Club Dead (Sookie Stackhouse Southern Vampire Series #3) by Charlaine Harris

By Charlaine Harris

Bon Temps’s psychic waitress takes a perilous highway journey within the 3rd novel within the no 1 New York Times bestselling Sookie Stackhouse series...
 
There’s just one vampire Sookie Stackhouse is concerned with (at least voluntarily) and it’s invoice Compton. yet lately he’s been a bit distant—in one other nation, far away. Then his sinister and horny boss Eric Northman tells Sookie the place she may well locate him. subsequent factor she is familiar with, she’s off to Jackson, Mississippi, to mingle with the under-underworld at membership useless, a deadly little hang-out the place the elite of vampire society can visit sit back and suck down a few Type-O. but if Sookie ultimately reveals Bill—caught in an act of great betrayal—she’s unsure no matter if to avoid wasting him...or sharpen a few stakes.

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El—" Uh-oh, close call. " I was trying to sound casual, carefree. I failed, but Bubba wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. The vampires admitted that bringing him over, when he'd been so very close to death and so saturated with drugs, had been a big mistake. The night he'd been brought in, one of the morgue attendants happened to be one of the undead, and also happened to be a huge fan. With a hastily constructed and elaborate plot involving a murder or two, the attendant had "brought him over"—made Bubba a vampire.

One of us will be watching you all the time, whether you think so or not. Even in the day, we'll find some way to guard you. " Avenge Bill? So Eric was sure Bill was dead. Well, nonexistent. "I didn't know he was supposed to be coming in last night," I said, as if that was the most important fact I'd learned. "He had—bad news he was going to tell you," Pam said suddenly. Eric overheard her and made a disgusted sound. "Tell Pam to shut up," he said, sounding overtly furious for the first time since I'd known him.

Sam phoned while Kevin stood there so he could relay the son's promise to be at Merlotte's in twenty minutes. Kevin pushed off after that, his notebook tucked under his arm. I wondered if Kevin was turning into a poet, or writing his resume. The four men who'd been trying to ignore Jane while sipping their pitcher at the speed of a turtle finished their beer and left, each dropping a dollar on the table by way of tip. Big spenders. I'd never get my driveway regraveled with customers like these.

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