THE HUNT

CHAPTER-SEVEN

The shabby facade of the club was exactly what Betty Wayne wanted the uninviting exterior to look like, too discourage anyone who wasn't already aware of the nature of the business inside.

For the most part, it worked. A few humans would wander in--junkies looking for a fix, college kids, who believed they were cool, but the bulk of the people, who walked amid the shadows, understood exactly, what was going on inside.

The club was divided into distinct sections, with the main floor split down the middle by an arrangement of midcentury style tables that arched around the rectangular shape stage, separating the dancer's space from the sleek stone bar, accented with a neat line of chrome bar stools. Carefully designed for easy cleanup when the deadly fights accord.

Adam and Clint stood in front of a dividing wall made up of entire glass, their eyes exploring the central area of the vibrant club.

The girls were strutting their stuff with confidence, their allure cranked up on high and working their magic on the slack-jawed men at the tables. Who was willing to hand over their money?

"Sweet potato pie," Clint said, then whistled, as they ventured toward the back of the club.

"Your friend Betty's, done quite well, for himself," Adam said. He stopped, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Clint. Despite the poor lighting, Adam could see everything, clear inside the club.

He watched the girls working on the floor, cock their heads toward the front of the club where people tended to pause and mingle before making up their minds, either to sit at the bar or go to the tables by the stage.

And then saw immediately, what had troubled the girls on the floor. Two clusters of males, standing too close to together to be playmates, and the tension between them so thick, he could feel it, even from where he stood. Three vamps about to face off against three feral hellhounds.

Not his problem.

As far as he could tell, no one else gave a shit, about the feud that was brewing.

Adam and Clint proceed to move toward the stage area when a low, harsh, voice came from their lefthand side. Their heads turned and saw Betty Wayne, sitting at one of the sleek tables in the far back with a blonde curled up on his lap.

The werewolf watched them coming, then shifted the girl and stood up, one step forward putting him right in the agent's faces.

"Betty, I love what you've done to the place," Clint said.

"I thought I told you, never to call me that," Wayne said.

"And, I thought I told you, I don't give a shit."

They stood, each, staring the other down. The blonde, shifted nervously at the table, her eyes darting repeatedly, towards the bar.
Two cabin-wolves at a nearby table moved their chairs away and a Pixie at another table took her drink and headed across the room.

They stood in silence. Until Clint, couldn't stand their anymore. "Wayne, how in the hell, have you been doing?" He asked.

"I can't complain," Wayne said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Damn, it's good to see you. Set on my lap baby," he said, to the blonde, as he cocked his head toward the chairs. "These men, are joining us."

"It's been, what, three years?" Clint said.

"About that," Wayne said. "I believe, it was that party in Plano with the Barbie twins."

Clint snickered. He'd started the evening off with the Barbie twins, then woke up, next to a Burnett, and ended up, sleeping with all three women. Now, he couldn't remember their first names, but they sure as hell gave him, a night he'd never forget.