The Shadows (Black Dagger Brotherhood, #13)(107)

He could imagine her chewing on her lower lip as she hemmed and hawed.

“I will never hurt you,” he vowed.

“I know.”

“I have to go.” He stared at her so hard, trying to see under those robes. “Think about it. I’ll be there and I’ll wait an hour. If you don’t make it, I totally understand.”

She wasn’t “important” in the eyes of the s’Hisbe, but still, females were right to be cautious, no matter their station when it came to leaving the Territory.

Especially if they had no relative power.

“Good-bye,” he said before turning away and falling into a jog.

Moments later, when he dematerialized, he knew he was never going to see her again. And yet, even though that was all but a given, he was going to be at that place on the mountain tomorrow evening.

On time.

Guess even cynical virgins like him had romantic streaks.

When Trez and Selena finally made it out of the downstairs lavatory, it was a helluva lot later than midnight. In fact, as he checked his phone, he was surprised to find that it was three a.m. They’d blown a good three hours in there.

He couldn’t think of a better way to pass the damn time.

People had obviously started to come home for the day, voices drifting out of the billiards room.

“…rounds of bullets!” Hollywood was saying. “Like it was raining lead!”

“My poor mobile clinic.” Manny’s tone was less than enthusiastic. “Maiden voyage and look what happened to the goddamn thing.”

Well, at least those two had gotten home safely. Jesus, he hadn’t even thought about them, and how egocentric was that?

“And this * tells me there are no police,” V cut in. “For the evac. Unbelievable—I walked into a convention of those badges.”

Trez put his arm around Selena. “You want to join the party?”

“We need to tell our part!”

Kissing her on the forehead, he led her across the foyer and through the archway into the land of pool tables, sofas, and a wide-screen big enough to host a drive-in movie.

“Check it, we made CNN,” someone said as that TV flared to life.

Sure enough, up on the tremendous screen, security cam footage of the Mercedes going Die Hard through that lobby was on an endless loop. Then came a statement from a police officer who was involved in the chase. And a witness from somewhere or another.

Trez nodded a hello to Rhage and Manny. Lifted his palm to V and Butch. Sidled up with his female next to Z and Bella.

“Lot of coverage,” somebody else said ruefully.

“Shit,” someone else answered.

Even Selena’s excitement got dialed down quickly, as if seeing for herself what everything looked like made it all very real.

When the vestibule’s inner door was opened, Trez was dimly aware of a cold draft shooting into the room. And then a moment later, a hand landed on his shoulder.

As he twisted around, iAm was behind him.

“Oh, hey, man.” He went to embrace his brother, only to recoil. “What the f*ck is that smell?”

“New hand wash at work.”

Trez followed through on the hug. “Get rid of it. Makes you smell like a little old lady—what is it? Lavender?”

“What happened to the Merc? The thing’s banged to shit.”

Trez pointed to the screen. “That happened.”

iAm focused on Selena instead, tracing her profile and dress with surprise that he covered quickly.

“We went on a date,” Trez blurted.

Selena glanced over, and when she saw who it was, she reached out her arms. “Hello,” she said as she embraced his brother. “I think we broke downtown Caldwell.”

Funny, iAm was the only male he didn’t feel like killing if there was contact with his female. Guess his bonded male recognized that iAm would never, ever cross any lines in thought, much less deed.

iAm smiled a little. “Least I know why the Benz needs fifty grand worth of body work. You want a drink while I help myself?”

Trez shook his head. “No, I’m good.”

Except as his brother went over to the bar, Trez excused himself and followed the guy. “Hey, listen, I just want to apologize for going radio silent—whoa!”

As the bottle iAm had picked up slid out of the male’s grasp, Trez caught the thing before it hit the floor—and that was when he saw how badly his brother’s hands were shaking.

“Jesus, iAm, are you all right?”

“Oh, yeah. Abso.”

“Here,” he said, giving the vodka back. “You sure you need to make your own drink?”

“Positive.”

“Wait, lemme get you a glass.” He came around the bar and got a short-and-squat off the shelf as iAm popped the cap off the square bottle. “Cranberry juice, right?”

“No.”

“Neat? You don’t usually drink vodka like that.”

“Efficiency, my brother. It’s all about efficiency tonight.”

Trez held the glass out and watched as iAm poured a healthy measure of the see-through, relax-o-matic in there. He kept expecting the level to stop rising, and when it didn’t, he found himself studiously ignoring the shock he felt.

iAm was the moderate of the two of them.