The Shadows (Black Dagger Brotherhood #13) - J. R. Ward Page 0,119

onto his back. Zypher was standing over him. Balthazar, too.

“He is injured quite badly.”

That was the last thing he heard before blood loss and injury dragged him down into unconsciousness.

One block over, Rhage had his own list of problems thanks to all the damn humans who’d flooded the alleys. With his hands over his head, and his back to the approaching boys in blue, he was annoyed. And bored.

The real party, with those slayers, had gone ahead along with Bill Murray’s—make that Manny Manello’s—bulletproof medevac thing. Meanwhile, he was stuck here with a six-pack of Caldie’s finest.

“Don’t move.”

Just like in the movies, he thought while rolling his eyes. “Whatever you say, Officer.”

His keen hearing meant he triangulated their positions with total accuracy. And there was nothing ahead of him in the alley. No cars, late-night pedestrians, or other cops.

God only knew where Manny was going to end up. Or what was happening with Trez and Selena.

He didn’t have time for this.

“Officer?”

“Don’t move.”

“No offense, but I gotta blow.”

Just like that, because the CPD didn’t stress him in the slightest, he was up and out, dematerializing away.

He was smiling in his molecular state as he traveled off, imagining the OMFGs.

But he’d kinda done a no-no. There was one and only one rule in the war with the Lessening Society: Thou shalt not tee up the idiot gallery. I.e., it was in everyone’s best interests that humans didn’t know that vampires were so much more than a Halloween myth, and the Walking Dead was actually not just a TV show.

Sometimes you didn’t have a choice, however. And though he’d just given Frick and Frack, the handcuff brothers, and their other buddies, a helluva show, it was better than wasting time erasing their memories when Manny really needed him and Trez and Selena might possibly be needing him.

Blowing his way forward, he re-formed three blocks closer to the river on the roof of a delivery entrance’s carport. Just as Manny sped down the alley in his armored tank, with his wedding train of CPD units behind him, Rhage flashed down into the light of those Xenon beams—and gave the good doctor a wave to keep going.

Then he calmly and very deliberately stepped into the ambulance’s wake and opened fire on the markeds that were trailing the vehicle. He wasn’t an asshole, though. His Mary had been human once—sort of still was except for her whole immortal thing. So he aimed at the front tires and the engine blocks on a first-come, first-served basis. The unit in the lead quickly lost control and went into a tailspin, which meant the second was harder to hit safely. But he rocked that shit, rendering them useless.

Buh-bye.

He caught up with Manny again by ghosting two more blocks down, and he materialized into the passenger seat in the same way he’d left the vehicle.

Manny gave a shout of alarm, but didn’t lose his focus. He kept them moving and in the middle of the alley.

“We gotta get out of here,” the good doctor said.

“Head to the river. I know exactly what to do.”

“There are cops everywhere.”

“I’ll tell you when to turn.” Rhage got out his phone and started texting. A block later, he barked, “Now! Right!”

Rhage hung on tight as Manny threw them into a ninety-degree and hit the gas again.

“They’ve got a helicopter on us,” Manny announced.

Sure enough, the wide-screen was showing a lovely picture of a brilliant field of light pulling a heat lamp on them, the broad beam flashing around as the copter held them in view from the air.

“Two blocks up, take a left.”

“They’re going to close in on us from—”

“Do it!”

Annnnnd just like that they were under the highway, that spotlight extinguished.

“One more block,” Rhage muttered, jacking forward, praying that—“There!”

Over on the right, a service bay was opening slowly, the panels rising to reveal a blackened garage space the size of a small house.

“That’s us!”

“Holy shit, how’d you do that?”

“All hail to the V.”

Just like that, Manny’s RV, along with all its gauze and syringes and scalpels, and the two sorry sons a bitches in its front seat, was undercover and locked in tight as a tick in the delivery bay.

Manny canned the engine, but didn’t take his grip off the wheel. Like he kinda expected to have to drive again. “What do we do now?”

Rhage put his window down further and listened to the sounds of the cop cars going by on the outside. “We chill—”

His cell rang and he answered it. “Nice