But that didn’t stop him from stretching his arm across the back of Della’s chair and touching her hair. She’d like to play with his hair—as in grab ahold of his ponytail and give him a good swing across the room.
“Where are you two from?” he asked. His touch stirred at her neck and she suppressed a shiver. And not the good kind!
Della debated breaking the guy’s fingers. She could reach back and crack his bones before he could say uncle. But she didn’t know if playing along for a few minutes might get some information.
“I’m from California,” Chase said. “She’s from the Houston area.”
“What brings you from California?” Ponytail asked Chase, tilting his head to the side as if listening for an untruth. Della tried listening, too, but couldn’t tune in. Instead of worrying, she studied Chase’s expression.
“My mother moved here,” Chase said.
The jerk sitting beside her appeared satisfied that Chase spoke the truth. Yet, hadn’t Chase told her his mom was dead? Yes, he had, and she’d listened to his heart beat to the truth then, too. Della recalled how Chase’s eyes shifted to the left when he’d just answered the half-drunk vamp. She’d heard that eyes shifting to the left was a small sign of someone lying.
She’d been right not to trust him. She tucked that info away to concentrate on the problem at hand. “Hand” being the key word. The creep’s palm was slipping under the collar of her shirt to touch her lower neck right now.
She shifted her shoulder, as if to shoo away a pest, hoping he’d take a hint.
He didn’t.
Chase’s gaze shifted to her collar. His eyes brightened with discontent. But if anyone was going to teach this jerk a lesson, she was. She cut Chase a glare that said stand down.
“I’m looking for someone,” Della said, struggling to ignore the man’s touch. “I think he was newly turned. Short dark hair.”
“Is he one of those twelve guys you just told this boy you’d prefer to be with right now?” The man nodded at Chase, but didn’t look at him. Good thing, too, because the quick glance she got wasn’t pretty. Fangs out, eyes a neon green.
“Yeah, I’d rather be with that guy.” She focused on the jerk, knowing her heart sang to the truth. She’d rather be with Lorraine’s killer right now. She even hoped he’d give her a fight, so she could give some fight back. Teach him a few lessons before she turned him over to Burnett.
The jerk nodded. “I heard a fresh turn was in the area last week. The Juggler gang was trying to recruit him.” The jerk’s fingers slipped farther inside her collar, all the way to her shoulder. Her skin crawled, but she wanted answers more than she hated his touch.
“Where can we find the Juggler gang?”
“Don’t know. I don’t belong to any gang. Don’t need ’em. I can take care of myself. Of course, every now and then I like to take care of some pretty young thing like you.” He shifted his chair closer, and his hand slipped a little farther inside her shirt. His whole cold palm rested on her bare shoulder. And she no longer wanted to break his fingers. His neck would do just nicely.
“Do you know any of the gang members?” she asked between clenched teeth.
“Nah, I’ve only been here a week. But I noticed one or two hanging around.”
She lowered her voice. “Any here now?”
“Don’t know. Since you walked in, all I’ve noticed is you. Young. Soft.” He wiggled his fingers.
“Why don’t you take a look around and see if any of them are here?”
He didn’t answer. His fingers shifted beneath the bra strap on her shoulder. She adjusted her lips to hide her lowering fangs, and from the corner of her eye she saw Chase watching, his face a mask of fury.
Why was he so upset? The creep wasn’t fingering his underwear. She had to clench her hands to keep from coldcocking the half-drunk jerk.
“Glance around,” she said again. “Please.” She wiggled her brow in what she hoped would appear to be a flirty gesture.
He shifted his gaze round the room, his finger moving back and forth under her bra strap, each stroke a little closer to her left breast. Each stroke bringing her closer to going apeshit on his ass.
“Nope, none are here now.” Ponytail’s eyes found hers again. “How about you and I go take a walk?”
“How about you telling me what you heard about the fresh turn?” It took effort to keep her voice soft. “Did he have short dark hair?”
“How about we talk after we walk?”
A growl, deep and sinister, sounded across the table. “How about you get your dirty hands off her?” Chase leaned into the table, his fangs fully extended, his eyes now such a bright lime green, you needed sunglasses to look at him.
The jerk glared back. For one second, he reacted to the brightness of Chase’s eyes; then he seemed to toss the worry aside. Della wasn’t so sure that was a good idea.
“Now, buddy,” Ponytail said. “I don’t hear Sweetie complaining.”
The name was the straw that broke the camel’s back. And would probably wind up being the straw that broke this freak’s wrist. “I told you, my name’s not Sweetie!” She yanked the guy’s arm from around her and twisted it almost to the point of breaking it.
He growled, almost reached for her with his other hand, but she gave the limb another tight twist, letting him know one move and his arm would be dangling at an odd angle. And she’d make certain it wasn’t at a pretty angle. Sure, vamps healed quickly, but she’d heard a broken bone still hurt like hell.
The scoundrel glared at her.
She glared right back, then cut her gaze around the room. All the bar patrons watched with malicious intent. And she had a feeling it wasn’t aimed at Mr. Ponytail. She and Chase could probably take on four, but if they all teamed up, she might be testing the broken-bone theory herself. They had to get out of here. She glanced at Chase, and cut her eyes to the exit. Then she dropped her tight hold of the guy’s arm and shot toward the door, assuming Chase would follow, and follow fast.
She’d assumed wrong.
She stopped at the last table on the way out.
Chase, taking his time, stood from his chair, but never stepped away from the table. He glared down at Ponytail. Chase’s posture and hostile expression practically begged the jerk to try something. Was Chase nuts? Didn’t he feel the glares from the crowd?