Lover Mine (Black Dagger Brotherhood #8)(40)

into the backseat . . . and relocked his hands around Qhuinn's throat.

As they went back at it, Blay shouted from up front, "What the f*ck is wrong with you two?"

No time to answer that. John was busy squeezing and Qhuinn was

trying to give him a black eye--and succeeding.

Sixty-something miles an hour. In and around downtown. With a

possible ID on the Hummer if either of those cops had come to enough to focus his peepers while Blay got them out of Dodge.

And a brawl going down.

Later, John would realize that of course there was only one place Blay could go.

By the time the guy pulled into Sal's parking lot--in the back of the restaurant, where there were no lights--John and Qhuinn had both drawn blood. And the fight ended only when John was yanked out of the door by Trez--which suggested the redhead had phoned ahead. Qhuinn was handled with similar muscle by iAm.

John spit to clear out his mouth and glared at all of them.

"I believe we'll call this a draw, boys," Trez said with a half smile.

"What do ya think?"

As John was released, rage made him shake. That slayer could have

been the one thing they needed to crack the locale . . . the story . . . the anything. And because Qhuinn had insisted on wasting the bastard, they were no closer to where they had to be. Plus there was the fact that the lesser had died so easily. Just a prick in the heart cavity and he was home free--or at least back to the Omega.

Qhuinn wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "For f*ck's sake, John! You think I don't want to find her? You think I don't give a shit?

Christ, I've been out every night with you, looking, searching, praying for a break." He pointed his finger straight out. "So get this straight. The pair of us getting busted with a leaking lesser by a bunch of humans is not going to help us. You want to tell Wrath how you rolled with that one? I don't. And if you ever put a gun in my face again, I will f*ck you up no matter what my job is."

John didn't trust himself to respond. One thing was clear, though--if he didn't have the hope of something turning up at Benloise's St. Francis 109

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place, he would have been tearing shit up no matter who tried to stop him, Shadow or otherwise.

"Are you hearing me?" Qhuinn demanded. "Am I clear to you?"

John paced around, hands on his hips, head down low. As his temper

started to cool, the logical side of him knew his buddy was right. He was also very aware he'd temporarily lost his damn mind in that shed. Had he really put a forty in his friend's puss?

His sudden clarity made him sick to his stomach.

If he didn't stitch it up here, he was going to have more problems than a missing female. He was going to end up dead, either because he was

sloppy in combat or because Wrath gave him a serious case of boot-up-the-ass-itis.

He looked over at Qhuinn. Man, the hard expression on that pierced

face was right close to an edge a friendship couldn't go back from--the kind of thing that didn't have to do with Qhuinn being a tough guy, but rather John being the kind of * no one wanted to hang out with.

He walked up to the male and wasn't surprised when Qhuinn held his

ground in spite of the throw-down in the car. When he stuck his hand out, there was a long pause.

"I'm not the enemy, John."

John nodded, focusing on that tattooed tear beneath the guy's eye.

Retracting his palm, he signed, I know that. I just . . . I need to find her. And what if that slayer was the way?

"Maybe he was--but the sitch got critical and you're going to have to choose yourself over her sometimes. Because if you don't, there's no way you're ever going to find out what happened. You can't search for her from inside a coffin."

He couldn't find a way to argue with that.

"So listen up, you crazy f*ck, we're in this together," Qhuinn said softly. "And I'm here to make sure you don't wake up dead. I get the drive, I do. But you've got to work with me."

I'm going to kill Lash, John signed in a rush. I'm going to hold his throat in my hands and I'm going to stare into his eyes as he dies. I don't care how much it costs me . . . but his ashes will be sprinkled on her grave. I swear on . . .

What did he have to swear on? Not his father. Not his mother.

. . . I swear on my own life.

Anyone else might have tried to placate him with a shitload of have—

faith, you-gotta-believe crap. But Qhuinn clapped him on the shoulder.

"Have I told you how much I love you lately?"

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Every night you come out with me to help find her.

"It's not because of the f*cking job."

This time when John put his palm out, his friend used it to pull them into a hard embrace. Then Qhuinn shoved him away and checked the watch on his wrist. "We should head over to St. Francis Avenue."

"You got ten minutes." Trez put his arm around the guy and started walking for the back door into the kitchen. "Let's get you two cleaned up.

You can leave the Hummer in our receiving dock and I'll switch the plates for you while you're gone."

Qhuinn looked over at Trez. "That's really f*cking nice of you."

"Yeah, I'm a prince, all right. And to prove it, I'll even tell you all I know about Benloise."