Lover Revealed (Black Dagger Brotherhood #4)(79)

Marissa broke the contact and dematerialized, right out of his arms.

Butch fell headfirst into the empty air where she’d been, face-planting into the sofa cushions. In a messy scramble, he shoved himself to his feet and spun around. “Marissa! Marissa!”

He threw himself at the doors and clawed at the lock, but couldn’t get free.

Then he heard her broken, desperate voice on the other side. “I’ll kill you…God help me, but I’ll kill you…I want you too much.”

He pounded on the door. “Let me out!”

“I’m sorry—” Her voice cracked, then grew strong. And he feared her resolve more than anything else. “I’m so sorry. I’ll come to you afterward. After it is done.”

“Marissa, don’t do this—”

“I love you.”

He beat the wood with his fists. “I don’t care if I die! Don’t go to him!”

When the lock finally gave way, he burst into the hall and ran flat out for the staircase.

But by the time he threw open the mansion’s front door she was gone.



Across town, in the underground parking garage where the brokered fights took place, Van hopped into the chicken-wire cage and bounced on the balls of his feet. The drumbeat of him warming up echoed through the concrete levels, cutting off the silence.

Tonight there was no crowd, just three people. But he was juiced like it was standing room only.

Van was the one who’d suggested the locale to Mr. X, and he’d shown them how to break into the place. As he knew the schedule of fights, he’d been sure there wouldn’t be anyone around this evening and a big part of him wanted to have his glory, his resurrection here in this ring, not in some anonymous basement somewhere.

He tried out some kicks, so very satisfied with his strength, then eyed his opponent. The other lesser was just as lit for the hand-to-hand as he was.

From the other side of the cage, Xavier barked, “You don’t stop until it’s over. And Mr. D, on the ground unmoving is not ‘over,’ we clear?”

Van nodded, already used to being called by his last initial.

“Good.” Xavier’s palms clapped together and the fight was Van and the other lesser circled each other, but Van had no intention of letting the slow-dance crap go on for long. He moved in first, throwing punches, forcing his opponent back against the cage. The guy took the bare-knuckled pounders like they were nothing more than spring rain on his cheeks and then tossed out a mean-ass right hook. The damn thing caught Van at an angle, splitting his lip open like an envelope.

It hurt, but the pain was good, a strengthener, something that focused him further. Van spun around and sent his foot out flying, a body bomb on the end of a steel chain. Sure as shit it took the lesser down, sprawling the guy flat. Van jumped on his opponent and cranked him into a submission hold, wrenching one arm back and around so the joints strained at the shoulder and elbow. Just a little tighter and he was going to pop this sucker right off—

The lesser pulled a smoothie, somehow nailing Van in the balls with his knee. Quick switch of positions and Van was on the bottom. Then another roll and they were up on their feet.

The fight went on and on, no time-outs, no breathers, the two of them battering the holy hell out of each other. It was flipping miraculous. Van felt like he could go for hours, no matter how beat up his body got. It was like he had an engine in him, a driving force, one that was not as dulled by exhaustion or pain as his old self had been.

When the break in the action finally came, the tipping factor was Van’s special…whatever it was. Though the two of them were identically matched for strength, Van was the master at this, and he saw the opening for the win. He popped the other slayer in the gut, nailing a liver shot that would have left a human opponent shitting in his shorts. Then he picked his opponent up and slammed him down onto the ring floor. As he mounted the body and looked down, Van’s blood welled from the cuts around his eyes and dropped onto the guy’s face like tears…black tears.

The color momentarily freaked Van out, and the other lesser took advantage of the lapse in focus by spinning him over onto his back.

Yeah, not happening, not this time. Van balled his fist and rammed it into the guy’s temple at exactly the right force and the right place, knocking the lesser stupid. With a quick surge, Van kicked his opponent over, straddled the slayer’s chest and repeated the punch over and over again, battering the skull until the bone helmet went soft. And he just kept going, sticking to the task until the very structure of the man’s face let go, the head becoming a loose bag, his opponent dead and then some.

“Finish him!” Xavier called from the sidelines.

Van looked up, panting hard. “I just did.”

“No…finish him!”

“How?”

“You should know what to do!” Xavier’s pale eyes shined with an eerie desperation. “You must!”

Van wasn’t clear on exactly how much deader he could make the guy, but he grabbed the lesser by the ears and twisted until the neck snapped. Then he eased off the body. Though he had no heart that beat anymore, his lungs burned and his body was deliciously logy from exertion…except the logy didn’t last.

He started to laugh. Already the strength was returning to him, just pouring in from somewhere else as if he’d eaten and slept and recovered for days.