The Fangover (The Fangover 1)

“Not much. How you been? Sorry to hear about Johnny.” The bartender was tall with dark hair and a slew of tattoos racing up and down his arms. He wiped the counter down with a rag as he gave her a look of sympathy.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Would this tightness in her chest ever go away?

She glanced around the bar. There was only one other woman in the room and a couple of guys. Taking a drink from Peter, who remembered that she preferred red wine, she changed stools, aligning herself next to the blonde, who glanced at her and gave a sharp smile.

“Hey, I know you,” she said. “You’re Johnny’s sister.”

“Yes, I am. Are you Bambi?”

That was greeted with a snort. “No, I am not that tramp. I’m Karen. I bartend at the Door. Day shift.”

That would explain why Stella didn’t know her. But how did she know Stella? “I guess you knew my brother?”

Karen waved her hand, an unlit cigarette between two fingers. “Just casually. He was a big flirt. Happy guy though. Never thought he would kill himself. That’s really sucky.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” Stella shifted on her stool, studying the vibrant blue eyeliner Karen had penciled in uneven lines above each of her eyes. “So Bambi is a tramp?”

“Totally. I kinda had a thing for Johnny but then I realized that he wasn’t my type because he always went for chicks like Bambi. Double-D disasters. Not my scene, you know?”

Oh, yeah. She wasn’t into that scene. As her less than buxom chest proved. She puffed it out to show Karen. “I prefer the natural look myself. Even if there isn’t much to look at.”

Karen laughed. “Me, too, girl.” Twisting in her chair, she shoved her chest to Stella. “A cup.”

Stella smiled, in harmony. Then almost fell off her stool as she focused on the necklace dangling just above Karen’s br**sts.

It was Johnny’s blood vial.

What the hell.

“Where did you get that?” she asked shrilly, pointing to the necklace. Maybe she should proceed with caution, but she was too emotional to hold back.

“Huh? Get what?” Karen looked startled, and eased back on her stool away from Stella.

“That necklace.” Stella supposed it was technically possible that more than one person could have a skull pendant wrapping around a vial containing red liquid. Blood. It was possible. But not very freaking likely.

“Oh. Wyatt Axelrod gave it to me last night. Do you know him? He plays bass with Cort.”

Did she know him? Oh, she knew him. She knew every sorry inch of him. The scum-sucking, sexy, lying rat-bastard ass**le. “That’s my brother’s necklace,” she told Karen, well aware that her voice sounded tight and venomous.

The other woman got a little defensive, which was probably natural under the circumstances. “Well, why would Wyatt have it? And why would he give it to me?”

That was the million-flipping-dollar question. “I want it back.” She held her hand out, all pretense of politeness gone. She was a vampire on the edge.

How could Wyatt play her like that? Pretending to be so concerned? Why had he lied about the necklace when he knew how much it meant to her? What did he really know about Johnny’s death and last night, and how could she possibly trust him?

“No way, you crazy bitch.” Karen picked up her bottle of beer and moved three stools over.

Stella followed her, anger driving blood into her face and making her temple pulse. She knew she needed to calm down, that Karen was an innocent bystander, mortal to boot, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “How do you know Wyatt? Have you had sex with him?”

She couldn’t even believe she’d just said that. Never in her entire long life had she uttered such confrontational and irrational words. If Wyatt had slept with Karen what business was it really of hers?

Peter had moved over to them. “Stella. You need to take it down a notch.”

Now she was being reprimanded by the bartender, which only served to piss her off further. “I’ll take it down when she answers the question. Actually, when she gives me Johnny’s necklace back.”

“I know your brother just died, but calm down, sweetie. Maybe you shouldn’t be out drinking tonight. You want me to call you a cab?”

Peter was being sweet and rational but Stella didn’t want to be rational. The world had ceased to be rational the second Johnny had purposely thrown open his curtains and barbequed himself. “No, I do not want a cab. I want that necklace.”

“It was given to me, fair and square. I’m not giving it back.”

“Bitch,” Stella accused. If someone wanted their dead brother’s necklace back, you should give it to them. It was just the decent thing to do.

“You’re the bitch. How do I know you’re even telling the truth?”

“Here’s the truth—I’m taking it.” Stella had spent her entire life being polite, doing the right thing, taking care of others. Being in control. She lost her control in one fell swoop when she reached over and yanked at the necklace, breaking the chain. Gripping it in her fist, she pulled it away from Karen, even as the woman screamed and grabbed for it.

“Stella, you need to leave,” Peter told her. “Or I’m calling the cops.”

“Fine. I’m leaving.” Now that she had the necklace. She pushed back off her stool and stuffed the necklace in the front pocket of her jeans.

What she didn’t anticipate was that not every woman spent her life restraining herself. Not every woman overthought things the way Stella did. Some women just reacted.

Like Karen.

Who jumped on Stella’s back and knocked her to the floor.

Chapter Fifteen

DO NOT DISTURB

SHE shouldn’t have said what she had, Katie thought as she followed Cort down the first side street and away from Bourbon.

She was willing to bet her admissions about how she’d felt about those pictures had freaked him out. As soon as she’d said it, she’d wanted to take the words back. Especially admitting she was disappointed and excited. He had to have realized what that meant. And even though she was embarrassed at admitting those feelings, the feelings were still there.

Even thinking about those pictures, she was excited by them. By being in his arms. By having kissed him. And she was bitterly disappointed she didn’t remember it. And of course she felt embarrassed and ashamed that she’d been that drunk or whatever had happened to them, period. But at least she wasn’t alone in her overindulgence.