Lover Avenged (Black Dagger Brotherhood #7)(95)

Xhex stayed where she was even as John’s big body disappeared out of sight.

One in a million, she thought once again. That kid was one in a million.

As she went back in the club, she knew it was only a matter of time before his two buddies, or maybe members of the Brotherhood, showed up to try to find him. Her response was going to be that she hadn’t seen him and didn’t have a clue where he was.

Period.

He protected her; she protected him.

End of.

She was heading out of the VIP section when her earpiece went off. After her bouncer stopped talking she cursed and lifted up her watch to speak into the transistor. “Take him to my office.”

After she was sure the floor was clear of the working girls, she entered the general-population part of the club and watched as Detective de la Cruz was led through the throng of clubbers.

“Yes, Qhuinn?” she said without turning around.

“Christ, you must have eyes in the back of your skull.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “And you should keep that in mind.”

John’s ahstrux nohstrum was the kind of male most females wanted to f*ck. And a lot of the guys, too. He had the black-on-black thing rocking, between his Affliction shirt and his biker jacket, but his style was all over the place. Grommet belt and the roll on the cuffs of his beat-to-shit jeans spanked of The Cure. The spiked black hair and the piercing of his lip and the seven black studs working their way up his left ear were emo. Four-inch-soled New Rocks were Goth. Tats on the neck were Hart & Huntington–ish.

As for the concealed weapons she knew damn well were packed under his arms? They were straight-up Rambo, and those fists hanging at his sides were all about the MMA.

The whole package, regardless of the derivation of the components, was sex, and from what she’d seen at the club, up until recently he’d capitalized on the appeal. To the point where those private bathrooms in the back had been like his home office.

After getting promoted to John’s personal guard, though, he’d slowed his roll. “What’s doing,” she said.

“John been in here?”

“No.”

Qhuinn’s mismatched eyes narrowed. “You haven’t seen him at all.”

“No.”

As the guy stared at her, she knew he was picking up nothing. Lying was second to murder on her skill-set list.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered, glancing around the club.

“If I see him, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.”

“Thanks.” He refocused on her. “Listen, I don’t know what the f*ck happened between you two, and it’s none of my biz—”

Xhex rolled her eyes. “Which clearly explains why you’re bringing it up now.”

“He’s a good guy. Just keep that in mind, all right?” Qhuinn’s blue and green stare was full of the kind of clarity only a really hard life gave a male. “Lot of people wouldn’t be cool with him getting planted on his ass. Especially me.”

In the silence that followed, she had to give Qhuinn credit: Most folks didn’t have the balls to stand up to her, and the threat behind the level words was obvious.

“You’re okay, Qhuinn, you know that. You’re tight.”

She clapped him on the shoulder, then headed for her office thinking the king had been smart in the choice of ahstrux nohstrum for John. Qhuinn was a perverted f*cker, but he was a straight-up killer, and she was glad he was the one watching her boy.

Watching John Matthew, she meant.

Because he wasn’t her boy. In the slightest.

When Xhex got to her door, she swung it open without hesitation. “Good evening, Detective.”

José de la Cruz was sporting another downmarket two-piece, and he and his suit and the coat that was over it all looked equally tired.

“Evening,” he said.

“What can I do for you?” She sat down behind the desk and motioned for him to take the chair he’d used last time.

He did not avail himself. “Would you be able to tell me where you were late last night?”

Not completely, she thought. Because at one point she’d been killing a vampire, and that was none of his bizniz.

“I was here at the club. Why?”

“Do you have some employees who could verify that?”

“Yup. You can talk to iAm or any of my staff. Provided you tell me what the hell is doing.”

“Last night we found an article of clothing belonging to Grady at a murder scene.”

Oh, man, if someone else had popped that motherf*cker, she was going to be pissed. “But not his body?”

“No. It was a coat with an eagle on the back, something he was known to wear. His signature, as it were.”

“Interesting. So why are you asking me where I was?”

“The jacket had blood splatterings on it. We’re not sure whether it’s his or not, but we’ll find out tomorrow.”

“And again, why do you want to know where I was.”

De la Cruz planted his palms on her desk and leaned in, his chocolate brown eyes dead f*cking serious. “Because I have a hunch you’d like to see him dead.”

“I’m not into abusive men, true. But all you have is his jacket, no body, and more to the point, I was here last night. So if someone offed him, it wasn’t me.”