Lover Unleashed (Black Dagger Brotherhood #9)(41)

Great. He was like one of Dana White’s boys.

After he grabbed his dirty clothes and stuffed them into the back of the closet, he stuck his swollen balloon head out in the hall, and took a listen. ESPN was chattering away down on the left. Something liquid was pouring to the right.

He headed for Butch and Marissa’s room buck-ass naked. No reason to hide the bruising from Butch—SOB had seen it happen.

As he stepped into the doorway, he found the cop sitting on the end of his bed, elbows on his knees, glass of Lag in his palms, bottle between his loafers.

“You know what I’m thinking about right now?” the guy said without looking up.

V could guess it was a hell of a list. “Tell me.”

“The night I watched you throw yourself off the balcony at the Commodore. The night I thought you’d died.” Butch took a swig from his glass. “I assumed we were over that.”

“If it’s any consolation . . . so did I.”

“Why don’t you go see your mom. Talk this shit out with her.”

Like there was anything that female could say at this point? “I’d kill her, cop. I don’t know how I’d do it . . . but I’d kill the bitch for this. She leaves me to that sociopath of a father—being precisely aware of what he’s like, because, hello, she sees all. Then she keeps herself a secret from me for three hundred years, before she turns up on my birthday and wants to put me out to stud for her stupid-ass religion. But I could have punted on that shiz, true? My sister, my twin, though? She put Payne away, cop. Held her against her will. For centuries. And never told me I even had a sibling? That’s too f*cking much. I’m done.” V stared at the Lag. “You got some juice to spare there?”

Butch corked the bottle and tossed the thing. As V caught it in his palm, the cop said, “Waking up dead is not the answer, though. And neither is getting your ass kicked like that.”

“You volunteering to do it for me, then? Because I’m going crazy and it needs out, Butch. For real. I’m dangerous over here. . . .” V took a pull on the booze and cursed as the slice in his lip made it feel like he’d sucked on the wrong end of a hand-rolled. “And I can’t think of any way to get it out of me—because I sure as f*ck am not going to fall into my old habits.”

“Not tempted at all?”

V braced himself and then went for another drink. Through his grimace, he said, “I want the release, but I’m not going to be with anyone except Jane. No way I’m coming back to our mated bed with the stank of some slut all over my cock—it would ruin everything, not just for her but for me. Besides, what I need right now is a Dom, not a sub—and there’s no one I can trust.” Except maybe Butch, but that would cross too many lines. “So I’m caught. I got a screaming harpy in my head and nowhere to go with it . . . and it’s making me f*cking mental.”

Jesus . . . he’d said it. All of it.

Go, him.

And the reward was another suck on the bottle. “Goddamn, my lip hurts.”

“No offense, but good—you deserve it.” Butch’s hazel eyes lifted, and after a moment, he smiled a little, flashing that cap on his front tooth as well as his fangs. “You know, I was really getting into hating you for a minute there, I truly was. And before you ask, the turtlenecks are down at the far end of that rack. Take some sweatpants, too. Your legs look like they’ve been hit with a clawhammer, and that ball of yours is clearly about to explode.”

“Thanks, man.” V walked down the lineup of clothes that were suspended on fine cedar hangers. One thing you could say about Butch was that his wardrobe was full of options. “Never thought I’d be glad that you’re a clothes whore.”

“I believe the term is sharp dresser.”

With that Boston accent of his, the words came out shahhp dressah, and V found himself wondering if there’d ever been a time when he hadn’t heard that Southie twang in his ear.

“What are you going to do about Jane?”

V put the bottle on the floor, pulled a cashmere turtleneck over his head, and was pissed to find it barely covered his navel. “She’s got enough on her plate. No shellan needs to hear her male went out for a good beating—and I don’t want you to tell her.”

“How’re you going to explain your puss, smart-ass?”

“The swelling’s going to go down.”

“Not fast enough—you go to see Payne like this—”

“She doesn’t need the viewing pleasure, either. I’m just going to stay scarce for a day. Payne’s in recovery and is stable—at least, that’s what Jane told me, so I’m going to go to my forge.”

Butch held out his glass. “If you don’t mind?”

“Roger that.” V poured some for his boy, took another drink for himself and then yanked on some bottoms. Holding his arms out, he did a turn. “Better?”

“All I see are ankles and wrists—and FYI, you’re pulling a Miley-frickin’-Cyrus with that belly flash. Not attractive.”

“Fuck off.” As V grabbed another hit from the bottle, he decided that getting drunk was his new plan. “I can’t help it that you’re a goddamn midget.”

Butch barked a laugh and then got back to serious. “If you pull this shit again . . .”