The Beast (Black Dagger Brotherhood #14) - J. R. Ward Page 0,191

for the kitchen, and before Assail was even halfway to the main stairs, three doggen dressed in chef’s whites came rushing out through the dining room. One had flour all over his hands, and another had a pot with something in it. Their eyes were wide and afraid, suggesting that the butler had not stayed completely truthful to their bargain.

He clearly had imparted there were deadly forces within the house.

No matter. The motivation had worked, and it was obvious that there was naught to be worried about in terms of allegiances to Naasha. The three chefs took one look at him and his gun—and just ran even faster as opposed to causing a ruckus.

And meanwhile, the sweet smell of gas was already wafting in the air. Soon that would not be the half of it.

Assail walked up the stairs rather than taking them at a run. And as he ascended, two maids came hurrying down, their fastened hair bouncing loose from pins, the pale gray skirts of their uniforms flying. They, too, took a single glance at him and ducked their heads in response, re-doubling their speed without interfering.

Up on the second-floor landing, he took a left and stopped at the first door he came to, just as the butler skidded into view at the far end of the hallway and came down at a run.

“I’ll take care of the dressing maid,” Assail said. As the male blanched, he rolled his eyes. “Not like that. She shall join you anon.”

The butler nodded and scampered off.

Grasping the doorknob, Assail turned the ornate brass knot slowly and then pushed. The panels gave way without a sound, and he instantly scented Naasha’s perfume and shampoo. As he let himself in and re-closed things, he had a brief impression of a great deal of pink and cream and silk and taffeta.

The carpet was thick as a male’s brush cut, and his loafers were silent as he crossed the distance to the archway. The marble bathroom beyond was larger than some people’s living rooms.

And indeed, the set-up could not have been more perfect. Naasha was facing away from him in that professional hairstylist’s chair, her long locks falling over its short back, a table with brushes and curling provisions beside her. There were many mirrors all around, but they were trained on her, leaving his presence unreflected.

“—told you I do not care for my hair as such,” Naasha snapped. “Do it again! He is going to be here soon—my phone, it is ringing, give it to me first.”

As the maid backed off from her ministrations, she happened to turn in Assail’s direction—and froze. Pointing the gun right at her head, he put his finger to his lips and mouthed, Shhhhhh.

The maid paled.

“Get my phone! What are you doing?”

Assail nodded in the direction of the iPhone, which was vibrating on the marble counter well within Naasha’s reach.

The maid went to pick the thing up, fumbled it, and took a verbal lashing as she scrambled to retrieve the cell from the floor.

“Finally—hello? Oh, hello, darling, how kind of you to call. I am devastated, simply devastated…”

Assail crooked his finger at the maid, beckoning her over. The poor thing was statued in panic, however—until Assail mouthed you and safe.

The female came across haltingly. As Naasha continued to play the role of bereft widow, Assail whispered, “Go out the front door. Keep running until you see the others at the bottom of the driveway. Do not come back into this house for any reason. Am I clear?”

The maid nodded and offered a trembling curtsy—and then she was off like the wind, out of the room.

Assail stalked his way over and waited patiently as Naasha continued to talk whilst she trailed her finger across the screen of her iPad. Looming behind her, he was a Grim Reaper who had fucked her—and was about to fuck her again.

When she finally hung up, she said, “Where are you? Where the hell are—”

Assail clamped a hand on the hair on top of Naasha’s head and yanked back. As she dropped the phone, and the tablet scattered to the floor, she started to struggle in earnest—until he put the barrel of the gun into her mouth and stepped off to the side.

Terrified eyes met his.

“This is for Markcus,” he growled.

“So how’d he do?” Mary asked as Rhym came into her office at Safe Place.

“Your hellren is quite a thing—and he did wonderfully.” The female sat down with a smile, arranging her coat over her