, hesitated, and then downed the rest in an audible swallow.

We wouldn’t get anything else from the man and his discomfort made it clear he would do nothing to stop the flowof our drugs into his bar. The tension in the atmosphere was pungent; he wanted us to leave. The bitter flavor of his fear made my stomach growl in hunger.

I picked up my glass and sipped lightly while scanning the room. A pretty redhead in a white satin get-up was gracefully dancing on the stage with a male in a pair of pants, belt opened and zipper down. The female was human, the male an angel. The woman softly lowered to her knees and placed her hands on his hips before gently tugging his slacks downward and freeing his cock. She took him in one hand, her other cupping his sack before she massaged him lightly. The angel then placed his hands on her cheeks and guided her head forward, her lips parted.

“Josiah?”

“Mm?” I turned to Micha, setting my empty glass down.

“I was telling Kenneth the possibility may be open for cooperation at a later date, and I’d like to hear your thoughts.”

My pulse was elevated and the deep rolls of bass sounding from overhead speakers vibrated my chest. My tongue felt heavy and my saliva sticky as a mild buzz coursed through me.

I needed to feed traditionally; I needed to take a woman.

I needed to get out of this club.

My irritation grew as my sensory overload threatened to spill over in the ugliest of ways. My lack of control was unsettling. Abruptly, I stood up. “We’re leaving. Micha?” I gave him a pointed look and he rose much more gracefully than I, a question in his gaze.

“We’ll be in touch,” I said, holding my hand out.

Kenneth gripped it weakly and gave me a small shake. “Talk soon,” he muttered.

Wiping my hand on my pants, I turned on my heel and strode out of the private bar. “Find Boccelli,” I ordered my friend.

I watched as Micha scanned and scented for the man, since he was the only one of us who had been in Boccelli’s presence and would be able to locate him. “Outside, nearby,” he mused.

The hostess’s, “Thank you for stopping by,” faded behind us as we stepped into the night. Pausing just outside the doors, Micha pulled on a pair of leather gloves and moved to the sidewalk. He held perfectly still as I stopped beside him and closed my eyes, attempting to shut out the cacophony around us.

Exhaust, fried chicken, semen, cheap perfume, and decaying plant matter stung my nostrils while the sound of traffic, the drone of the club’s music, and a mishmash of voices raped my eardrums. I opened my eyes, and the glare of streetlights and glow of neon signs left illuminated trailing signatures when I swiveled my head.

“You feel it. It's just going to get worse,” he whispered. I ignored him. He was referencing his ridiculous theory that we were cursed.

My eyes shuttered a second time as I took a deep breath. I felt Micha’s hand on my shoulder before he raised a leather-clad finger to my cheek, affectionately smoothing it along the bone. “My friend, let’s go,” he spoke softly as I took momentary comfort in his touch.

I took another deep breath, and nodded, indicating I was ready. Micha was used to my lack of self-care, my neglecting of physical needs as of late. I’d been entirely too wrapped up with making sure Onychinus would be a raging success.

A fresh kill was exactly what I needed.

Micha strolled down the sidewalk, taking a right before halting in front of a diner. A large picture window displayed the man in question, nursing what appeared to be a cup of coffee. “Fool,” I muttered. “I’ll retrieve him.”

Approaching the restaurant, the double doors flew open, banging noisily against the glass entryway. I crossed the floor quickly, ignoring the shocked stares of the other patrons.

“What?” Boccelli snarled, setting his mug down on the scratched wooden table.

Shoving a hand inside my suit jacket pocket, I kept my eyes on him and slid on a buttery soft pair of leather gloves. I liked this pair very much; the paper-thin material was exquisitely light and malleable. It was a shame to waste them on excrement, but I’d have another pair purchased for me as soon as possible. I made a mental note to add it to Christine’s task list—I’d have her order five pairs—before I swung around the table, lifting the man as if I were his feline mother.

Boccelli’s legs kicked uselessly against empty air as I carried him outdoors and a couple of his fellow diners gasped. They quickly averted their gazes, presumably not wanting to attract the attention of a man with black eyes who was clearly capable of ending their midnight snack earlier than planned.

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