Lover Mine (Black Dagger Brotherhood #8)(172)

Someone I trusted. Someone who was part of the family--who I knew

wouldn't see me as dirty or weak or some shit."

Who, John mouthed.

"Mary." Z exhaled. "Rhage's Mary. We had the sessions down in the boiler room under the kitchen. Two chairs. Right next to the furnace. It helped then and I still go back to her from time to time."

John could see the logic instantly. Mary had that kind, calm thing

going on--which explained how she'd been able to tame not only the wildest Brother, but the son of a bitch's inner beast.

"That scream tonight . . . John, if you want to mate this female, you gotta help her with that. She needs to talk about her shit because if she doesn't, sure as f*ck it's going to rot her from the inside out. And I spoke with Mary just now--without using any names. She's gotten her counseling degree and she said she's ready to work with someone. If you get a chance and the time is right with Xhex . . . tell her about this. Tell her to go talk to Mary." As Z rubbed his skull trim, the nipple rings he wore stood out in sharp relief under his black muscle shirt. "And if you want a testimonial, I can tell you on the life of my daughter that your female will be in good hands."

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Thank you, John signed. Yeah, I'll totally say something to her. Jesus .

. . thank you.

"No problem."

Abruptly, John locked eyes with Zsadist.

As the two held stares, it was hard not to feel part of a unique club that no one would ever volunteer to be associated with. Membership wasn't sought or desirable or something to crow about . . . but it was real and it was powerful: Survivors of similar wrecks could see the horrors of those jagged shoals in the eyes of others. It was like recognizing like. It was two people with the same tattoo on their insides, the divide of a trauma that separated them from the rest of the planet unexpectedly bringing a pair of weary souls closer together.

Or three, as was the case here.

Zsadist's voice was husky. "I killed the bitch who did it to me. Took her head with me when I left. You get that satisfaction?"

John shook his head slowly. Wish I had.

"Not going to lie. That helped me, too."

There was a tight, awkward silence, as if neither of them knew how to hit the reset button and get back to normal. Then Z nodded once and stuck out his fist.

John knocked those knuckles with his own, thinking, Shit, you never

knew what was in someone's closet, did you.

Z's eyes glowed yellow once more as he turned away and walked back

toward the door that would take him into the mansion and to his family, to his Brothers. In his back pocket, like he'd shoved it there and forgotten about it, was a pink baby's bib, the kind that had Velcro patches on the straps and a little skull and crossbones in black on the front.

Life goes on, John thought. No matter what the world did to you, you

could survive.

And maybe if Xhex talked to Mary she wouldn't . . .

God, he couldn't even finish the thought because he feared defining

her exit strategy.

Hustling on down into the training center, he headed for the clinic,

where he found his jacket and his weapons and what Xhex needed.

As he picked up the shit, his mind was churning over things . . . things in the past, and in the present. Churning, churning, churning . . .

When he got back to the mansion, he beelined up the grand staircase

and down the hall of statues. As soon as he walked into his room, he heard the shower running in the bath and had a brief, vivid image of Xhex

gloriously naked and slick from the water and the soap suds--but he didn't go 438

J. R.Ward

in and join her. He pulled the bed together and laid the cilices at the foot of it, then changed into his fighting gear and left.

He didn't go to First Meal.

He went down the hall to another bedroom. As he knocked on the

door, he had the sense that what he was about to do was a long time in coming.

When Tohr opened up, the Brother was half-dressed--and obviously

surprised. "What's doing?"

Can I come in? John signed.

"Yeah, sure."

As John stepped inside, he felt an odd sense of premonition. But then when it came to Tohr, he'd always had them . . . that and a sense of deep connection.

He frowned while he looked at the male, thinking of the time they'd

spent on that sofa downstairs, watching Godzilla movies while Xhex was out fighting in the daylight. It was funny; he was so comfortable around the guy that being with Tohr was like being alone without the solitude . . .

You've been following me, haven't you, John signed abruptly. You're the one . . . the shadow I've sensed. At the tattoo parlor and the Xtreme Park.

Tohr's eyes narrowed. "Yeah. That was me."

Why?

"Look, for real, it wasn't that I don't think you can handle yourself--"

No, it's not that. What I don't understand is . . . if you're well enough to be out in the field, why aren't you killing them? For . . . her. Why waste time with me?

Tohr breathed out a curse. "Ah, shit, John . . ." Long pause. And then,

"You can't do anything more for the dead. They're gone. It's done. But the living . . . you can take care of the living. I know what kind of hell you've been in--and still are in--and I lost my Wellsie because I wasn't there when she needed me. . . . I couldn't go through losing you for the same reason."