Lover Unleashed (Black Dagger Brotherhood #9)(99)

Standing with his head down and the water hitting the back of his neck, he stared at the drain between his feet.

He wasn’t good with apologies. Or talking.

But he was not a *, either.

Ten minutes later, he threw on a hospital johnny and limped out into the corridor for the office. If his Jane was down here, he figured she’d be asleep at the desk, given how many of the recovery beds were no doubt filled with Brothers she’d treated.

He still had no clue what to say to her about The Leathers, but he could at least give it a shot about Payne.

Except the office was empty.

Sitting down at the computer, it took him less than fifteen seconds to find his shellan. When he’d hardwired the security system for the mansion, the Pit, and this facility, he’d put cameras in every single room there was—except for the First Family’s suite. Naturally, the equipment could be disconnected easily with an unplug, and what do you know, the bedrooms of his brothers all showed black on the computer screen.

Which was a good thing. He didn’t need to see all that banging.

The blue toile guest room up at the big house, however, was still being monitored, and in the light of the bedside lamp that had been left on, he saw the curled figure of his mate. Jane was dead to the world, but it was damn clear she wasn’t resting comfortably: Her brows were clenched as if her brain were desperately trying to hold on to the sleep she was getting. Or maybe she was dreaming of things that prickled instead of pleasured her.

His first instinct was to march right over there, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that the kindest thing he could do was leave her where she lay and let her rest. She and Manello had gone for hours straight, all morning long. Besides, he was staying in tonight: Wrath had taken everyone off rotation in light of all the injuries.

Christ . . . that Lessening Society. He hadn’t seen so many slayers in years—and he wasn’t thinking about just the dozen that had shown up last night. Over the previous two weeks, he was willing to bet the Omega had turned a hundred of those f*ckers—and he had a feeling they were like cockroaches. For every one you saw, there were another ten that you didn’t.

Good thing the Brothers were lethal as f*ck. And Butch healed relatively easily after doing his Dhestroyer business—hell, Vishous had even been able to take care of the cop after the operation. Not that he remembered much about doing it, but still.

Stifled by so much, he patted his pockets for his rolling paper and tobacco . . . and realized he was wearing a johnny: no merch for a smoke.

Out of the chair. Back in the hall. Heading down to where he’d crashed.

The door to Payne’s room was closed, and he didn’t hesitate before he opened the way in. Chances were good that the human surgeon was in there with her, but there was no way the guy wasn’t out like a light. He’d worked his ass off.

As Vishous stepped inside, the scent in the air probably should have registered more clearly. And he maybe should have paid a little more attention to the fact that the shower was running. But he was just so shocked to see the bed was empty . . . and that there were braces and crutches over in the corner.

Patient was paralyzed? You needed a wheelchair, not equipment that aided mobility. So . . . was she walking?

“Payne?”

He raised his voice. “Payne?”

The response he got back was a moan. A very deep, satisfied moan...

Which was not the kind of thing evoked even by the best shower anyone ever had.

V shot across and nearly broke the door down as he burst into the hot, humid bathroom. And holy shit, the scene before him was so much worse than he’d thought.

The irony, however, was that what they were—oh, God, he couldn’t even put into words what was doing—saved the surgeon’s life: V was so horrified, he had to look away, and the ostrich routine kept him from tearing a hole the size of a sewer pipe in Manello’s neck.

As Vishous stumbled back out, he heard all kinds of scrambling from the bath. And then it was a case of him going asswipe-AWOL: He slammed into the bed, rebounded, knocked over a chair, bounced into a wall.

At this rate, he’d find his way out in a week. Or so.

“Vishous . . .”

As Payne came up to him, he kept his eyes on the floor, and ended up with a clear shot of his twin’s bare feet. So she’d regained feeling in her legs.

Yay.

“Please spare me an explanation,” he bit out before glaring over at Manello. The bastard was soaking wet, hair slicked to his head, scrubs sucked into his body. “And do not get used to her. You’re here only until I don’t need you anymore—and given how well she’s doing? It ain’t for much longer—”

“How dare you—it is for me to choose with whom I mate.”

He shook his head at his sister. “Then pick something other than a human half your size and a quarter your strength. Life down here is not what it’s like in the clouds, sweetheart—and the Lessening Society’s slapped a bull’s-eye on your chest just like the rest of us wear. He’s weak, he’s a security risk, and he needs to go back where he belongs—and stay there.”

Well, didn’t that make his twin furious: Her icy eyes went nuclear, her black brows slamming down. “Get. Out.”

“Ask him what he did all morning long,” V demanded. “Wait—I’ll tell you. He sewed me and the Brotherhood up because we were trying to defend our females and our race. That human? He’s a lesser waiting to happen, in my opinion—nothing less, nothing more.”