Slate grey eyes seemed to reflect the flashing lights from the club. As empty as mirrors they cast the light back as he watched Davina dance on the bartop. All around him chaos reigned, the atmosphere of forced cheer almost suffocating. Thoughts filtered in like the ramblings of a madman. 'Are her tits real?' 'I wonder if he loves me?' 'Bite me! Just fucking bite me!' Yes, probably not, and there was Davi at the end with her endless desire for the fanged ones shining through. Fingers tapped out a slow and methodical rythmn on the bartop. It had nothing to do with the music. Habit. Pure and simple, a distraction from the noise in his mind, until he kept the power at bay like the humming of white noise at the edge of his consciousness.

Tipping his head up his storm cloud eyes caught Davinas and he curled a finger at her, backoning her to kneel down so he could speak to her. As she complied he pulled a silver money clip from his pocket, unfurling a number of large bills from the roll of cash he carried. In the immediate vacinty he could hear the thoughts of those who saw the money flash. Predators of all kinds, those who thought they might be able to steal it, and those who thought they could fuck the money out of him. From Davina herself he heard none of that. She liked the money, but she wasn't interested in trying to trap him in any way. No ploys and games to get a ring on her finger and her name on his bank account. She was happy with the arrangement they had. After all, the white haired vixen had desires that he could never meet. Her addiction was a sickness that he understood all too well.

One bill at a time he handed the hundreds over to her, each bill punctuated by his words.

"Business dinner with the Mercurio's."

One hundred.

"Black Tie."

Two Hundred.

"Nothing too racy."

Three Hundred.

"Five O'clock."

Four Hundred.

"Meet me at the estate."

Five Hundred.

He refolded the bills and slipped them into the breast pocket of his jacket. There was a true statement about men and prostitutes. They didn't pay them for the sex. They paid them to leave afterwards. In Gabriels case it was neither. He paid her for the illusion of sex. If his partners, associates, and friends thought he was in a relationship then they left him alone. They didn't try to set him up with their nieces and daughters. If Davina kept the illusion up then Gabriel was allowed a measure of anonymity among those he was supposed to be close to. And luckily they never looked too close. Not close enough to know that he was dying by inches. Dying to be close to someone who was gone. Then again if Rashel weren't trapped away he might truly be dead. Funny how things work out.

Davina was giving him that vaccuous worried look of hers, like she was the one who could read minds. Ish let his lips curl into a debonair smile, the perfect socialtite. His mind reached out to hers, caressing the damaged petals of her sick psyche. 'Everything is alright.' He didn't speak to her mind, but he planted the thought there as though it were her own and watched her face light up with serenity. A little trickery to grease the wheels of commerce. Fingers closed around hers so she clutched the money in her hand, and then just as quickly he pulled his hand away. Around him the swirl of peoples thoughts and hot press of their bodies made him wish for air. Turning to go he didn't glance back. Didn't long to see his escort dancing in the hopes of having her vein tapped. It wasn't Davina that he longed for.