Lover Revealed (Black Dagger Brotherhood #4)(122)

“Fuck you, come here. V…gitcha ass over here.”

V shoved his hands in his pockets and slowly walked to the gurney. Marissa was the one who linked them, drawing Vishous’s arm up and out so Butch could reach the brother’s palm.

“You all right?” Butch asked, squeezing.

For a split second, his grip was returned. Then V stomped one of his shitkickers like a horse and broke the contact. “Yeah. Fine.”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah.”

V was so twitchy, Butch took pity on him and changed the subject. “So is it over? Is that it?”

V stroked his goatee and glanced at the clock. Then looked at Butch’s body. “Let’s wait another ten minutes.”

Okay, fine. Butch passed the time running his hands up and down Marissa’s arms. And shoulders. And face. And hair.

Eventually, V murmured, “I guess it is done.”

Even though there was a curious disappointment in the brother’s voice, Butch grinned. “Well, that wasn’t too bad. Except for the dying part, of course. That wasn’t…” He let the sentence drift and frowned.

“What is it?” Marissa said.

“I don’t know. I—” Something was happening…something in his gut…

Vishous came over to the table. “What’s going on, cop?”

“I…” The vast wave of pain came over him like a shroud of nails, wrapping around his body, cutting into him from every angle possible. He gasped under the onslaught, his vision conking out, then coming back. “Oh, shit. I’m dying…”

Vishous’s face appeared in front of his. And the bastard was smiling…a big, fat Cheshire cat grin. “This is the change, my friend. Now…now you’re turning.”

“What the f—” He didn’t get the word out. Red-hot agony became all he knew and he receded deep within himself, getting lost in the swirling torture. As it intensified even further, he hoped to pass out. No such luck.

After a hundred and fifty light-years of suffering, the popping started: The bones in his thighs were the first to snap and he howled, but there was no time to dwell on it because his upper arms were next. Then his shoulders. His spine…his lower legs…hands…feet…his skull screamed and his jaw ached. He rolled over…spit out two teeth…

Through the hurricane of the change, Marissa was with him, talking to him. He held on to her voice and the image of her in his head, the only thing steady in his world of suffering.





Chapter Thirty-nine




Way across town, in a very nice, very secluded house, John finished his first beer. And then his second. And his third. He was surprised his stomach could handle them, but they went down smooth and stayed that way.

Blaylock and Qhuinn were on the floor in front of the bed, locked in on a plasma-screen TV playing sKillerz, that kick-ass game that was everywhere. By some freak of nature, John had beaten them both, so they were battling for second place.

As John lounged back on Blaylock’s comforter, he tipped the Corona bottle to his mouth, realized it was empty, and looked at the clock. Fritz would be picking him up in about twenty minutes and that might be a problem. He was buzzing. Hard.

It was really nice.

Blaylock laughed and keeled over onto the floor. “I can’t believe you beat me, you bastard.”

Qhuinn picked up his beer and gave Blay a little knock in the leg with the thing. “Sorry, big guy. But you suck.”

John propped his head up on his hand, relishing the feel of being all pleasantly out of it and mellow. He’d been so pissed off for so long, he hadn’t been able to remember what relaxed felt like.

Blay glanced over at him with a grin. “Of course, strong/silent up there is the real ass-kicker. I hate you, you know that?”

John smiled and flipped the guy off. As the two on the floor laughed, a BlackBerry sounded.

Qhuinn answered it. Did a lot of Uh-huh. Hung up. “Shit…Lash ain’t coming back for a while. Seems like you”—the guy looked at John—“scared the shit out of him.”

“Man, that kid always was an *,” Blay said.

“Straight up.”

They were quiet for a while, just listening to Too Short’s “Nasty.” Then Qhuinn got this intense look on his face.

His eyes, one blue, one green, narrowed. “Yo, Blay…so what was it like?”

Blay’s stare shot quickly to the ceiling. “Losing at sKillerz to you? A real buzz kill, thank you very much.”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

With a curse, Blay reached over to a little refrigerator, took out another beer, and cracked it open. The guy had had seven and seemed sober as ever. Of course, he’d also eaten four McDonald’s Big Macs, two things of large fries, a chocolate milk shake, and two cherry pies. Plus a bag of Ruffles.

“Blay? Come on…what happened?”

Blaylock took a slug from the bottle and swallowed hard. “Nothing.”

“Fuck. You.”

“Okay, fine.” Blay took another draw. “I…ah, I wanted to die, okay. Was convinced I would. Then I…you know…” He cleared his throat. “I…ah, took her vein. And it got worse after that. A helluva lot worse.”