He could engage in fist-to-fist, a battle he would win. So at the very least, yeah, he was doing that. He’d leave the bastard unconscious so that he’d live, but Marguerite would be pissed. She didn’t have the gentlest temperament, an understatement that made him smile. She was his wildcat, game for anything, and he loved that about her.
But in this situation, her fighting spirit limited his options.
So what the hell was he supposed to do now?
He could call the cops, create a little diversion, cause some chaos. But again … woman … pissed. The one thing he’d learned from being Endelle’s second-in-command was a little diplomacy, a sense of timing, a sense of when not to go all shock-and-awe, when something less splashy was called for. Not that he’d learned strategic thinking from her; rather, he’d learned because of her scorpion temperament and her recklessness. Thorne wasn’t reckless, which was one reason his current predicament was a total shitfest.
He’d like to let loose. God knew he would. He’d like to let loose, use every power in his arsenal, and fix this thing right now. But that was warrior thinking: Shoot now … don’t even think about asking questions later.
No, this f**king conundrum required finesse.
The truck pulled in front of a house that was much nicer than expected given the man’s tats and the overall sleazy nature of the bar. The rock landscaping out front didn’t even have weeds. Huh. The bastard might actually be a fairly decent bastard. Thorne even liked the truck. He knew the score. A big man needed something that fit the size of his shoulders.
As the bastard left the driver’s side and went around to Marguerite’s door, Thorne touched down at least fifty yards away, keeping his mist tight. He drew in his wings. He knew that if Marguerite looked around she’d see him, but when José opened the door she pushed off the running board and leaped into his arms.
He caught her and wasted no time jamming his tongue down her throat. His woman ate it up.
Thorne watched both sets of jaws working like mad.
Aw, f**k.
Before he realized he’d thought the thought, he pushed his mind against José’s and slipped through the back door of the bastard’s head. He was inside the man’s mind.
He ignored the firebomb of desire that flipped words like tits and ass through the bastard’s head with rapid slingshot-like movements. Instead he focused on what he’d been missing for three weeks, the feel of Marguerite’s swift darting tongue pushing into his mouth … well, José’s mouth.
The experience was unusual to say the least, because it was as though he not only was inside José’s mind but could feel what José was feeling. And there seemed to be a strange vibration to the whole experience, like a low level of electricity all through Thorne’s body.
At the very least, he felt like he could take partial possession of José’s mind and body and just enjoy the ride, but because the red strobes were still flashing in his head, he knew at some point he’d probably lose it and take every one of the bastard’s brain cells with a pointed thought or two.
He forced his brain to work hard at a solution, even in the face of José pawing Marguerite’s br**sts.
Oh, dear God.
He had to figure this out. He started flipping through José’s memories. He had a bunch of friends. He liked women, a lot. He knew how to use a blade. He sure as hell knew how to use his cock. There was a lot he liked about the man. He even earned his living buying and selling shit on the Internet. The bastard was a goddam entrepreneur. Okay, he really couldn’t kill him now. He was a contributing member of society.
So what the hell was he supposed to do?
What could he do?
He focused on the strange vibration he was feeling, the ease with which he could feel all that José was experiencing.
He pulled out of his mind.
José drew back from Marguerite, slid his arm around her waist, and propelled her to the front door.
A moment later that door closed and Thorne was left alone in the dark.
The trembling through his body started all over again. Jesus H. Christ. He felt those impulses fall on him, to race after the bastard and strip his skin from his body, one inch at a time.
Instead of reacting, he worked on his breathing and focused on this new strange sensation. Something was going on, a new power maybe, something unexpected. That deep throbbing in his brain got a little worse as well, but mostly it was this strange vibration and an urge to put a hand on José, but this time not to hurt him.
What would happen then, if he touched him?
He once more slid inside the bastard’s head and sifted through the man’s recent memories. He found a recent interaction with a friend named Miguel. He could see Miguel’s face, even hear his voice.
Thorne sped to the front door and pounded. He then moved back about ten feet, still cloaked in mist. He called out, “Hermano, get your ass out here,” in just the way Miguel would have, the way he often heard Santiago speak.
Jose opened the door and peeked his head out. He was sweating and his shirt was off.
Thorne penetrated José’s mind and offered a little thrall action. Tell her you’ll be right back. Your friend needs your help.
He looked behind him. “Stay here. I’ll be right back. My friend Miguel is having problems.”
Thorne could feel Marguerite reaching out for him telepathically, but he shut his mind down hard. He guided José to his truck and told him to hop in the back and have a nice nap. José practically sprang inside, stretched himself the length of the bed, and was out.
Thorne, now balancing on the top of the side, looked down at him. Marguerite wouldn’t remain where she was for very long. Whatever he was going to do, he had to do it quick.
He leaped into the bed beside José and went with his instincts. He put his hand on José’s face and felt that same vibration, a kind of electricity. He let it flow until it streamed through Thorne’s body. His mist dissipated.
He rose up and turned toward the house.
Uh-oh.
Marguerite stood in the doorway, topless, her arms folded beneath her beautiful oh-so-familiar br**sts. She still wore her short skirt and stilettos, which somehow made the whole picture sexier than if she were completely naked.
He was in for it now.
“Well, you coming or not?”
Thorne froze. Why wasn’t Marguerite mad? Or was she? She didn’t look mad? Her lips were swollen and she was ready for the action she’d been chasing all night.