The Shadows (Black Dagger Brotherhood #13) - J. R. Ward Page 0,5

see that.”

Lassiter gave things a pause … and then started pulling a Channing Tatum against the table, going all Magic Mike over the goal while he moaned like he was orgasming.

V covered his eyes. “Never thought I’d pray for blindness.”

Rhage wadded up the paper and threw it at Lassiter. “Oh, come on, asshat! I wanna use that thing sometime—”

Rhage’s phone threw off a seizure, vibrating against his ass until he leaned to the side and dug it out of the back pocket of his leathers. “Yeah,” he said without looking at the number.

Trez’s voice was low. “I got an issue.”

“What’s doing?”

“Incapacitated lesser in my club. I’ve done a scrub job on my bouncers—especially the one who fought him—but this ain’t going to keep.”

Rhage got to his feet. “Be there in five.”

“Thanks, man.”

Ending the call, Rhage nodded at V. “Come on, I know we’re red-shirted, but this is not a fight situation.”

“Don’t need to ask me twice. Where are we going?”

Lassiter straightened from his grind. “Field trip!”

“No—”

“No—”

“I can be useful as well as decorative, you know.”

V started to arm himself, grimacing as he strapped on his dagger holster and slipped in a pair of sharp-and-shinies, handles down. “Doubt we’ll need a battering ram.”

“Maybe we’d get lucky.” Rhage headed for the door. “But I wouldn’t bet on it.”

“I don’t want to stay here by myself—”

“And you ain’t that decorative, angel.”

Outside, the night was all about the fall, cold, crisp September air, making Rhage’s sinuses hum and his beast surge under his skin as he walked across the courtyard to the great stone mansion’s entrance.

Man, he couldn’t wait for his Mary to get home from her work at Safe Place.

All that talk about tongues and females liking them in certain places—okay, it had only been about three sentences, but that had been more than enough—had gotten him tight.

Ten minutes, two forties, a pair of daggers, and a three-foot length of chain later, he dematerialized down to Caldwell’s meatpacking district with V, both of them re-forming across the street from Trez’s new joint. shAdoWs was located in a rehabbed warehouse, and as usual with any of the Shadow’s places, there was a line snaking down the block, humans standing like cows about to go into a feeding shed. As music bumped, flashing lights and laser beams pierced the thousands of glass panes, making the place look like a three-story-tall psychedelic trip trapped under a tin roof.

As the pair of them walked around back, there were all kinds of turned heads, but whatever. Human women had a way of noticing vampires—maybe it was a hormonal thing; maybe it was the black leather.

Certainly wasn’t that goatee. C’mon, now.

And yeah, there might have been a time in the past when he would have had to take advantage of the dubious wares, but no more. He had his Mary and that was more than enough for him. V was the same with his Jane.

Well, Jane plus a “healthy” dose of whips and chains.

Sicko.

The rear entrance of the club was a double-doored, triple-locked stretch of Staff Only, and it obvi had a security camera somewhere, because the instant they approached, a bouncer opened things up.

“Are you…?”

“Yeah.” V barged in. “Where’s Trez at?”

“This way.”

Dark halls. Dumb, drunk humans. DD working girls. And then there was Trez, standing outside a black door under a black light.

The Shadow made an impression, even from thirty dim feet away. He was tall and had an inverted triangle for a torso, big heavy shoulders dumping into a tight waist, with thick thighs and long legs holding the production off the floor. His skin was the color of the mansion’s mahogany dining room table, his eyes black as midnight, his hair trimmed down to nothing but a pattern on his skull. All of that was just pretty window dressing, though.

The truth was that he was more dangerous a commodity than anything you could buy at a gun show.

Shadows were deadly, capable of tricks even members of the Brotherhood were impressed by—and their kind usually kept to themselves, sticking to the s’Hisbe’s territory way outside of the city. Trez and his brother, iAm, were exceptions to that rule.

Something to do with Rehvenge. Not that Rhage had ever asked.

“Where is it?” V asked as he clapped hands with the Shadow.

“In here.”

Rhage did the same, greeting the Shadow with a hard embrace. “How you doin’?”

“We got ourselves a complication.” Trez stepped back and opened the door. “And not like you’re thinking.”

The “dead” slayer was moving on the floor, writhing