You did this to her.
Going by the chiming that floated out from that godforsaken sitting room, he figured he'd missed First Meal. Nine p.m. Yup, he'd slept through it, and just as well. If he'd had to sit at the table and spend forty-five minutes in the company of nearly two dozen people who were trying not to stare at him, he'd lose his f**king mind.
The sound of someone walking down below in the foyer brought his head up.
Without any particular thought or plan, he wandered over to the balustrade and looked down.
Payne, V's ass-kicking sister, was coming out of the dining room.
He didn't know the female all that well, but he respected the shit out of her. Impossible not to, given the way she handled herself in the field...tough, really tough. At the moment, however, Dr. Manello's shellan looked like she'd been beaten up in a bar fight: She was walking slowly, her feet shuffling across the mosaic floor, her body stooped, her grip on her mate's arm all that appeared to be keeping her upright.
Had she been injured in some hand to hand?
No scent of blood.
Dr. Manello said something to her that didn't carry, but then the guy nodded in the direction of the billiards room - like he was asking her if she wanted to go in there.
They headed that way at a snail's pace.
Given that he didn't appreciate people staring, Qhuinn backed off from the railing and waited until the coast was clear. Then he jogged down the grand staircase.
Food. Workout. Recheck on Layla.
That was going to be his night.
Heading for the kitchen, he found himself wondering where Blay was. What he was doing. Whether he was out fighting or in for the evening and...
Given that he didn't know where Saxton was, he stopped that line of inquiry right there.
If Qhuinn had been off rotation, and able to spend some P-time with the guy, he knew what he'd be doing.
And Saxton, his cocksucking cousin, was no fool.
Chapter Forty-five
Assail's lack of feeding finally caught up with him about five hours after night fell. He was putting on his shirt, a pale blue button-down with French cuffs, when his hands started to shake so badly, there was no fastening the damn thing closed over his chest. And then the exhaustion hit, so overwhelming that he swayed on his feet.
Cursing under his breath, he went over to his bureau. On the polished mahogany top, his vial and spoon were waiting, and he took care of business in two quick inhales, one for each nostril.
Nasty habit - and one he fell back into only when he really needed it.
At least the blow took care of the tiredness. But he was going to have to find a female. Soon. Indeed, it was a miracle he'd lasted this long: The last time he'd taken a vein had been months ago, and the experience had been less than enthralling, a fast-and-dirty with a female of the species well versed in providing sustenance to needful males. For a price.
What a nuisance.
After arming himself and retrieving a black cashmere overcoat, he headed down the stairs and unlocked the steel sliding door. As he opened the way into the first floor, he was greeted by the sounds of guns being checked.
In the kitchen, the twins were running several forties through their paces.
"Have you made the call?" Assail asked Ehric.
"As you said."
"And?"
"He's going to be there and he's coming alone. Do you need weapons?"
"Have them." He picked up the keys to the Range Rover from a silver dish on the counter. "We're taking my vehicle. In the event someone is injured."
After all, only an idiot took the word of an enemy, and his SUV came with an undercarriage device that could be very helpful if there was a mass attack.
Boom.
Fifteen minutes later, the three of them were crossing the bridge into Caldwell, and as Assail drove along, he was reminded of why bringing the cousins here had been an inspired idea: Not only were they good backup, they were not inclined to waste breath on useless conversation.
The silence was a welcome fourth passenger in their transport.
Over on the downtown side of the Hudson, he got off at an exit that curled around and emptied out beneath the Northway. Proceeding parallel to the river, he entered the forest of thick pylons that held up the roads, the landscape bald, dark, and essentially empty.
"Park over here to the right about a hundred meters," Ehric said from the back.
Assail pulled to the side, popped the curb, and stopped on the shoulder.
The three of them emerged into the cold, their overcoats open, guns in hand, eyes scanning. As they walked forward, Ehric's twin brought up the rear, the three Hefty bags from the garage in one of his hands, the black plastic making a rustling noise as they all went along.
Above them, traffic growled by, the cars moving at a steady pace, an ambulance siren wailing in a high-pitched scream, a heavy truck rumbling over the girders. As Assail inhaled deeply, the air was icy in his sinuses, any smells of dirt or dead fish killed by the cold.
"Straight ahead," Ehric said.
They calmly and steadily crossed the asphalt and entered upon more of the hard, frozen ground. With the great concrete slabs of the road blocking out the sun, nothing grew here, but there was life - of a sort. Homeless humans in makeshift dwellings of cardboard and tarps were hunkered down against the winter, their bodies wrapped up so tight, you couldn't tell which way they were facing.
Considering their preoccupation with staying alive, he was not worried about interference from them. Besides, no doubt they were used to being peripherals in this sort of business, and knew not to intrude.
And if they did? He would not hesitate to put them out of their misery.
The first sign that their enemy had shown was a stench on the wind. Assail was not particularly well versed in the ways of the Lessening Society and its members, but his keen nose was not able to ascertain any nuances within the bad smell. So he took that to mean that instructions had been followed and this was not a case of thousands arriving at the scene - although it was possible that the Omega's denizens had only one bouquet.
They would soon find out.
Assail and his males stopped. And waited.
A moment later, a single lesser stepped out from behind a pylon.
Ah, interesting. This one had been a "client" before, coming with cash to accept measures of X or heroin. He'd been right on the edge of being eliminated, his volume of purchasing just under the cutoff of middleman qualification.
Which was the only reason he still breathed...and had therefore, at some point, been turned into a slayer. Come to think of it, the fellow hadn't been around lately, so one could surmise that he'd been adjusting to his new life. Or non-life, as the case may be.