The Wolf (Black Dagger Brotherhood: Prison Camp #2)(57)

His and Jane’s. Butch and Marissa’s.

“V?”

The male voice down in the living area was yet another balm to his soul.

Jane rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the mouth. “You go hang for a bit, I’m heading to bed.”

“You worked hard tonight.”

“So did you.”

They smiled for a while. Then they kissed again, and said I love you without speaking a word: All it took was the eye contact—and yup, V was totally looking forward to coming down to their bedroom and easing between the sheets to find his shellan’s warm body.

But first, his roommate.

Limping down to the open area in front of the carriage house, he supposed he wanted to check to make sure everything was cool. Not because Butch didn’t know what V liked—hell, the cop had dipped his toe in those waters just before Jane came into the picture. But because . . . well, because.

V found the former cop on the leather couch, a Lagavulin in one hand, the Roku remote in the other, the TV shimmering with blue light in front of him. Butch was angled forward, one foot still on the coffee table, as if he had been aimlessly flipping through channels in a recline and had just sat up.

“Hey?” the guy said as he looked over.

“Hey. So . . .”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

Butch nodded. “Mm-hm.”

Just as V and Jane had shared a whole conversation in a glance, now he and Butch were talking in silence, too. All it took was that exchange of single syllables, ending in a proverbial doubleheader.

Hm’er, as was the case.

Butch had never been totally comfortable with what V needed from time to time. Jane, on the other hand, had become not only very comfortable, but also very damned good at going there with him.

Jesus, he loved that female.

But his roommate had always accepted him. Without any reservations.

And that was a kind of true love, wasn’t it.

As V went over to sit in the sofa’s other corner, he mostly kept the wincing to himself as his butt made contact with the cushions and accepted his weight. And then he let his head fall back against the padded rise behind his shoulders. After a nice, long siiiiiiiiigh, he put one, and then the other, of his bare feet up next to the cop’s. Beside him, Butch resumed his own sprawl.

While the TV continued to drone on, V focused on the images, the sound, the— “Mystic Pizza?” he said.

“Whatever. It’s wicked classic.”

Vishous chuckled. And then they just sat there and watched Julia Roberts dump an entire load of manure into an old school Porsche.

“Man, I bet they never got the smell out of that car,” Butch murmured. “I mean, vacuuming only goes so far.”

“You don’t need an air freshener for a job like that. You need a lake to sink the bitch in.”

From out of the corner of his eye, V saw Butch’s arm flop onto the vacant cushion between them, the palm of his dagger hand laying flat.

Vishous’s own arm moved.

And as he laid his leather-gloved hand on his roommate’s bare one, the grip that held him was firm. Strong.

As permanent as anything mortal could be.

“You’ll always be the number one asshole in my life,” Butch said in a soft voice.

In any other circumstance, at any other time, V would have brushed the comment off. Instead, he squeezed hard.

Even in his post-session float, he couldn’t explain how important that reassurance was to him—and how special it was to be accepted for who he was by not only his mate, but his best friend and Marissa. As extreme as he needed to get every once in a while, it was a blessing to be embraced without exception . . . loved.

“And you will always be my roommate,” V murmured.

“We still ain’t datin’.”

Vishous laughed and rubbed his thumb back and forth over his eyebrow. “No, we ain’t.”

They continued to hold hands, and watch the movie, and sit side by side. It was so comfortable and simple; it was like they had done this all their lives. And the good news, V knew, was that they would be doing it . . .

. . . for the rest of their lives.





As Rio went to get out of the bed, she was aware that she had a couple of different purposes for going vertical: She needed to go to the bathroom again—that was pretty clear—but there were other reasons to get up and move around, most of which were tied to the sense that she was running out of time. Luke had to know that she was a liability if she stuck around.

He was going to have to get her out of here.

So she had to learn what she could about the building, the operation, the people before she left.

Therefore, it was by force of will rather than actual strength that she got up on her feet and walked by the empty beds. When she arrived at the curtains that hung from the ceiling, she hesitated.

“Hello,” said a hoarse voice from inside the draping.

She cleared her throat. “Hi.”

When there was nothing else from the other patient, she glanced over her shoulder to the door that led into that long hall with the light bulbs. “Do you need anything?”

As if she could find something other than trouble in this place she did not know and did not belong in?

“No. Thank you.”

Such a rasp. The kind that meant death was prowling around his bedsprings.