The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood #12)(117)

“If you try to, I’ll pull this trigger. Then you have a dead body, and unless that daughter of hers is a sick bitch, she ain’t gonna want me then.”

s’Ex went inanimately still. “You’re out of your f*cking mind.”

“Anything you want on the outside, s’Ex. You take care of this for me, and I’ll take care of you.”

As the queen’s executioner considered the deal, Trez breathed smoothly, and thought of the only two people who really mattered. Selena … Jesus Christ, he wanted her, but he was no good for the likes of that Chosen. Hell, even if this flier of a negotiation worked, he was still going to be a pimp, and there was no changing his past.

And then there was iAm.

The idea of losing his brother was … he couldn’t even put it into thought. But the male was going to be better off without him if he couldn’t fix this problem.

“I’m surprised that you want to save your parents this badly,” s’Ex said offhandedly.

“Are you kidding me? If they lose their station, it’s worse than death for them. What they did to me has ruined my life and my brother’s. That shit’s my revenge. Besides, like I said, no matter what you do with them, I’m not going back there.”

The executioner broke off and strolled the length of the terrace, his robing swirling around him like the promise of violence, the puffs of his breath like a dragon breathing fire.

After a long moment, he clasped his hands behind his back, and returned.

It was a while before he finally spoke, and when he did, he wasn’t looking at Trez. He was staring at the glass of the apartment.

“I like this place.”

Trez kept the gun to his chin, but felt a stab of … hope? Well, not that cheery an emotion, certainly. But maybe there was a solution after all.

s’Ex lifted a brow. “Three bedrooms, two and a half baths, nice kitchen. Plenty of light. But the beds are the best—big beds in there.”

“You want this, it’s yours.”

As s’Ex’s eyes slid back to him, Trez heard the phrase deal with the devil over and over in his head.

“It’s missing something.”

“What.”

“Women. I want women brought to me here. I’ll tell you when. And I want three or four at a time.”

“You got it. Name the number and the hour and I’ll bring them to you.”

“So sure of yourself.”

“What the f*ck do you think I do for a living.”

s’Ex’s eyes flared. “I thought you were a club owner.”

“I don’t just sell booze,” he muttered.

“Hmm, what a job.” The executioner frowned. “Just so we’re clear, she may order me to go after your brother.”

“Then I’m going to have to kill you.”

s’Ex threw his head back and laughed. “Very cocky.”

“Let me make myself perfectly clear. You touch iAm and I will find you. Your last breath will be mine and your heart will still be warm when I take it out of your chest and eat it raw.”

“You know, it’s a wonder we don’t get along better.”

Trez put out his free hand. “Have we come to terms?”

“There is the queen to consider. I may not be able to sway her. And just so you’re aware, if she doesn’t go for it, your deadline will have passed.”

“So kill them.” He held s’Ex’s black stare without wavering. “I mean it.”

The executioner tilted his head, as if considering all angles. “Yes, evidently you do. Meet me here at noon tomorrow with a sample—and I’ll see what I can do in the Territory.”

Before s’Ex disappeared, the male clasped the palm that was offered briefly. And then he was gone, like a nightmare banished upon waking.

Unfortunately … Trez knew the male would be back.

The question was, with what kind of news. And what kind of appetite.





THIRTY-EIGHT


It was an hour past sundown when Abalone left his home, dematerializing off his side lawn. The night was bitterly cold, and as he re-formed on the estate of one of the glymera’s wealthiest families, he took a moment to breathe until his sinuses went numb.

Others were gathering, the males and females appearing out of the darkness, straightening their furs and fine clothes and jewels before striding toward the light.

With a heavy heart, he followed.

The grand carved doors of the mansion were held open by doggen, the staff unmoving in their livery, naught but blinking stops.

The lady of the house, such that she was, was standing under a chandelier in the foyer, her dress a bright red couture number that fell to the ground in drapes of silk. Her jewels were rubies, the flashes at her throat and her ears and her wrists an ostentatious display.

For no particular reason, he thought that the true queen of the race’s red gems were much better, bigger, clearer. He had seen an oil painting of the majestic female back in the Old Country, and even distilled through paint and age, the Saturnine Ruby and its counterparts had had a resplendence that would destroy the pretense before him.

The hostess’s mate was nowhere to be seen. But then again, that male had difficulty standing for long periods of time.

Not long for the world, he was.