Lover Awakened (Black Dagger Brotherhood #3)(72)

God… How would he tell her good-bye?

Man, there was one conversation to bail on. He couldn’t imagine what he’d say to her, especially after she’d seen him do his nasty magic all over that slayer.

Z went into the library, picked up one of the phones there, and dialed Vishous’s cell number by its pattern on the buttons. He heard the ring through the receiver as well as from across the foyer. When V answered, he told the Brother about the Explorer and the cell phone and the undercarriage antics.

“I’m on it,” V said. “But where are you? There’s a funky echo on the phone.”

“Call me if that car moves. I’ll be in the gym.” He hung up and headed for the underground tunnel.

He figured he could scrounge up some clothes down in the locker room and run himself into a state of utter depletion. When his thighs were screaming and his calves had turned to stone and his throat was sore from the gasping, the pain would clear his mind, cleanse him…. He craved the hurt more than he craved food.

When he got to the locker room, he went to the cubicle assigned to him and pulled out his Air Shox and a pair of running shorts. He preferred going shirtless anyway, especially if he was alone.

He’d disarmed and was about to strip down when he heard something moving around the lockers. Tracking the sound in silence, he stepped out into the path of—a half-pint stranger.

There was a metal bang as that little body slammed into one of the locker banks.

Shit. It was the kid. What was his name? John something. And John-boy looked as if he was going to faint as he stared up with bugged-out, glassy eyes.

Z glared down from his full height. His mood was utterly vicious at the moment, black and cold as space, and yet somehow, ripping the kid a new * for doing nothing wrong wasn’t appealing.

“Get out of here, kid.”

John fumbled with something. A pad and pen. As he put the two together, Z shook his head.

“Yeah, I don’t read, remember? Look, just go. Tohr’s up at the house.”

Z turned away and yanked off his shirt. When he heard a gasp, he looked over his shoulder. John’s eyes were on his back.

“Christ, kid…get the f*ck out of here.”

As Z heard the patter of feet leaving, he ditched his pants, threw on the black soccer shorts, and sat on the bench. He picked his Nikes up by the laces and let them dangle between his knees. As he stared at the running shoes, he had some stupid thought about how many times he’d shoved his feet into them and punished his body on the very treadmill he was headed for. Then he thought about how many times he’d deliberately gotten himself hurt in fights with the lessers. And how many times he’d asked Phury to beat him.

No, not asked. Demanded. There had been times when he’d demanded that his twin hit him over and over again until his scarred face swelled up and the pounding ache in his bones was all he knew. In truth, he didn’t like having Phury involved. He’d have preferred the pain to be private and would have done the damage himself if he’d been able to. But it was hard to coldcock yourself with any force.

Z slowly lowered the running shoes to the floor and leaned back against the locker, thinking about where his twin was. Up in the dining room. Next to Bella.

His eyes drifted to the phone that was mounted on the locker room wall. Maybe he should call up to the house.

A low whistle sounded right next to him. He flipped his eyes to the left and frowned.

The kid was there with a water bottle in his hand, and he came forward tentatively, his arm stretched way out in front of him, his head tilted away. Kind of like he was cozying up to a panther and hoped to leave the experience with his limbs still attached.

John placed the Poland Spring bottle about three feet from Z on the bench. Then he turned and ran away.

Z stared at the door the kid tore out of. As the thing eased shut, he thought about other doors in the compound. The front ones of the mansion, specifically.

God. Bella would be leaving soon, too. She might even be leaving now.

Right this very minute.





Chapter Twenty-five


“Apples? What the f*ck do I care about apples?” O yelled into his cell phone. He was ready to crack heads, he was so pissed off, and U was nattering on about goddamn fruit? “I just told you we’ve got three dead Betas. Three of them.”

“But tonight there were fifty bushels of apples bought from four different—”

O had to start pacing around the cabin. It was either that or so help him he was going to hunt down U just to burn off his edge.

As soon as O had returned from the Omega he’d gone to the farmhouse, only to find two scorch marks on the lawn as well as the busted-up back door. Looking through a window into the kitchen, he’d seen black blood all over the place and another burn mark on the tile.

Damn it to hell, he thought, picturing the scene again. He knew a Brother had done the work, because given the mess in the kitchen, the lesser who’d been finished off on that floor had been shredded before he’d been stabbed.

Had his wife been with the warrior at the time? Or had the visit been about her family trying to move her stuff out and a Brother had just been guarding them?

Goddamn those Betas. Those three lousy-ass, weak-balled, useless mother f*ckers of his had gotten themselves killed, so he’d never have answers. And whether his wife had been there not, sure as hell if she were alive she wasn’t going back there anytime soon, thanks to the fighting that had gone down.