“Fucking hell.”
Brandon walked up the stairs to the second level of Vice shaking his head. The music thumped as the dancers on stage entertained the crowd that came to commemorate the Lunar Festival. Everyone was lost in their own mix of alcohol, music, and lust, but Brandon was too busy wiping the blood of his white shirt and powder blue suit. He had helped in “escorting” a rowdy customer off the premises that got the lucky chance to clock him across the jaw and because of the rare blue moon, the angel’s lip began to bleed. Brandon had experienced his fair share of blue moons in his long life, and though there certainly were more life-threatening experiences in the past, this was just annoying.
“Damn it,” he muttered as he tried to wipe the blood that had seeped into the white shirt. He raised his hands in surrender and shook his head in frustration. “That’s not going away any time soon.”
