Netherworld II: Blood Potion No. 9 (19 page)

Chapter 10

It was near dark when I showed up at
Bane’s trailer, materializing in the living room. A thrill of
terror raced down my spine to see no sign of Fizz or the werewolf
agent. I quickly went down the hall, passing a bedroom filled with
exercise equipment, and a utilitarian bathroom. The last door, the
one to Bane’s bedroom, was closed and light filtered out from
beneath it.

I stepped through into the master
bedroom, spartanly furnished with a bed, dresser, and nightstand
which had all been new in the 1980’s. Pressboard chic, no less. A
laptop was the dresser’s lone accessory, the nightstand a little
more lavish with an alarm clock and ring of keys.

Fizz’s baby doll tee and
breath-inhibiting jeans were a pile on the tan-carpeted floor. Fizz
herself was laid out on the bed, clad in pink nylon bra and
panties. Bane stretched out next to her, propped up on one elbow.
Eye popping in bare-chested glory, the crotch of his jeans livid
with erection, he trailed fingertips over Fizz’s bare
midriff.

“Wake up, Brandilynn,” he whispered,
his golden eyes molten. “Wake up, little girl.”

Resolutely ignoring the surge of heat I
felt looking at the agent (and how delicious it would have been to
open my eyes to see that looming over me), I parked my hands on my
hips and spat, “I don’t think so, you mangy mutt.”

I wished I had a rolled-up newspaper to
pop him on the nose with. Some guys will accept a ‘no’ in the
present, hoping it would change to ‘yes’ in a future setting if
they kept pushing the issue. Bane was apparently one of
those.

I settled in to wait and watch. It was
only a few minutes later that Fizz’s eyelids fluttered open. She
blinked slowly a few times, taking in her surroundings and the
hopeful shifter watching her carefully. I had to laugh when she
screeched in his face.

“What? You! Cop!” She rolled over, a
windmill of skinny arms and legs before she hit the floor
running.

Bane lunged after her. “Oh shit, Fizz,
wait!”

She shrieked as his fingers slid across
her back. “Get off me! I ain’t going down for you, Bane! They ain’t
killing me over you and that dead girl!”

She scrambled free of him and took off
down the hall. Still laughing, I transported into the living room,
slipping into Fizz before she could get out the front door. I
turned to face Bane as he barreled after. Not realizing Fizz’s body
had stopped and now waited for him, his momentum carried him nicely
into my swinging fist. I got him square in the mouth, spreading his
lips in a funhouse grin. It didn’t drop him, but it did stop him
cold in his tracks.

I could feel Fizz’s shock to find
herself usurped again, followed by a surge of mean delight as a few
drops of blood welled from Bane’s lower lip. We were on the same
page as far as putting the agent in his place, though for different
reasons.

I folded skinny arms over a nearly flat
chest. “Now that I have your attention, what do you think you’re
doing waiting for me to show up in your bed?”

Bane stood over me in shock, rubbing
his busted lip. “Brandilynn?”

“No, dog breath, it’s Zsa Zsa Gabor. I
told you, I have a boyfriend!” I yelled, uncaring if he had a spy
outside or even hiding in his fridge. Then I slapped him for good
measure.

He growled, the sound slipping between
lengthening canines. I stepped close and growled back.

“What, are you going to try to scare me
into sex? Force me with threats? Is that the kind of man you
are?”

Bane’s eyes widened, and he took a step
back, raising his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, I was just mad
you slapped me. I’ve got the hint. Sorry.” He had the grace to
flush with embarrassment.

I tapped my bare foot on the nubby
carpet. “You’d really be sorry if I’d hit you in my old body. It
was a lot stronger than this one.” I ramped up my anger, determined
to make sure he would stop chasing me. “And if you try anything
else, the next hint will be a baseball bat upside your stupid
head!”

He scowled at me, his ears flattening
to his skull. “I said I was sorry. I will never try to seduce you
again.”

“You’d better not, jerk.” I stormed
past him, returning to the bedroom to yank Fizz’s horrible clothes
on. It seemed to take forever to struggle into those ridiculously
tight jeans.

When I turned around, Bane was in the
doorway, watching me. He didn’t say anything untoward or make a
move, but the bulge in his pants told me his interest in me hadn’t
waned one bit.

Too bad. With the memory of Tristan and
Dan’s pained expressions as I’d taken punishment still fresh in my
mind, I found it almost easy to dismiss the handsome were. To
distract him I asked, “When is Fizz due for work?”

Those golden eyes drank me in, and his
rumbling voice trembled my bones. “About forty-five minutes. I’ll
take you on my bike.”

Fizz’s stomach chose that moment to
announce its emptiness. And her head felt heavy with the continued
effects of the drug. “We’d better hit some fast food and coffee.
I’m feeling all sludgy and starved here. Spot me five bucks on
that?” It wasn’t really a request. In my opinion Bane owed me for
his attempt to get me in yet another compromising
position.

His slow smile, all the more
devastating for its bad wolf image because of the swollen lip, made
me uncomfortable. “Sure.”

I pushed past him, trying not to notice
the admiration in his voice and eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d
swear he was more interested in me than ever. For my part, I was
determined to not get gooey over Bane again, no matter how darned
good he looked shirtless and wearing that pirate’s grin.

* * * *

At Exotica Erotica I stood behind the
curtain offstage, suddenly really nervous about stripping. Not even
the cute little outfit I’d found in Fizz’s locker, a sweet and sexy
schoolgirl’s uniform, could calm the sudden onset of
shakes.

Okay, guys were usually happy just to
have a naked woman to look at, right? But the girl on stage right
now, slowly and sensuously losing her cowgirl costume, was a super
good dancer. Her body did things I’d have paid top dollar to a yoga
instructor to teach me. I was starting to worry that simply taking
off my clothes wasn’t going to fly out there.

I’d taken ballroom dancing lessons in
order to look good in the arms of society men who paid for a
polished companion. But doing a waltz by myself on a stage with a
pole didn’t strike me as what this audience was looking
for.

I licked my dry lips. “Any advice,
Fizz?”

I sensed the rightful owner of this
body sitting back and watching with amused meanness. No help
whatsoever there. “Fine, pout if you want. It’s your ass, not
mine.”

At least the glare of the spotlight and
footlights would keep the patrons in dimness. I wouldn’t have to
see them rolling their eyes or smirking at my awkward
attempts.

The country tune faded out, and Cowgirl
trotted offstage in nothing but high-heeled boots and a g-string
loaded with dollar bills. My turn. Crap.

The deejay, a little balding man with a
nasally voice, called out with decent enthusiasm. “All right guys,
coming on stage we have a sweet little lady as effervescent as her
name. Put your hands together for Fizz!”

Amid a few whistles and claps, music
started blaring. I didn’t recognize the energetic tune, and if I’d
been nervous before, I was positively terrified now. I’d had
visions of performing a slow strip, not tearing off clothes to this
hectic cacophony.

I had no choice. I was undercover and
had to keep Fizz and Bane safe.

I tried to boogie my way out on stage,
swinging my hips to the frantic beat. As usual, Fizz’s shoe
wardrobe kicked my butt. Yes, pun intended. Those darned stilettos,
nearly as tall as her legs were long, were holy heck for me to walk
in, never mind dance. Three steps out, and I lost my balance,
staggering out onto the middle of the catwalk. The only thing that
saved me was catching hold of the pole.

Laughter burst out all around me, and
my face heated. Remember that issue I have with humiliation? Yeah,
it was in full force right now. I was making an idiot of myself, no
angry Doms required.

Recalling how the prior dancer swung
easily around the pole, I regained my balance and tried to copy her
moves, visions of sexiness hopeful in my head. Guess what? It
didn’t work. Despite its sweatiness, my hand didn’t slide over the
pole’s metal surface so well. It caught roughly, my stupid feet
tangled, and I was suddenly on my butt in front of God and the
whole room.

Boos sounded all around me. Fizz was
absolutely hysterical with mirth inside my head. Setting my jaw, I
climbed the pole hand over hand to gain my feet. Screw the dancing.
Naked girl would do perfectly fine. Kind of bouncing in place from
side to side, I yanked at the tie knotted around my collar. It
loosened and I pulled it over my head. Painfully. I hadn’t given
myself enough slack, and I hissed at the pain from my squashed
ears.

More booing and catcalls ensued as my
fingers fumbled to unbutton the starched white shirt. I shook my
butt at them, but that didn’t help one bit. A slice of lemon from
someone’s drink flew past my ear. The music suddenly ended in
mid-techno pop screech.

The deejay’s voice boomed loud, driving
the final nail in my dancing career’s coffin. “I think we’ve seen
enough of Fizz tonight. Hopefully she tipped her waitress
generously.”

All I felt was relief as I stumbled off
the stage to the crescendo of laughter and boos. The moment I was
behind the curtain, another dancer accosted me. She was a somewhat
worn creature in a devil’s costume complete with little plastic
pitchfork. She shook the three-pronged Halloween accessory at
me.

“What the hell, Fizz?” the she-devil
stormed. “You’ve cooled the wallets off. I ain’t gonna get shit for
tips tonight, and my kid needs braces!”

Kiss’ ‘Heaven’s on Fire’ cranked up,
saving me from a potential butt-whupping from the irate stripper
mom. With one last venomous glare, she plastered on a naughty smile
and slunk out on stage.

Jeez. All I could say was Bane had
better close his case fast, because I was so not doing this
again.

I turned around and jumped back with a
little scream of surprise to find Hazel right there, his lanky
frame looming over me. The witch looked pretty darn mad, and if
I’ve learned anything, it’s that I don’t want any witch looking
that ticked off at me.

The first words out of Hazel’s mouth
only proved my point. “You fucked up, Fizz. You know how I feel
about that.”

I felt Fizz not just cower, I swear I
heard her shriek in my head. Panic vibrated in our shared mind. I
edged back from Hazel, wondering what he’d done to her in the past
to make her so scared.

Carefully, as if trying to soothe a
rabid dog, I said, “I’m sorry. I’ve been real sick all
day.”

He had Fizz’s skinny bicep in his hand
in an instant and yanked us close. He smelled sour and smoky, like
he hadn’t showered in a couple days. He also smelled like power; a
buzz of electricity mixed with something sulfurous. “You’re not as
sorry and

sick as you’re going to get.” Hazel
squeezed hard, and bright, vicious pain flashed through my
arm.

I cried out, nearly going to my knees
with agony. Hazel’s eyes widened, and he smiled. His tongue, a wet,
pink slug of muscle, licked all around his lips. The crotch of his
jeans swelled.

Oh jeez. He was a sadist, and the kind
that didn’t go looking for an actual masochist to play with. In
fact, the less a woman liked pain, the more fun a man like Hazel
would find her. No wonder Fizz was gibbering in terror. Hazel was
one sick puppy. And he was looking to hurt.

Being part of the BDSM scene I know the
type all too well, and I’ve been pretty good at avoiding them.
Sadists who don’t play within the scene’s rules are quickly
ostracized from the kink community, but somehow I was sure Hazel
could have cared less about such things. He’d been playing outside
the boundaries probably his entire life.

Knowing it was wasted breath but unable
to stop myself, I said, “Wait, please. I swear it won’t happen
again.”

Hazel grinned, and Fizz screamed inside
my head again. “We’re going to make sure of that,” he
chortled.

Before I could brace myself, Hazel
twisted me around so that my arm was bent painfully behind my back.
Lifting me off the floor, he ran across the hall to ram me up
against the wall. My forehead rapped sharply on the unforgiving
surface, and I cried out along with Fizz.

The next dancer was leaving the
dressing room, and I saw her skitter towards the stage, keeping her
eyes averted from my predicament. No help there. I was blinking
back stars when Hazel crushed against my backside, rubbing his very
prominent erection against me.

He panted. “Nice. I like it when you
bitches scream. You’re going to scream for me a lot more before I’m
done with you, and you’ll never get loaded before work
again.”