Page 1 of B Positive

One

Fuck,I love this job.

I stared down the tragically beautiful ass-wipe from my side of the bar. What a shame good genes and nice cheekbones didn’t also mean good sense.

A single bead of sweat formed at Mr. Roofie’s hairline as I repeated myself. “If you didn’t do anything to it, then you drink it.” I kept my service-industry smile locked and loaded and nudged the vodka cranberry closer.

Friday nights at The Mixing House didn’t get much better than this.

The ice clinked against the rocks glass, ruby-red liquid splashing onto the polished bar top as his gaze darted from it to my eyes.

A flash of fear crossed his face before he covered it with a cocky half-smile that would have been attractive if he weren’t the living definition of a garbage human.

“You know what?” He straightened, pushing his shoulders back. “I don’t have to take this. I’m going to another bar. One where they don’t insult their paying customers.”

Oooooh, the big flex. The phrase that all asshole customers liked to trot out when their feelings got hurt. I couldn't believe he’d been able to restrain himself from using the classics like, “The customer is always right” and “Do you know how much money I spend here?”

But I wasn’t about to let him stroll into another bar to potentially drug another woman. Not on my fucking watch.

So, in the fraction of a moment before his brain could tell his arms to push away from the bar, I caught the edge of his sleeve and trapped his wrist. My arm definitely blurred with the effort, something I tried to keep under wraps, but I made an exception for this dirtbag. I yanked him closer, letting my baby blues fill with malice. “Yup. You paid for it.” I dropped my voice, edging my words with the barest graze of vamp magic. “Now drink it.”

His pallor tinged with green as he let out the cutest little “eep.”

“Here’s the deal, Mr. Rapey Pants. You can drink this vodka cranberry, lovingly made by yours truly, and spend the night in the ER with nurses who deserve to be paid far more than they earn to make sure your sex-offender ass doesn’t die.”

The man’s face broke out in a cold sweat, his lip quivering as he struggled against my compulsion holding him in place.

The other patrons dotted around the bar, who had been surreptitiously watching our exchange, now gave us a wider berth, moving to either end of the bar top. But that didn’t keep them from hushing their conversations and casting covert glances toward us. That, plus the cranky jukebox crapping out mid-Roy Orbison song all put a finer point on my ultimatum.

I wasn’t mad about it.

I leaned in close, getting a good whiff of his acrid weaselly scent. Humans on the whole didn’t smell bad to me, just the shitty ones. “Or you can walk out of here knowing that I will track your revolting man-stench, find you, and compel you into being my own personal himbo.”

He dragged in a shuddering breath. “What’s a himbo?”

I gave him a wide, genuine smile. I’d hoped he would ask. “It’s a bimbo but for hims.”

He stared at me, confusion settling into his gaze. Apparently, to him, that didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

“You think it sounds nice, right? Being a sex slave to a pretty blonde bartender?”

“I mean…”

I didn’t let him finish, yanking him fully onto the bar top. He let out another satisfying “eep” as his button-down slid across the polished wood. “I’ll keep your mind so caged, you won’t mind being used by every member of my nest. Including the men. Big, burly, mean men who don’t take kindly to little ass-wipes who resort to drugging women to get laid.”

I let my glare go full dark, swimming in vamp magic as a maniacal smile danced on my lips. It was a pretty good show, considering I was bluffing my ass off.

My nest kicked me out months ago.

But the man pissed himself.

And reached a shaking hand for the drugged drink.

“The next time you even think about touching a woman’s drink, I want you to think of me and my nest using your body in ways more imaginative than even your fucked-up head could dream of.”

He nodded, straining to down the vodka cranberry in his prone position, but managed to do so without spilling a drop.

I nodded to Jerry at the door to come take the lowlife to the back.

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