Vegas Bites

Butch Maverick sat in the central bar ignoring the poker and tournament tables, staring down into his glass of Dewar’s. He hated coming to Vegas. The incessant ring of the slot machines gave him a headache. It was hot as hell and dry as a bone… a hundred and three degrees in the shade. Even under the air conditioners, he was still sweating. He hated being boxed in, having to stay indoors during the day just to catch the frigid AC temps. At least it was cool at night in the desert, where he could run wild and free.

But what was with the air conditioners in the casino? It seemed like Malcolm had them on full blast, but he was still burning up. Vegas was not him at all. The vibe, the climate, and everything else simply went against his basic nature. Worse, there was always some bull when he had to bounty hunt here. He could already smell Laurel’s sweet scent, and he’d just walked in the damned door.

He took another sip of the dark liquor and winced, determined to stay focused on his mission: find out who’d been wreaking werewolf-style havoc throughout the Midwest.

His brother in Philly had given him the tip, cop courtesy by way of blood. The job was out of his brother’s jurisdiction and crossed state lines in a way that an East Coast detective would be hard-pressed to explain, if he started hardcore investigating. That’s where he came in. Freelance hunters had no boundaries.

They both knew the deal. The casino owners were about to retire, and the last thing Mom and Pop Temple needed was a hostile pack takeover of an establishment they’d held onto since the fifties.

Yeah… this was potentially a family matter. Preternatural Po-Po didn’t need to get involved. Internal affairs of the pack were just that, private, and no human cop interventions ought to be in the mix.

But with a rogue gang doing home invasions, robbing banks, savaging civilians, and basically running amok, it wouldn’t be long before humans would take matters into their own hands. Then it would be an all-out wolf hunt. The fuckin’ vampires would love it. This had to be solved like the past three attempts to take the casino had been. Mobsters quietly disappeared into the dark of night, never to be seen again. So had another foolish pack that had tried the French Quarter, and a shady international businessman was only a withered carcass when they found his stupid ass.

The cash trail led here, where new shipments of methamphetamine were coming in strong through Cutter, Fang, and Mad Dawg. Everybody knew they ran the drug thing in Vegas, but you couldn’t smoke a man for his black market operations—as long as they kept that bullshit on their side of town. Problem was, he wasn’t sure they had, which meant he’d have to look up an old friend with the loveliest set of fangs that could make a man shiver from across the room. Like her working name, Ecstasy Jones was all that—practically a drug herself. Correction, she was definitely that, but nowhere near a controlled substance. Girlfriend was ecstasy personified, out of control, and could make a man jones for months after getting with her.

Butch knocked back the rest of his drink and stood, his gaze roving the slot machine rows before slowly scanning the poker area. This was exactly why he hated coming to Vegas. If he looked up Ecstasy, the high-roller vamps that were her primary clientele would be hissing and spitting like bitches. If he followed his first impulse and went to see fine-ass Laurel, he might have to rip Guy’s face off, and then tangle with his boyz Troy and Oliver. That’s the last thing the family needed right now, a split in pack ranks. Any sign of weakness or dissention in the family was a bad thing, especially when there was a potential coup in the wind. Damn, it was hot! His shirt was sticking to his skin.

A woman as fine as Laurel had a way of making even the most reasonable man act stupid, especially near a full moon when she was going into heat. Laurel didn’t need to be running security; shit, she needed security.

That dumb bastard, Guy, was always snarling about marketing the casino better to humans to boost revenues and complaining about keeping any supernatural incidents on the DL… sheeit. He was about to have a serious public relations problem up in the joint if his Gaming Manager and Pit Boss Manager got in his face today with Laurel’s thick scent opening his nose. That bull between him and Guy shoulda been squashed about a hundred years ago, anyway. It wasn’t his fault that the woman wouldn’t mate him on the regular. Laurel didn’t do any guys that worked for the family. Period.

Butch let out a heavy exhale of frustration and glanced around. Why did these elimination jobs always have to come his way near a full moon? Fate had a serious sense of twisted humor. He had to find Marcus, his homeboy that ran Public Relations. Had to get the low down on the underground buzz on the situation while he was still lucid. Good thing there was one brother in the clan that still considered him family.

Malcolm was also cool. Had to be, to keep the hotel biz running smooth. At least those brothers always had his back, and Laurel didn’t mess up their cool. Mated males could hang, it was just the solo brothers that got messed up by her—but he wasn’t gonna let her mess with his mind today. When the moon came up, he’d figure out a way to cope. For now, he had business to attend to.