The Beast (Black Dagger Brotherhood #14) - J. R. Ward Page 0,82

office clothes and went down to First Meal with Rhage by her side. Like her, he was dressed for work, wearing leathers and a muscle shirt, and carrying a leather jacket in one hand, and a cache of weapons on holsters in the other. His black daggers were already strapped onto his chest, and she could tell by the hard cast to his jaw that he was ready to fight.

In fact, all the Brothers came into the dining room with their autoloaders and their shotguns and their knives with them, too.

There was enough firepower at the table to supply a small army.

Which they were, she supposed as she sat down in her chair.

Rhage pushed her seat in and then took the empty to her left, looping his belts off one side before draping the jacket across the back.

“Oh, good, roast beef,” he said as Fritz appeared behind him with a plate.

Actually, make that a “platter.” And yes, it was roast beef … as in, an entire roast beef for him.

“Fritz, how did you know?” Rhage asked as he looked over his shoulder with adoration.

The old, wrinkled butler bowed low at the waist. “Indeed, I was informed that you had had a bit of a trial of late, and I imagined one would require special sustenance.”

“Oh, one does.” The Brother clapped the doggen on the shoulder and sent the poor guy flailing. “Shit, I’m sorry—”

“Got him,” V said as he caught Fritz and stood him upright. “S’all good.”

As a fleet of doggen came in to serve the rest of the household, Mary put her napkin in her lap and waited for the trays of sausages and bowls of oatmeal and cut fruit to make their way down.

“Danish?” she said, reaching out and snagging a basket that was made of sterling-silver weave. “They smell fantastic.”

“Mmmm-hmmm,” Rhage answered around a mouthful of protein.

As she pulled back the damask napkin and offered them to her man, Rhage put down his knife and fork and took three, arranging the sweet twists on his platter. Then he picked up his utensils and resumed his careful, measured attack on what had to be an eight-pound roast.

For some reason, as she took her own danish—just one—she thought back to their first meal at TGI Friday’s in Lucas Square. Rhage had ordered, like, four plates of food or something—and she’d braced herself for all kinds of stomach-turning gulping. Instead, he’d had the table manners of Emily Post, everything precise and tidy, from the forkfuls he loaded up, to the slices he made, to the way he stopped between almost every bite to wipe his mouth.

Sitting back in her chair, she found herself staring across the table. The mahogany landscape was broad and studded with all kinds of lovely, shiny, sparkly things, and it was strange to think she’d gotten used to the luxury, the help, the standard of living that was so far outside of the way she’d grown up, so beyond anything she had ever expected to be involved in, that she’d always assumed it was only historical fiction.

But she didn’t dwell on all the deluxe.

No, she looked at Z and Bella. The pair of them were seated directly across from her, and it was impossible not to watch them as they traded Nalla back and forth, Z choosing morsels off his plate to hand-feed the toddler, Bella dabbing at the chubby chin or tucking a fantastic pink frilly outfit out of the way. From time to time, the parents would lock eyes over the child and a word would be spoken, or maybe just a smile shared.

Mary frowned at the slave bands that had been tattooed on Z’s wrists and neck. They seemed so dark against his tanned skin, an evil stain that was permanent.

She and Z had spent a lot of time in the basement by that old boiler, talking about what had been done to him when he’d been a blood slave. So much abuse. So many scars, inside and out. But he had come through it, triumphed over his past, forged not only a beautiful relationship with the female he loved, but also with the incredible blessing of his daughter.

Jeez, and she was worried about anything that had happened in her own life? Yes, she had had to take care of her mother as the woman died. Yes, she’d had a disease. Yes, she had lost her ability to have children. But that was nothing compared to what Zsadist had been put through, what