The Thief (Black Dagger Brotherhood #16)(121)

“All right,” Assail said. “But I’d prefer, if you don’t mind, to put you in touch with the distributor directly. That way you can get what you want and I can stay out of it.”

V took a drag and spoke through the exhale. “Kind of a change for you and your capitalistic mores.”

“Money means little to me now.”

Vishous frowned, his dark brows sinking low over his bright white eyes, those tattoos at his temple shifting shape. “Yeah. I know that feeling. It sucks when you lose your female.”

“I told you, I’m not talking about it.”

The Brother got to his feet. “I need you to do what you have to in order to set things up for me and your supplier, but move quick. These attacks are happening regularly.”

“Aye. I shall have to get home to arrange things, however. The phone that I use is there.”

“I’ll have someone drive you out—”

“Actually, just send someone to the house, will you? Tell my cousins that the burner is in the left top drawer of my desk.”

“Roger that. Thanks.”

As Vishous strode to the door, his heavy boots marking the path with hard strikes, Assail envied the Brother his purpose…but it was rather in the way one might view an artifact from an ancient civilization, a leftover from a period in history long, long ago.

An anachronism that was naught but a curiosity without current relevance.

Before Vishous opened the way out, the Brother looked across the break room. “You know, you don’t have to strike her memories. You can keep her, if you want. Wrath’s a lot more lenient about that shit—and he should be, considering his Queen is a half-breed.”

Assail thought about brushing the conversation point off, but instead he shrugged. “A fine piece of advice, and much appreciated. However, my female is summarily horrified by me, so I’m afraid that will not be a course of action which will be available to me now or in the future.”

“That sucks.”

“You know, I find you have put together two most salient words on the subject.”

When Vishous left without any expression of heartfelt emotion or deep, male-tinted commiseration, Assail began to truly like and appreciate the Brother. And as for this new threat to the species? There was a time when it would have at least moderately intrigued him—insofar as it might possibly have affected his ability to garner income. Now, he was providing an introduction only out of a lukewarm obligation to…

Hell, he didn’t know why he was bothering at all. The idea some innocent had been killed by the Omega was not a newsflash, and he certainly wasn’t scared of the Brotherhood retaliating against him if he chose not to honor his word. That fear, after all, would have required some interest in staying alive, and he had none—

As the door opened again, he didn’t bother to look up. “More advice? Or another demand.”

“Neither,” Marisol said.

Assail whipped his head up. “Marisol…”

She frowned at that, and he guessed she didn’t want her name rolling off his lips ever again. But instead of setting that boundary, she cleared her throat.

“I need to go to your house at some point. I want to get my things and the car. There’s no hurry, though. At least not until my grandmother is released.”

She was so beautiful as she stood there in her casual clothes of winter, the black fleece bringing out that blond hair she’d given herself, her blue jeans loose and comfortable, her shoes practical for the season.

To him, she might as well have been in a ball gown and draped in jewels—

Abruptly, her weight went back and forth, and she crossed her arms around herself as if the way he were looking at her made her uncomfortable.

“As you wish,” he said, lowering his eyes. “Whenever you want to go, just let me know—and if you don’t feel comfortable with me coming along, then you may of course go with whomever you wish.”

“Except during the day,” she said bitterly. “Isn’t that right.”

After a moment, he replied, “That is correct.”



* * *



—

You know, Sola thought, it would be so much easier to be angry if the guy didn’t look so hollowed out and defeated.

Across the break room, Assail sat in a chair that, under different circumstances, she would have said was far beneath his standards: For all the time she had known him, he had had the air of a wealthy man. No, it was more than just wealthy. It was rich-for-all-of-his-life, the arrogance and intelligence he had worn along with his handmade clothes the kind of thing that she suspected came only when generation after generation of a family had had tremendous assets.

The kind of thing, for example, that Ricardo Benloise had tried to approximate, but had never quite gotten right.

“I should go,” she muttered.

Yet for some reason, she just stood there. As opposed to retreating out into the corridor and…well, just standing out there.

She and Jane had talked for only a little bit longer after she had laid down the law about leaving—and then, whether it was that tea or just exhaustion, Sola had leaned back and crashed for a good hour and a half. When she’d woken up, Jane had been texting on her phone and looking worried—and the woman had seemed relieved to be able to come back to the clinic and return to work. Or maybe it was something else.