The Thief (Black Dagger Brotherhood #16)(136)

There was no way of knowing how many people were inside. Or where they were located. Assail had told her that Vitoria had been in the warehouse alone, but that did not mean she didn’t have guards at her home base.

And of course she would stay here. She was Ricardo’s sister. She would have standards, and no hotel, not even with the best accomodations and most attentive maids, could rival this estate.

Sola shifted her position to the corner of the house, and leaned around to visualize the back of the—

There was a pattern of illumination cast onto the snowpack, all of the windows of the mansion’s promenade throwing a row of yellow light squares onto the ground. And way down, at the far side, a figure came out of the kitchen and headed in Sola’s direction.

She stepped free of her position, but stuck to the shadows as she assessed the person.

It was Vitoria. Long dark hair down, face free of makeup, a silk robe falling to her slippered feet. She was holding a porcelain teacup, as if she couldn’t sleep and had gone down to fix herself something soothing.

Lavender and rose hips, perhaps?

Sola lifted her gun and tracked Vitoria with the muzzle.

If this were the movies, she would break in and chase the woman around the grand house, the drama culminating in some kind of shoot-out where they each accused the other of crimes against blood and love—perhaps she’d get herself wounded and have to heroically drive herself back to Caldwell.

But this was not Hollywood.

Sola was as mortal as her target was, and she didn’t know enough about what kind of bees’ nest she was going to stir up as soon as she pulled her trigger. What she was clear on was that this woman needed to die, tonight, and she had a good shot in another seven feet, six feet…five feet…

More than anything, Sola wanted to eliminate the threat and just get back to her grandmother and the male she loved safely.

In one piece. No leaks.

As Vitoria walked along, she was stirring a silver spoon in circles, her eyes downcast.

So she never saw it coming. Didn’t hear the shot, either.

But when that old-fashioned glass broke right next to her, she looked up in alarm.

Sola got the bitch right between the eyes.

It was the hole-in-one kill shot, the one-in-a-million, the if-it-ever-was-going-to-go-like-that-tonight-is-the-night shot.

No need to double tap that shit.

The woman pinwheeled her arms, dropping the porcelain cup, stumbling, falling…grabbing on to the nearest thing she could.

Which happened to be the bronze statue of a ballet dancer done by Degas.

The very statue that Sola had shifted one inch out of position on its base, as payback for Ricardo stiffing her for what she’d been owed for watching Assail.

It seemed like poetic justice that the sister took that piece of art down with her—right on top of her, as a matter of fact. So if she hadn’t already been in the process of dying, the impact would surely have killed her.

As the clatter rang out, Sola took off, her gun by her side, head ducked. Now, if her good luck streak held, she’d make it down to the car without trouble and head back to Caldwell.

But no matter what happened, she had made sure her male was safe. Because that was what real women did.

Real women didn’t wait for their dragon slayers to come save them.

They were true partners—and good with a gun on their own.

Booyah.





SIXTY-FOUR


As dawn arrived, Jane came back to the Pit and found her hellren at his computers. The instant V sensed her, he looked up and held his arms wide.

“There she is,” he said.

She went to him with light feet and a lighter heart. “Soooooo, I guess Sola and Assail worked things out, huh?”

“Yeah.” He reached up and threaded his fingers through her short hair. “You were great in the OR with him. Real mastery. I was so fucking impressed.”

“You say the sweetest things.”

“Sit in my lap?”

“Always—” She frowned as she moved around and caught sight of a video on one of his monitors. “What is that—wait…that’s you!”

“I know.” V shook his head and toggled the mouse so it replayed the clip. “We got problems.”

Jane leaned in closer and watched as the images that were dark and fuzzy—but not that dark and fuzzy—moved around: two males fighting something that…didn’t seem there at all; one falling to the ground as the shadow disappeared; V and Rhage appearing out of thin air; V crouching down by the civilian injured on the ground.

He paused the thing. “I don’t want you to see what happens after the civilian dies. I already told you.”

Yes, she thought. V had had to kill him. Just as the poor male was turning into whatever they turned into.

“This footage is on the Web,” he said with resignation. “And it’s going viral.”

“How can you stop it?”

“I’m working on that right now.” He cursed. “Which reminds me. I didn’t want to get involved, but we got a half-breed out there who’s about to go through the change. I’m no Good Samaritan, but it’s dawning on me—as I watch this—that the last thing we need is her showing up in a medical crisis because she’s going through her transition. I think we’re going to have to go get her.”