“Check it, we made CNN,” someone said as that TV flared to life.
Sure enough, up on the tremendous screen, security cam footage of the Mercedes going Die Hard through that lobby was on an endless loop. Then came a statement from a police officer who was involved in the chase. And a witness from somewhere or another.
Trez nodded a hello to Rhage and Manny. Lifted his palm to V and Butch. Sidled up with his female next to Z and Bella.
“Lot of coverage,” somebody else said ruefully.
“Shit,” someone else answered.
Even Selena’s excitement got dialed down quickly, as if seeing for herself what everything looked like made it all very real.
When the vestibule’s inner door was opened, Trez was dimly aware of a cold draft shooting into the room. And then a moment later, a hand landed on his shoulder.
As he twisted around, iAm was behind him.
“Oh, hey, man.” He went to embrace his brother, only to recoil. “What the fuck is that smell?”
“New hand wash at work.”
Trez followed through on the hug. “Get rid of it. Makes you smell like a little old lady—what is it? Lavender?”
“What happened to the Merc? The thing’s banged to shit.”
Trez pointed to the screen. “That happened.”
iAm focused on Selena instead, tracing her profile and dress with surprise that he covered quickly.
“We went on a date,” Trez blurted.
Selena glanced over, and when she saw who it was, she reached out her arms. “Hello,” she said as she embraced his brother. “I think we broke downtown Caldwell.”
Funny, iAm was the only male he didn’t feel like killing if there was contact with his female. Guess his bonded male recognized that iAm would never, ever cross any lines in thought, much less deed.
iAm smiled a little. “Least I know why the Benz needs fifty grand worth of body work. You want a drink while I help myself?”
Trez shook his head. “No, I’m good.”
Except as his brother went over to the bar, Trez excused himself and followed the guy. “Hey, listen, I just want to apologize for going radio silent—whoa!”
As the bottle iAm had picked up slid out of the male’s grasp, Trez caught the thing before it hit the floor—and that was when he saw how badly his brother’s hands were shaking.
“Jesus, iAm, are you all right?”
“Oh, yeah. Abso.”
“Here,” he said, giving the vodka back. “You sure you need to make your own drink?”
“Positive.”
“Wait, lemme get you a glass.” He came around the bar and got a short-and-squat off the shelf as iAm popped the cap off the square bottle. “Cranberry juice, right?”
“No.”
“Neat? You don’t usually drink vodka like that.”
“Efficiency, my brother. It’s all about efficiency tonight.”
Trez held the glass out and watched as iAm poured a healthy measure of the see-through, relax-o-matic in there. He kept expecting the level to stop rising, and when it didn’t, he found himself studiously ignoring the shock he felt.
iAm was the moderate of the two of them.
He drank all this and his blood alcohol level was going to be in coma territory. Then again, it had been a very fucking long twenty-four hours.
“How’s things at the restaurant?” Trez asked as he transferred ownership of the glass.
“Ah, good. Yeah. Fine.”
“The clubs?”
“Same.”
iAm drank the shit like it was water, downing the entire load in one long, open-throated sesh.
Trez cursed. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Why?” iAm muttered.
“You know why.”
The grunt that came in reply could have meant any number of things. “Listen, I have to go lie down. I’m done for.”
“Yeah, I think we’re going to do the same.”
“How is she?”
Trez glanced over and intended to look right back at his brother, but his eyes refused to move. Tracing the graceful curve of Selena’s back, he saw her naked in that loo, her legs spread, her heavy breasts bare to his mouth, his hands. Then he pictured her laughing wildly in the back of the Benz. Remembered her staring out at the night as they’d had dinner.
“She’s amazing,” he said hoarsely. “Absolutely amazing.”
“That’s good, brother. That’s good.” iAm recapped the CLIX and tucked it under his arm. “Listen, I gotta go lie down—but I’ll be right next door if you need anything, ’kay?”
“Thanks.”
As iAm turned away and didn’t look back, it was hard not to feel every ounce of the burden Trez was to that male.
Someday, he vowed, he was going to find a way to make up for all of it.
FORTY
There was no getting away.
As Layla stood in the midst of the group in the billiards room, she was acutely aware that if she tried to sneak out and take her car for a little joyride, she was going to get hit with questions she couldn’t easily answer. But more to the point, Luchas remained in stable, though serious, condition down in the clinic. Qhuinn was still with him, with Blay by his side, and she had come up here only to get something to eat.
Leaving the property was all wrong.
Especially to see the likes of Xcor.
And maybe this was for the best. She had been on the verge of crossing lines the night before, lines that would have taken her into territory that, after a lot of reflection, she knew she couldn’t handle. Dearest Virgin Scribe, she couldn’t imagine what she had been thinking, and this forced separation was a good thing—even though she didn’t want Luchas to suffer.
On the huge TV screen over the fireplace, images of gunfire and screeching cars flickered like something out of a movie.
Unbelievable what had happened downtown. Thank God no one had been hurt.
“So where’s your fancy RV now?” someone asked Manny.
“Still down by the river. We had to leave it in V’s warehouse.” The doctor rubbed his eyes like he had a screamer of a headache. “Bullet holes everywhere—and I hit something big with it.”
“Lesser?” one of the Brothers said.
“No. When I got out and checked, there was red blood on the front headlights and grille. So it was either a human or one of you guys—and given the head count around here, and the communal lack of limps, it must have been the former.”
“Or a Bastard.”
“Maybe. Yeah. Whoever it was, I’m damn sure they were hurting afterward.”
Layla frowned. “Someone was hit?”
“Not one of us, don’t worry,” somebody replied.
A strange premonition rattled through her.
Without saying anything further, she backed out of the room. After checking that no one had noticed her exit, she took her phone from the pocket of the fleece she’d borrowed from Doc Jane and sent a quick text. As soon as it went through, she erased the words and then made sure the cell was on vibrate before disappearing the device again.
Pacing by the front door, she kept her hand in her pocket on the slim body of the phone and waited for an answer. When nothing came through ten minutes later, she double-checked that she hadn’t turned the thing off by mistake—
“Hey, there.”
Pivoting around, she saw Qhuinn and Blay emerging from the tunnel’s hidden door under the stairs.
Flushing, she said, “I was just coming back down.”
“He’s resting comfortably. Doc Jane says his vitals are improving. He’s out of immediate danger.”
Blay cut in, “So we’re going to bed. Before we fall over.”
Qhuinn yawned so hard his jaw popped. “Doc Jane is crashing herself down there. Guess she’s been up for two days straight. She’s going to call us immediately if anything changes.”
“Let me know if you need me?” she said.
“I think we’re okay for now. Thanks for everything. Really.”
Hugs were exchanged along with good-days, and she must have done a pretty good job of playing normal, because moments later, they headed for the second floor together.
Unaware of her worry.
Layla glanced back toward the billiards room. Took her phone out and checked the time.
Three a.m.
Still no text in return.
Before she was clear on what she was doing, she slipped out through the dining room and the kitchen. The doggen were hard at work preparing Last Meal, and Fritz barely looked up with a deferential nod as she hightailed it past him.
Nobody noticed as she stepped through into the garage. Or rushed to the locked door on the far side. Once she entered the code on the keypad, there was a brief beeping sound as the dead bolt was released.
Moments later, she was behind the wheel of her car and speeding off.
As she proceeded down the mountain, the mhis slowed her, and the delay made her heart pound even harder. But she made it to the foot of the mountain, and as she turned onto the rural highway, she really hit the gas.
There was not a lot of time.
God, this had to be what an addiction felt like, she thought numbly as she gripped the steering wheel hard enough to make her knuckles burn.
The pull to the drug or drink … or in her case, Xcor … was irresistible. And there was no pleasure in giving in, just an aching guilt and a resonant self-loathing over the fact that you had once again overridden your better impulses and succumbed to what might very well kill you.