The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood #12)(91)

Abruptly, Wrath remembered going down to the training center’s office, looking for the fighter with all of the Brotherhood behind him. He had found Tohr sitting with John, a phone up to the brother’s ear, an aura of desperation marking everything from his pale face to the grip he’d had on that receiver to the way his expression had frozen as he’d looked up to find them all there, in the doorway.

Jesus Christ, it was fresh as if it had happened yesterday. Even though in the intervening time, Tohr had mated Autumn and moved on, to the extent that any male would be able to.

Wrath shook his head. “I don’t know if I can go there with the brother.”

Cue another long stretch of quiet, as if maybe Z were thinking of that night, too. But then Zsadist said softly, “He’s your brother. If he’d do it for anyone … it would be for you.”

The minute Beth walked into the mansion’s magnificent foyer, she stopped dead in her tracks.

At first, she couldn’t put a name to the splintered pile of wood that was on its side under the billiard’s room archway. But then the ragged green skin gave it away: It was the pool table. Looking like someone had had at it with a chain saw.

Going over, she peered in and felt her jaw unhinge.

Everything was trashed. From the sofas to the light fixtures, the TV to the bar.

“He’s okay,” a male voice said from behind her.

Wheeling around, she looked up into Z’s yellow eyes. In the Brother’s arms, Nalla was dressed in a darling pink dress with an empire waist and a flaring skirt she was going to grow into in a couple months. Talk about the cuteness. Little white Mary Janes flashed on her feet, and an off-center white bow tied back her multicolored curls.

Her eyes were yellow, just like her dad’s, but her smile was all Bella, wide-open, trusting, and friendly.

God, it hurt to see them. Especially as she knew the cause of the destruction in that other room.

“He called me,” she said.

“That why you came home?”

“I was going to anyway.”

Z nodded. “Good. Last night was a thing.”

“Clearly.” She glanced over her shoulder. “How did he…”

“Stop? Lassiter darted him. He went down like a stone and had a good, long nap.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to ask, but … yeah.” She rubbed her cold hands together. “Ah, do you know where he is?”

“He told me you asked him to talk to me.”

As she stared across at Z, she thought of meeting him for the first time. God, he’d been terrifying—and not just because of the scar. He’d had a glacial glare back then, as well as the kind of deadly focus that had gone straight into the center of her chest.

Now? He was like a brother to her … except when it came to Wrath. Wrath would always come first for him.

It was true for all the Brothers. And considering what Wrath had done to the game room, that was not a bad thing.

“I thought maybe it would help.” God, that seemed lame. “What I mean is—”

“He’s gone to find Tohr.”

Beth closed her eyes. After a moment, she said, “I don’t want any of this, you know. Just so we’re clear.”

“I believe that. And I don’t want this for the two of you, either.”

“Maybe we’ll figure it out.” As she turned to the stairs, a wave of exhaustion hit her like a ton of bricks. “Listen, if you see him … tell him I’ve gone up to have a shower. It was a long day for me, too.”

“You got it.”

As she passed by the Brother, she was shocked when his hand landed on her shoulder and squeezed in support.

Good Lord, if you’d told her a couple of years ago that the fighter would be offering anyone anything other than a gun to the head? NFW. And the fact that he was currently holding a total Gerber baby in his heavily muscled arm, said daughter staring up at his scarred face with absolute and total adoration?

Pigs flying. Hell freezing over. Miley Cyrus keeping some clothes on.

“I’m sorry,” she said hoarsely, knowing that the flip side to the Brotherhood’s closeness was that they all truly worried about each other.

The problems of one were the problems of all.

“I’ll let him know you’re home safe,” Z said. “Go have a rest. You look wiped.”

She nodded and hit the stairs, dragging her tired body up one step at a time. As she came to the second floor, she stared through the open double doors into the study.

The throne and the huge desk it sat behind loomed like monsters, the old wood and ancient carvings a tangible representation of the lines of succession that had served the race for how long? She didn’t know. She couldn’t guess.

So many couples sacrificing their firstborn sons to a position that, from all she’d seen, was not just thankless, but downright dangerous.

Could she put her own flesh and blood there? she wondered. Could she sentence something she herself had had a hand in creating to where her husband sat and suffered?

Stepping over the threshold, she crossed the Aubusson rug and stood before just two of the symbols of the monarchy. She pictured Wrath there, with the paperwork and the grind, like a tiger trapped in a zoo, fed well, cared for relentlessly … nonetheless caged.

She thought back to working at the Caldwell Courier Journal, for Dick the Prick as a copyeditor for his boys’ club while he tried to look down her shirt. She’d wanted to get out so badly, and her transition and meeting Wrath had been her saviors.