The Shadows (Black Dagger Brotherhood #13) - J. R. Ward Page 0,30

his emotions, his sense of total impotence and all his regrets started to churn along a defined path, gathering speed and intensity.

He hated that her hair was a mess and he couldn’t fix it.

He hated that there were grass stains on her robing, bright green smudges where her knees had hit the ground.

He hated that her shoes had fallen off.

He hated that he couldn’t do one fucking thing to save her.

He hated the burden he carried with the s’Hisbe and everything it had made him do to his body—because maybe if his parents hadn’t sold him to the Queen, he wouldn’t have fucked all those humans, and maybe he would have been even slightly worthy of her. And then he wouldn’t have missed all those months. And maybe he could have seen something, or done something, or—

Like the conversation around him, the thoughts continued to pelt their way through his brain, but he couldn’t track them any more than he could whatever else was going on in the exam room. A violent roar had overtaken him, tsunami-ing through him, wiping everything away except a rage that could not be held in.

Trez wasn’t aware of moving. One minute he was holding on to Selena’s hand carefully; the next he was at the door to the examination room—then he was through it, his body exploding forward, more momentum than coordination.

Running, running … going by the jerks in his vision and the passing walls of the concrete corridor, he was running …

And there was a lot of noise. The empty hall was echoing with some kind of tremendous noise, like the gear of a great machine had locked or was grinding—

Something tackled him from behind before he reached the exit into the parking garage, an iron bar hold locking around him.

iAm.

Of course.

“Drop it,” came the shout in his ear. “Drop it … come on, now. Drop it—”

Trez shook his head. “What…?”

“Drop the gun, Trez.” iAm’s voice cracked. “I need you to drop the gun.”

Trez froze except for his panting breath, and tried to make sense of what his brother was saying.

“Oh, Jesus, Trez, please…”

Shaking his head, Trez … gradually became aware that there was, in fact, someone’s forty in his right hand. Probably his own. He always wore one in the club.

And what do you know, the muzzle was up against his own temple—and unlike back with those X-ray plates, his hand wasn’t shaking at all.

“Drop it for me, Trez.” With his finger on the trigger the way it was, his brother obviously didn’t dare try to take control of the weapon for fear of causing a discharge. “You gotta put the gun down.”

At that moment, everything became clear: him bursting up, bolting fast, breaking out of the exam room and into the corridor. Running down toward the parking garage as he palmed his weapon.

Intending to blow his brains out as soon as he was free of the training center.

He’d had the conception that maybe, if there was actually a Fade, he and Selena could meet on the other side and come together, in a way they never could down on Earth.

“Trez, she’s still alive. Don’t you do this. You want to kill yourself? Wait until her heart stops beating, but not before that. Not one fucking moment before that.”

Trez pictured Selena back on that table, and thought, Shit …

iAm, as always, was right.

The shaking returned as he began to lower his arm, and he moved slowly for fear of some twitch setting the forty off. But he didn’t need to worry about that. As soon as that muzzle was out of the range of his gray matter, his brother took over, disarming him quick as a breath and putting the safety in place.

Trez stood there numbly as iAm patted him down and removed a couple more weapons, and then he allowed himself to be led back to that examination room and the group of people standing shocked and still around its door.

Not before she was gone, he told himself. Not while she was still here.

Unfortunately, he feared that was not likely to be very long at all.

TEN

Paradise, blooded daughter of Abalone, First Adviser to the King, frowned at the screen of her Apple lappy. She’d set herself up here in her father’s library ever since he’d started working each night for Wrath, son of Wrath, because in the old rambling Tudor mansion, Wi-Fi was strongest at this desk. Not that a good signal was helping her at the moment. Her Hotmail account