Hell's Rayne (Book 1)

Chapter 3

A/N: Warning, music video accompanying this chapter potentially very offensive and highly inappropriate for young people (it's Steel Panther that is to be expceted), don't like that sort of thing don't watch it, and don't say I didn't warn you.

 The last figure finally wandered away from the bar, drink in hand, and Alex turned to me; a broad grin plastered on his slender face.

 “Right then, cigarette break time. You want to go first tonight or shall I?” he asked.

 My eyes had trailed back to the performers on the stage, the waif had attracted quite a crowd as she swirled, tantalisingly around her pole – the sweet and innocent look appealed to so many men. What I needed was a chance to speak with her, point her in Shane's direction and give him the chance to lay on his advances. From the length of time they'd been dancing I wagered that these three girls had at least another ten minutes left on the stage before the next change over. Once she'd just finished dancing would be the ideal time for me to catch her.

 I grinned, perhaps a little too enthusiastically given the slightly surprised look that fell over Alex's face as I turned my attention back to him.

 “No, you go first today. You started earlier than I did after all,” I said to him, encouragingly. By the time he got back from his break the waif would be done with her dance session and I could, hopefully, catch her during my free ten minutes. A win win situation all round.

 “You sure? You seem kind of distracted tonight. There something you're not telling me?” he asked with a grin. But still Alex grabbed his coat and started to dig around in his pockets for the packet of cigarettes he always managed to keep so well hidden.

 I cocked my head to one side and smirked at him. “Since when have I not been hiding something from you Alex? We all know that it's you who does the talking in our relationship,” I replied.

 Alex had no following response, perhaps he was just keen to get outside and get his fix of nicotine, he merely shook his head and poked the butt of his cigarette between his lips. He was the only one of us that actually used our few minute interval breaks to smoke – my human blood meant I was still susceptible to the same diseases, unlike my pureblood kin – but I was not about to decline the ten minute break when it was offered; and that it could prove to be most useful.

 Without further prompting, Alex slipped out from behind the bar and hurried towards the exit. I watched his back as he walked, a long and awkward gait to his steps – he really was far too tall for the lack of bulk his body held as if he'd been stretched too far on a rack. It was only when he'd slipped out through the door and into the alleyway that I turned my attention back to the bar.

 I almost jumped out of my skin when my eyes met with a muddy brown pair belonging to an ageing customer as he brandished a pint glass in my direction. It seemed beer was more important to this guy than the show, or, I supposed, there was a chance that none of the girls currently dancing were to his taste; it happened on occasion.

 “Another pint of the draught bitter when you're ready love,” he said. A note of impatience coloured the deep, gravelly tone of a voice tortured by too many cigars.

 Nodding, I plucked the glass out of his grizzled fingers and started to pump the handle, making a steady stream of beer flow from the tap into the glass. The deep brown liquid rose to overflowing, a light dusting of foam at its head, and I set the glass onto the bar in front of the many. A steady stream of foam and condensation trickled down the sides of the glass, soaked the new beermat and added to the collection of sticky drips that decorated the dark wooden surface.