As Darius had been dead for only a few days, Wrath was hoping the society hadn't moved on yet.
He felt for his watch. “Damn it, it's almost three.”
Rhage shifted against the tree he was behind. “So I guess Tohr isn't showing up tonight.”
Wrath shrugged, hoping like hell the subject would get dropped.
It didn't.
“That's not like him.” Rhage paused. “But you're not surprised.”
“No, I'm not.”
“Why?”
Wrath cracked his knuckles. “I took a piece out of him. When I shouldn't have.”
“I'm not gonna ask.”
“Wise of you.” And then for some absurd reason, he tacked on, “I need to apologize to him.”
“That'll be a surprise.”
“Am I that awful?”
“No,” Rhage said without his usual bravado. “You're just not wrong that often.”
Candor was a surprise coming from Hollywood.
“Well, I sure as hell did a number on Tohr.”
Rhage clapped him on the back. “Lemme tell you, as someone who offends folks regularly, there ain't much that can't be fixed.”
“I brought Wellsie into it.”
“Not a good idea.”
“And how he feels about her.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. Pretty much.”
“Why?”
“Because I…”
Because he'd felt like an idiot trying to pull off even a sliver of what Tohrment had managed to do so successfully for two centuries. In spite of Tohr's calling as a warrior, he'd sustained a relationship with a female of worth. And it was a good, strong, loving union. He was the only one of the brothers who'd been able to do that.
Wrath thought about Beth. Pictured her coming up to him, asking him to stay.
Man, he was desperate to find her in his bed when he got home. And not because he wanted to take her. It was because then he could sleep beside her. Rest a little, knowing that she was safe and with him.
Ah, hell . He had a terrible feeling he was going to have to stick around that female. For a while.
“Because?” Rhage prompted.
Wrath's nose tingled. A faint whiff of sweetness, like baby powder, floated by on the breeze.
“Get out your welcome mat,” he said, opening his jacket.
“How many?” Rhage asked, pivoting around.
The sounds of sticks snapping and leaves rustling softly broke the night. Got louder.
“Three. At least.”
“Yee-haw.”
The lessers were coming straight at them, through a clearing in the woods. They were loud, talking and walking without care, until one of them stopped. The other two pulled up, shut up.
“Evening, boys,” Rhage said, sauntering out into the open.
Wrath took the stealth approach. As the lessers circled his brother, crouching, drawing knives, Wrath skirted around the edge of the trees.
Then he reached out of the shadows and plucked one of the lessers off the ground, starting the fight. He slit its throat, but there was no time to polish off the kill. Rhage had engaged two, but the third was about to nail the brother in the head with a baseball bat.
Wrath fell upon the undead Sammy Sousa, taking it down to the ground and stabbing it in the throat. Juicy, strangled noises bubbled up into the air. Wrath looked around, in case there were more or his brother needed help.
Rhage was doing just fine.
Even to Wrath's poor eyesight, the warrior was a thing of beauty when he fought. All fists and kicks. Rapid motion. Animal reflexes. Power and endurance. He was a master of hand-to-hand combat, and the lessers hit the ground again and again, the length of time it took them to get up growing longer and longer.
Wrath went back to the first lesser and knelt over the body. It writhed as he went through its pockets and took all the ID he could find.
He was about to stab it in the chest when he heard a shotgun go off.
Black Dagger Brotherhood 1 - Dark Lover
Chapter Twenty-nine
“So Butch, you gonna hang around until I get off tonight?” Abby smiled as she poured him another Scotch.
“Maybe.” He didn't want to, but after a couple more he might change his mind. Assuming he could still get it up while he was drunk.
With a shift to the left, she looked behind him at another guy, shooting the man a little wink while flashing some cleavage.
Covering her bases. Probably a good idea.
Butch's cell phone vibrated on his belt, and he grabbed it. “Yeah?”
“We've got another dead prostitute,” José said. “Thought you'd want to know.”
“Where?” He leaped off the bar stool like he had somewhere to go. Then sat back down, slowly.
“Trade and Fifth. But don't come over. Where are you?”
“McGrider's.”
“Ten minutes?”
“I'll be here.”
Butch pushed the Scotch away as frustration tore through him.