Wild and Free (The Three #3)(12)

It takes time, but you come to terms with the fact that you were blessed, having once had it at all.

He hoped like f*ck Jian-Li was right.

“I need to get back to Delilah,” he declared.

Xun’s brows went up as did the corners of his lips. “Delilah?”

“Don’t let her near a pair of scissors,” Wei advised, eyes to Abel’s overlong hair, lips also grinning.

“Her namesake was not the one who used the shears,” Abel educated him.

Wei looked to his brother, mumbling, “Whatever.”

Abel took in two men he’d watched grow in their mother’s womb. He’d watched them learn to crawl, to walk, to speak. Men he’d started to train the minute they could coordinate their limbs. Men who showed him the blind devotion they showed their mother, tonight not the first time they’d demonstrated it, though it was the first time their lives were in peril when they did.

And he knew his next play.

He’d already known it. He’d known it for decades.

He’d never liked it.

But now that it was upon him, he f*cking detested it.

“There were vampires at the scene with the cops,” he told them.

“Fantastic,” Xun said through a sigh.

“Tell Chen and sleep with an eye open,” Abel ordered.

He got nods before they turned back to their bikes, mounted them, and headed back to the city. But instead of going straight home, Abel led them to where he’d first picked up Delilah’s scent outside the Mad Helmet.

He followed her fading scent, along with the now-dead creatures that had hunted her, and pulled over when he saw it on the sidewalk by some trash cans. Xun and Wei stopped with him and waited as he climbed off his bike, walked to the purse, and retrieved it.

He swung the long strap of the black suede bag, with its minimal studs and maximum fringe, over his head, smiling for the first time that night.

Delilah Johnson.

Total biker bitch.

Seeing as he bought his first Harley in 1922 and had never been without one since, he was getting the impression Delilah Johnson was made for him.

He swung his leg over his bike, ignoring the grins he was getting from his brothers, and headed them toward home.

They all parked in the alley, Wei moving directly to the back door of the restaurant where he’d find the stairs and go to the apartment above, where his mother lived.

His brothers all lived elsewhere. Tonight, they’d see to their mother.

And Abel.

Xun followed Abel to the grate.

Abel stopped and turned to him. “That bitch you’re bangin’ who works at The Chain?”

Xun nodded.

“Need you to connect with her. See if she can get into Delilah’s room, pack up her shit, and get it out, all without anyone who might be watching noticing. The maid’s cart or something. She needs incentive to do it right, there’s five hundred dollars in it for her.”

Xun smiled. “Probably she’d take a different incentive.”

Abel shook his head before replying, “Then give her that. I really don’t give a f*ck what you give her. Just get Delilah’s shit. Last name’s Johnson. The sooner she gets it, the happier I’ll be.”

“I’m on it.”

Abel lifted his hand and Xun clasped it, then they thumped forearms and disconnected.

Abel moved to the stairs and descended them. When his head cleared the top, Xun dropped the grate and rolled the Dumpster over it.

Chen gave him shit for the precautions he took, city after city, everywhere they moved, doing it frequently so no one would notice the family getting older but Abel not.

But Chen didn’t have his dreams.

And probably, after that night, Chen’s shit about what he called Abel’s “dungeons” would end.

He walked to the door, pulled it open, and moved into his room.

The light by the chair was shining, the rest of the space dark.

The first thing he did was move with human speed to the pile of her clothes on the floor by the bed. He moved slowly because he wanted to be quiet and not cause a breeze or give Delilah anything to sense that might wake her.

He didn’t look at her as he gathered them up, went back to the door, opened it, and tossed them out. He stood in its frame, taking off his own bloodstained clothes and boots and tossing them out with Delilah’s.

He closed the door, closing away the scent that gave him the near-irresistible urge to become wolf or bare his fangs and sink them into something with no intent to feed.

That done, he went to the table and dumped her purse there. Then he moved to the sink and quietly cleaned the rest of the blood from his skin, going back to the door to toss the bloodstained washcloth with the clothes.

Back inside, behind closed doors, he put on another tee and jeans and moved again to the bed.

He stood beside it, looking down at Delilah Johnson.

She was asleep on her side, hair still wet and spread across the pillow. One hand under her cheek, cheek in her palm. The other hand was curled into the covers, in her sleep, holding them tight to her chest as if protecting herself.

Her milky-green eyes, with their fans of dark lashes, were closed, but even in the dark, with his preternatural vision, he could see the rose in her cheeks against the flawless pale of her skin.

She was wearing his tee. Wearing his tee against that pale skin, using it to cover her abundant tits, the swells of her generous hips, that round ass.