Lover Avenged (Black Dagger Brotherhood #7)(60)

“Nope.” Trez smiled, his perfect white teeth flashing. “Why the questions?”

Rehv brought the spoon to his mouth and ate. “No reason.”

“Yeah. Right.”

“This oatmeal’s fantastic.”

“You hate oatmeal.”

Rehv laughed a little and kept on eating to shut himself up, thinking the subject of love was none of his business. But work sure as hell was.

“Anything happening at the clubs?” he asked.

“Smoothing sailing so far.”

“Good.”

Rehv slowly polished off the Quaker Oats, wondering to himself why, if everything was going fine and dandy down in Caldwell, he had a sinking feeling in his gut.

Probably the oatmeal, he thought. “You told Xhex I was okay, right?”

“Yeah,” Trez said, picking up the book he’d been reading. “I lied.”





Xhex sat behind her desk and stared up at two of her best bouncers, Big Rob and Silent Tom. They were humans, but they were smart, and in their low-hanging jeans, they gave off the perfect, deceptively laid-back vibe she was looking for.

“What can we do for you, boss?” Big Rob asked.

Leaning forward in her chair, she took out ten folded bills from the back pocket of her leathers. She was deliberate in revealing them, splitting them into two piles, and sliding them toward the men.

“I need you to do some off-the-books work.”

Their nods were as fast as their hands on those Benjis. “Anything you like,” Big Rob said.

“Back over the summer, we had a bartender who we fired for skimming. Guy named Grady. You remember him—”

“I saw that shit about Chrissy in the paper.”

“Fucking bastard,” Silent Tom chimed in for once.

Xhex was not surprised they knew the whole story. “I want you to find Grady.” As Big Rob started cracking his knuckles, she shook her head. “Nope. The only thing you do is get me an address. If he sees you, you nod and walk it off. We clear? You do not so much as brush his sleeve.”

Both of them smiled grimly. “No problem, boss,” Big Rob murmured. “We’ll save him for you.”

“The CPD is looking for him as well.”

“Bet they are.”

“We don’t want the police to know what you’re doing.”

“No problem.”

“I’ll take care of getting your shifts covered. Faster you find him, the happier I’ll be.”

Big Rob looked over at Silent Tom. After a moment, they took the bills she’d given them out of their pockets and slid them back across the table.

“We’ll do right by Chrissy, boss. Don’t you worry.”

“With you guys on it, I won’t.”

The door closed behind them, and Xhex ran her palms up and down her thighs, forcing the cilices on her legs to go deeper into her flesh. She was burning with the need to get out there herself, but with Rehv up north and the deals that were going to be made tonight, she couldn’t leave the club. Just as important, she couldn’t do the legwork on Grady herself. That homicide detective was going to be watching her.

Shifting her eyes to the phone, she wanted to curse. Trez had called earlier to let her know that Rehv had made it through his business with the princess, and the sound of the Moor’s voice had told her what his actual words had not: Rehv’s body wasn’t up for much more of the torture.

Yet another situation she was forced to ride out, sitting on her ass, waiting.

Powerless was not a state that worked for her, but when it came to the princess, she was used to feeling impotent. Way back over twenty years ago, when Xhex’s choices had put them in this situation, Rehv had told her he would take care of things on one condition: She let him handle it his way without interfering. He’d made her swear to stay away, and though it killed her, she’d kept the promise and lived in the reality that Rehv had been forced into that bitch’s hands because of her.

Goddamn it, she wished he’d lose it and lash out at her. Just once. Instead, he kept on putting up with it, paying her debt with his body.

She’d turned him into a whore.

Xhex left her office because she couldn’t stand to spend any more time with herself, and out in the club she prayed for a skirmish in the general pop, like a love triangle imploding, where one guy bitch-slapped another over a chick with fish lips and plastic tits. Or maybe a bathroom tryst gone sour in the men’s room on the mezzanine floor. Shit, she was so desperate she’d even take a drunk getting pissy about his Patrón or some deep corner grind that crossed the line into penetration.

She needed to hit something, and her best chances were with the masses. If only there were—

Just her luck. Everyone was behaving themselves.

Miserable f*ckers.

Eventually, she ended up in the VIP section because she was making the floor bouncers mental as she prowled around, trolling for a throw-down. And more to the point, she had to play muscle on a major deal.

As she walked past the velvet rope, her eyes went right to the Brotherhood’s table. John Matthew and his buddies were not there, but then, this early, they’d be out hunting for lessers. Deep-throating Coronas would come later in the night, if at all.

She did not care whether John showed.