Angel Blood

8- Rum And A Good F*ck

Sinclair

My jaw clenches as she walks away from me. I almost stop her—I'm not a man to walk away from and fuck if I would let anyone even try to pull that bullshit with me otherwise.

But this girl is different. When I push, she pushes back twice as hard. If I'm being honest, I don't think I've met a more fascinatingly infuriating woman in my life.

"Sin."

I'm so distracted with watching her plump little ass sway in her black dress that I don't notice Oliver approach. He nudges my arm with a glass of golden liquid. The sharpness of alcohol stings my nostrils. I don't like drinking when I have business to attend to, but it feels necessary tonight.

I take the glass of rum from his tattooed fingers and take a sip, washing her taste from my tongue. "Keep an eye on her." There's no doubt that the brat will find herself in some kind of trouble.

There are too many monsters here tonight. Too many that would love to take her from me.

I grit my teeth, fingers clenching around my glass. Fuckers have another thing coming if they try. If there's one thing that's certain, it's that I don't share.

"You seem agitated," Oliver says as his eyes follow her through the crowd. She's wandered over to the human side, making a bee-line for the bar. "Have you fed lately?"

I scowl. "No." Damn brat has my hands tied. Can't walk two feet without her mouth getting her into trouble.

Of course, most of that trouble is me. And I find her tongue to be as sweet as it is poisonous—so tempting to silence her brazen words as I corrupt her mouth with my own.

"How long has it been?"

I grunt. "A week maybe." Even before I had to worry about keeping her out of trouble, Capponi has been yanking my chain. The money is good, but shit, business with him is like walking on a field of land mines.

"Back room's clean," Oliver says, taking a sip of the whiskey in his glass. He winces at the memory of Jaxon's brain matter splattered across the ground.

The little shit managed to get him good. I was never a fan of his. He was as thick-skulled as they come, but I know Oliver liked him just fine.

"Finally got the stains out?"

He grimaces, probably recalling them digging the chunks of flesh out of the carpet. We'd called in specialists for it. Not just to get out the overwhelming stench of death, but also because even I wasn't as unsympathetic to make them clean up the remains of someone who used to be a friend.

"Yeah," he grunts, swirling the liquor in his glass. "It's all out now."

"Good." I need a good fuck and another glass of rum and just maybe I'll be able to get through the night without thinking of how sweet she tasted on my tongue.

...

"I'm Lola." The blonde grinds into me, smiling deviously. "What's your name?"

I sigh, hands fitting into the small of her waist. She's an attractive woman—small waist, big tits, and curvy ass, but choosing her was purely coincidental. Tonight I'm hungry and pissed and she was the first thing to throw me a bone, so I took it.

"Listen darling," I say, watching her eyes narrow at disinterest in my voice. "I don't care what your name is. If you're looking for a kiss and a hot date, you're fucking with the wrong man." It's always awkward when they feel special. Better to tell them before they get expectations.

"You're an asshole." She shifts in my lap, pushing her body closer to me so her chest presses against mine. The scent of cheap vanilla perfume tickles my nose. "But damn, you're hot." Leaning forward, she crushes her lips to mine.