Just as easily as James had brushed Deon off, Vander did as well. The second his hand was reaching for the jaggedly shaved hair, she pushed it calmly away. With a few years as a dealer under her belt, she had inevitably run into all sorts of his kind of scum. Men with big muscles and bigger egos. And each one, she declined just as easily.

This guy was serious with his attempt to come onto her. She raised an eyebrow as he pushed himself in between her and James, a complete invasion of her personal space. Any other girl would have reacted differently. Some may have slapped him, several seconds ago, but Vander knew that a girl's slap was akin to a tickle for an undefeated bar fighter. Other girls may have succumbed, flattered by the romanticism of flirting with a small-time celebrity. Vander simply sat there, watching him intently. She listened silently to his sales pitch, completely ready to turn him down when he finished. 

But his offer to get her whatever she wanted...it grabbed her. An iron fist had clamped itself around her attention, and she could think of nothing else for a split second. The calm left her face, replaced instead with a sudden intense focus. A fire ignited in her eyes, and her mind held only one word. [i]Lucid[/i]. He had the drug. There was no doubt, he had the drug. Or someone who could get it for her. Deon had the power to diminish the pain that was coursing, even now, through her bones and joints and organs. He could get her the drug she was so badly craving. 

She only barely managed to keep herself from blurting out an acceptance. She was talking to James. Not Deon. Just because some drunken moron threw himself at her...the second she managed to get herself back under control once more, the announcer was yelling across the club again. Before she could react, Deon had pointed his finger at James. "Him! I pick him!"

Behind Deon, the girl watched James' face shift to an expression of shock and, perhaps, even slight terror. It was instantly replaced with a cold scowl. She watched him, imploring him with her eyes to find some way to reject the call. Instead, he slammed his empty drink down and turned to face the crowd. "Alright! Let's do this!"

Vander grimaced. The crowd grew deafening once more, eager for their bloodshed and concussions. James had turned, facing the man he'd been talking to much earlier. His friend, or brother, or someone. While the screams of the crowd were still sounding, she seized her chance. Her hand snapped out, bony fingers grabbing Deon's forearm in a grip that was surprisingly strong. She stood, the space between them, if possible, shrinking even further, and spoke. "Anything I want, right?" she questioned. Her eyes were intense once more, her voice audible by Deon and no one else. "I want him to win. You do that, we'll see about that good time you offered me."

She released his arm, and the edge of her mouth tugged up into a slight smile. It was pure and complete flirting. The distance between them grew once more as she sat back down, raising her drink to her lips, and continuing to stare Deon down. Maybe, just maybe, Deon was drunk, stupid, or desperate enough to fall for her split-second decision. And if he did, she would come out on top. James would defeat the undefeated, and she would have a chance at scoring a hit of Lucid.