The Shadows (Black Dagger Brotherhood #13) - J. R. Ward Page 0,98

did a walk around. “Lookin’ fine.”

Trez snapped out both of his French cuffs. “I can’t embarrass the female.”

“Lookin’ like that, she’ll be lucky to stand next to you.” Rhage stopped in front of him. “See, this is what I’m telling my Mary. She wants me to add color to my wardrobe—it’s been a thing, like, for the last couple of years.”

As the Brother shuddered as if his shellan had suggested he wear women’s panties under his leathers, Trez started to smile.

“You’re into the black, Hollywood?” he said.

“She wants to match my eyes.” Rhage pointed to his unbelievably teal peepers. “Like, seriously. I say, I’ve already got aqua on me all the time with these things. Why do we need redundancy.”

“So how much color is in your closet?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Too depressing—”

Lassiter poked his head out of the billiards room. “Hey! Dragon boy—Project Runway’s on if you wanna come watch. Maybe pick up some pointers on your threads.”

Rhage’s stare narrowed, but he refused to look at the angel. “Isn’t there a Saved by the Bell marathon you have to go watch?”

“Don’t hate on Zack. He’s like your little fucking brother, beauty queen.” Lassiter wandered over, the gold he had on creating an aura around his blond-and-black head and his long body—or maybe the glow actually was an aura. “So, where are we off to? Your club, Shadow?”

“No.”

“An embalmer’s ball then? With all that black on, it’s like you’re getting into the funereal arts—”

Rhage moved so fast it was impossible to track. One moment, he was gritting his teeth beside Trez; the next, he was nose-to-nose with the angel, his hand locked on Lassiter’s throat.

Words were spoken so softly, Trez couldn’t track them, but a moment later the smart-ass drained out of the angel’s face and attitude.

Rhage dropped the vise grip and stepped off. “So that happened,” he muttered as he came back over and started strapping up. “Might as well get this shit on. I’m riding shotgun with Manny tonight.”

“Oh, yeah.” Trez took a deep breath. “Hey, thanks for doing—”

“But only because he promised me steak.”

Trez popped a brow. “I’m sorry?”

“Steak? You know, cow? Meat? Heaven on a plate? I know you’ve had some before.”

“I’m familiar with it, yes. But you’re coming to help with—”

“The steak consumption. That’s why I’m going.”

There was an awkward pause. During which Rhage simply stared at him, as if making the statement that he was not going to be a drama zone.

And Jesus, that was probably the most helpful thing the Brother could have done. It was like a lifeline out of the emotional suck zone, and Trez grabbed on.

“Steak, huh. You going to order takeout from Circle the World?”

Rhage recoiled as if he’d been slapped. “So, okay, clearly you are not aware of this, which is a stunning lapse in your formal education, but the best steakhouse in Caldie, 518, is right across the street from the skyscraper your restaurant is in. My plan? While you and your girl are up there getting your jollies on and going around in circles, I’ma be down at the ground floor eating, like, a filet mignon, a roast beef end cut, a Kobe beef burger, a New York strip.”

“Sounds good. Which one are you having? You decide yet?”

Rhage frowned. “All of them. With thirds on the mashed potatoes. See, you gotta get your mashed-to-meat proportion right. Makes all the difference. And then there are the rolls. I’ma get three baskets delivered out.”

Trez put up his forefinger. “You know what you need? A meal at Sal’s. You should come eat at my brother’s joint.”

“Is that Italian?”

“Yup. Talk about best in the city—”

“Shit, why haven’t I—”

“Holy … motherfucker…”

At Lassiter’s barked curse, Trez and Rhage glanced over at the angel. The PITA didn’t notice them, however, his unusually colored eyes focused upward, as if the Second Coming had arrived at the top of the grand staircase.

Just then, a telltale scent reached Trez’s nose and rocketed through his blood, the impact wrenching his head and his body around …

Whereupon he lost all thought. All breath. And all of his soul.

Selena stood at the head of the bloodred-carpeted steps, her lovely hand resting on the gold-leafed balustrade, her body held stiffly, as if she weren’t sure about her shoes, or her dress, or maybe even her hair.

There was absolutely nothing to worry about.

Unless she had a problem with being an H-bomb.

Her long dark hair was down around her shoulders, falling to the small of her back. Curled from tip