BENEATH BLOOD & STONE

SEVEN

Loud rock music filled Mak's, the customers yelling to be heard. Neon lights plagued the walls and windows, advertising assorted brands of beer and booze. Pool tables set at opposite ends of the room were occupied by rowdy men and women who only got louder as the night progressed. Flat screens hung from wall mounts, each set to a different cable channel. Touch screen games sat throughout the room with everything from number puzzles to erotic photo hunt games. Dart boards littered the walls near tables and barstools, bets placed at each.

Tonight was College Night, and as usual, the place was packed with students from the nearby university and tech school. Naomi had a love-hate relationship with nights like this. They could be fun and profitable, but the irritation factor alone often trumped all else. While the place was almost always busy, it seemed busiest on the nights when she worked. Her quick reflexes made her a crowd favorite. Patrons would watch in awe as she spun and tossed bottles without spilling a drop. Their stunned looks were priceless, and the tips they left weren't bad, either.

"Hey there, gorgeous!"

Naomi glanced up, vaguely recognizing the guy who sat in front of the mixing station. His eyes were glassy, and he wore a smarmy grin.

"With you in a minute," she replied.

"Take your time," he slurred. "I'll just enjoy the view."

The music drowned out her groan. She finished with her current customer, then cast a look down the bar and back again. With the rest of the customers being taken care of, she went to take the drunk flirt's order.

"What can I get for you?"

His leering gaze was cringeworthy. "I'll take a Rusty Nail and your number along with it." His grin widened.

"The drink is five-fifty. My number isn't for sale." She started grabbing the bottles of liquor she needed.

"Oh, come on!" he yelled. "Let's not play that game. I want you, you want me. Just give me your number and save us both the hassle."

Tool.

Most of the men she'd encountered over the years had been clueless about approaching women with any semblance of respect. Some were sexist, others misogynists. Almost all of them had wreaked of perceived entitlement, that their attention alone should make her want to drop to her knees for them right then and there. The power of a penis was just that strong, apparently.

An idea struck her. "If you don't want to play that game, I've got another one." She added two ounces of scotch to a glass of ice.

"Oh yeah? Does it involve taking you back to my place later?"

The thought of being alone with him was only bearable if she pictured bleeding him dry. Addison would give her a dirty look just for thinking it. But just this once she let the image stay in her head as she baited the guy into disappointing himself.

"That depends on how well you play." She let an obvious look slip.

He licked his lips. "What's the game?"

"It's a guessing game. Real simple. All you have to do is guess how old I am." She considered using her true age, which made an evil laugh echo in her mind. But the guy would never believe it, so she'd stick with her human age to keep things fair. Stupid morality.

"That's all? Just guess your age?"

"If you can guess how old I am"—she added an ounce of Drambuie to the glass—"I'll give you my number. If you can tell me my name, I'll go home with you."

He raised a suggestive brow. "And if I can't?"

She plopped a straw into the drink and set it in front of him. "Then you get to buy the bar a round." She braced her hands on the bar and looked him in the eye, daring him to take the challenge.