Lover Mine (Black Dagger Brotherhood #8)(10)

Surprise, motherf*cker. This ain't no Disney World, and once you get

on the ride, you are never, ever getting off.

Lash was totally fine with deception, however.

"I'm ready for bigger shit," the kid murmured.

"Good. Now get the f*ck out of my car. My associate will pick you up tomorrow night at seven."

"Cool."

With business concluded, Lash was impatient to move the little

bastard along. The kid smelled like a sewer and was screaming for more than a shower--he needed to be hosed down like a dirty stretch of sidewalk.

As soon as the door was shut, Lash backed out of the parking lot and

hooked up with the road that ran parallel to the Hudson River. He headed for home, his hands gripping the steering wheel for another reason than the urge to kill.

The urge to f*ck was just as strong a motivator for him.

The street he lived on in Old Caldwell had Victorian-era brownstones

running down it and sidewalks planted with trees and property values no lower than a million dollars. The neighbors picked up after their dogs, never made any noise, and put their trash out only in the back alleys, and only on the right days. As he drove past his town house and cut around the block to the garage, he was tickled f*cking pink to think all these tight-ass WASPs 37

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had a neighbor like him: He might have looked and dressed like them, but his blood ran black and he was as soulless as a wax statue.

As he hit the garage door opener, he smiled and his fangs, a gift from his mother's side, elongated as he got ready for his Hello, Lucy-I'm-home shit.

Never got old. Coming back to Xhex never got old.

After he'd parked the AMG, he got out and had to stretch his body.

She put him through the wringer, she abso did, and he loved how she left him stiff . . . and not just in the cock.

Nothing like a good opponent to cheer his shit up.

Cutting through the back garden and entering the house through the

kitchen, he smelled grilled sirloin and fresh bread.

He wasn't into food at the moment, though. Thanks to that convo at

the park, that little shit skater was going to be his first induction, the first offering he brought to his father, the Omega. And didn't that make him jones for some sex.

"Y'all ready to eat?" Mr. D asked from the stove as he flipped the piece of meat over. The little Texan had proved useful not only as an initial tour guide through the Lessening Society, but also as a killer and a halfway decent cook.

"Nah, I'm going up now." He tossed his keys and his cell phone on the granite countertop. "Leave the food in the fridge and lock the door behind you."

"Yessuh."

"We're on for tomorrow night. You pick the target up at seven. You know where to take him."

"Yessuh."

That two-syllable word was the SOB's favorite response--which was

another reason he remained upright and the second in command.

Lash passed through the butler's pantry and the dining room and hung

a right to the carved staircase. When he'd first seen the place, it had been emptied out, with nothing but the remnants of graceful living left behind: silk wallpaper, damask drapes, and one wing chair. Now, the brownstone was filling up with antiques and statuary and proper rugs. It was going to take longer than he'd thought to get it where it needed to be, but you couldn't pull a household of shit out of your ass overnight.

Mounting the stairs, his feet were light and his body humming as he

unbuttoned his coat and then his jacket.

As he closed in on Xhex, he was well aware that what had started out

for him as payback had turned into an addiction: What was waiting for him 38

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on the other side of his bedroom door was much more than he'd bargained for.

It had been so simple at first: He'd taken her because she'd taken from him. When she'd been up at the colony in that cave, she'd pointed her gun and pulled the trigger and pumped a shitload of lead into his bitch's chest.

Not acceptable. She'd robbed him of his favorite toy and he was exactly that flavor of dickhead where an eye for an eye was his theme song.

When he'd brought her here and locked her into his room, his goal had been to take pieces out of her, to trim off bits from her mind and her emotions and her body, putting her through shit that was going to bend her until she snapped.

And then, like any broken thing, he was going to throw her away.

At least, that had been the plan. It was becoming amply clear,

however, that her edges didn't dull.

Oh, no. She was titanium, this one. Her reserves of strength were

proving inexhaustible and he had the bruises to prove it.

As he came up to the door, he paused to take all his clothing off.

Generally speaking, if he liked the threads he had on, they needed to hit the floor before he went inside, because he got trashed pretty quick the moment he got near her.

Unplugging his button-down from his slacks, he released his cuff

links, left them on the hall table and took his silk shirt off.

He had marks on him. From her fists. Her nails. Her fangs.

The tip of his cock tingled as he looked at his various wounds and

bruises. He healed quickly, thanks to his father's blood running thick in his veins, but sometimes the damage she did lasted and that thrilled him to the core.