Lover Unleashed (Black Dagger Brotherhood #9)(120)

The old Qhuinn would have driven a bus through that opening—

On a wince, he tried not to take that turn of phrase quiiiiiiiiite so literally.

The thing was, though, the ridiculous, pansy-ass saying was right: If you loved someone, you set them free.

In his room, he went over and sat on the bed. Looking around, he saw furniture he hadn’t bought . . . and decorations that were gorgeous, but anonymous and not to his style. The only things that were his were the clothes in the closet, the razor in the bathroom, and the running shoes he’d kicked off when he’d come back earlier.

It was just like his parents’ house.

Well, here, people actually valued him. But as lives went, he didn’t have one of his own, really. He was John’s protector. The Brotherhood’s soldier. And . . .

Shit, now that he wasn’t indulging in his sex addiction anymore, that was the end of the list.

Pushing himself back against the headboard, he crossed his feet at the ankles and arranged his robe. The night stretched out ahead of him with a horrible flatness—like he’d been driving and driving and driving through the desert . . . and he had only nights more of the same up ahead.

Months of the same.

Years.

He thought of Layla and the advice he’d given her. Man, the two of them were in the exact same place, weren’t they.

Closing his eyes, he was relieved when he started to drift. But he had a feeling any peacefulness he found wasn’t going to last long.

And he was right.





FORTY-TWO


At Tricounty Equine Hospital, Manny stood still while Glory snuffled around his scrubs, and knew he should probably leave her. But he found that he was unable to separate himself or Payne from the horse.

Time was running out for his Glory and it killed him. But he couldn’t very well leave her to waste away, growing thinner and more crippled with each passing day. She deserved so much better than that.

“You love her,” Payne said softly, her pale hand skimming across the Thoroughbred’s back and going down onto the hip.

“Yeah. I do.”

“She is very lucky.”

No, she was dying, and that was a curse.

He cleared his throat. “I guess we need to—”

“Dr. Manello?”

Manny leaned back and looked over the stall door. “Oh, hey, Doc. How’re you?”

As the head vet strode down to them, his tuxedo was as out of place as a pitchfork in an opera box. “I’m okay—and you’re clearly looking well.” The guy repositioned his bow tie. “The monkey suit is because I’m on my way home from the Met. I just had to stop and see your girl, though.”

Manny ducked out and offered his hand. “Me, too.”

As they shook, the vet glanced into the stall—and his eyes popped when he saw Payne. “Ah . . . hello.”

When Payne offered the man a small smile, the good doctor blinked like the sun had broken through a cloud bank and shone down upon him.

Okaaaaaaaaaay, Manny was so through with bastards staring at her like that.

Putting himself in the way, he said, “Is there any kind of suspension we could get her into? To relieve some pressure?”

“We’ve had her strapped for a couple of hours each day.” As the vet replied, he inched to the side until Manny had to follow with his torso to keep blocking the view. “I don’t want to run the risk of gastrointestinal or breathing problems.”

Bored with the tilting thing, and wanting to spare Payne where the conversation was heading, Manny took the guy’s arm and moved them off to the side. “What’s our next step?”

The vet rubbed his eyes as if to give his mind a second to unscramble. “To be honest, Dr. Manello, I don’t have a good feeling about where we are. That other hoof is foundering, and although I’ve been doing everything I can to treat it, it’s not responding.”

“There has to be something else.”

“I’m so damned sorry.”

“How long until we’re sure—”

“I’m sure now.” The man’s stare was positively grim. “That’s why I came in tonight—I was hoping for a miracle.”

Well, didn’t that make two of them.

“Why don’t I give you some time with her,” the vet said. “Take all you need.”

Which was doctor talk for Say your good-byes.

The vet put his hand on Manny’s shoulder briefly, and then he turned and walked away. As he went, he looked in every single stall, checking his patients, patting a muzzle now and then.

Good guy. Thorough guy.

The kind who would exhaust every single avenue before laying down a stop-loss scenario.

Manny took a deep breath and tried to tell himself that Glory was not a pet. People didn’t have racehorses as pets. And she deserved better than suffering in a little stall while he worked up the courage to do right by her.

Putting his hand to his chest, he rubbed his cross through his scrubs and had a sudden urge to go to church—

At first, all he noticed was the shadows getting stronger on the wall across the way. And then he thought maybe someone had turned the overhead lights up.

Finally, he realized that the illumination was coming out of Glory’s stall.

What . . . the . . .