Lover Mine (Black Dagger Brotherhood #8)(112)

Her eyes flicked over. "Let's just say he wants after Lash."

"Well, that's understandable."

"Yeah."

As the word drifted out of her mouth, he had a sense he didn't know

the half of it, but it was clear that was as far as she was going to go with the commentary.

Abruptly, her storm cloud-colored stare sharpened on his face. "So you're the reason Qhuinn was in such a bad mood tonight."

Blay recoiled, and then shook his head. "It's got nothing to do with me. Qhuinn is usually in a bad mood."

"People going in the wrong direction will get like that. Round pegs just don't fit in square holes."

Blay cleared his throat, thinking symphaths, even ones who were arguably not against you, were not the kind of thing you wanted to be around when you were raw and exposed. Like, say, when the male you wanted was doing right by a Chosen who had a face like an angel and a body built for 288

J. R.Ward

sin.

God only knew what Xhex was picking up on from where his head

was at.

"Well . . . I'm going for a workout." Like his rig wasn't a dead giveaway.

"Good. Maybe you can talk to him."

"I will." Blay hesitated, thinking Xhex looked a little too much like he felt. "Listen, not for nothing, but you're clearly spent. Maybe you could go up to a guest room and sleep?"

She shook her head. "I'm not leaving him. And I'm out here waiting only because I was making him crazy. The sight of me . . . isn't good for his mental health at the moment. I'm hoping that's no longer true after he breaks this second treadmill."

"Second?"

"I'm pretty damn sure the flapping and the smell of smoke about

fifteen minutes ago meant he ran one of them into the ground."

"Damn."

"Yup."

Bracing himself, Blay ducked into the weight room--

"Jesus . . . Christ. John."

His voice didn't carry at all. Then again, the roar of the treadmill and John's slamming strides would have drowned out a car backfiring.

The guy's massive body was in a full-out bolt on the machine, his Tshirt and torso dripping with sweat, droplets flicking off his cranked fists and creating twin tracts of damp on either side on the floor. Both his white socks had red blushes streaking up from his heels as if he'd worn patches of skin off, and the black nylon shorts he had on his hips slapped like a wet towel.

"John?" Blay shouted, as he measured the burned-out machine next to the one the guy was on. "John!"

When yelling didn't bring that head around, Blay stalked over and

waved his hands right in the guy's visual field. And then wished he hadn't.

The eyes that locked on his were blazing with a hatred so vicious, Blay took a step back.

As John refocused on the air in front of his face, it was pretty damn clear that the f*cker was going to keep this up until he was a yard shorter from having run his legs into stubs.

"John, how 'bout you step off!" Blay hollered. "Before you fall off?"

No response. Just the screaming whirl of the treadmill and the carpet-bombing sound of those feet.

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"John! Come on, now! You're killing yourself!"

Fuck this.

Blay walked around behind the piece of equipment and yanked the

cord out of the wall. The abrupt slowdown caused John to trip and fall forward, but he caught himself on the console's arms. Or maybe just

collapsed onto them.

His heaving breaths tore in and out of his lax mouth as his head lolled on his arm.

Blay pulled a weight bench over and parked it so he could look into

the guy's face. "John . . . what the hell's going on?"

John let go of the console and fell back on his ass, his legs giving out from under him. After a series of sawing breaths, he drew his hand through his wet hair.

"Talk to me, John. I'll keep it just between us. I swear it on the life of my mother."

It was quite a while before John lifted his head, and when he did, his eyes were shiny. And not from sweat or exertion.

"Talk to me and it goes nowhere," Blay whispered. "What happened?

Tell me."

When the guy eventually signed, it was messy, but Blay read the

words just fine.

He hurt her, Blay. He . . . hurt her.

"Well, yeah, I know. I heard about the shape she was in when she--"

John squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

In the tense silence that followed, the skin on the back of Blay's neck tightened. Oh . . . shit.

There had been more to it. Hadn't there.

"How bad," Blay growled.

Bad as it gets, John mouthed.

"Motherf*cker. Bastard ass motherf*cker. Cocksucking rat-bitch bastard mother f*cker!"

Blay wasn't big into the swearing thing, but sometimes that was all

you had to offer the ears of others: Xhex wasn't his female, but you didn't hurt the fairer sex as far as he was concerned. For any reason . . . and never, ever like that.

God, her pained expression hadn't been just worry for John. It had

been about memories. Awful, hideous memories . . .

"John . . . I'm so sorry."