“Good plan. Then the rest of us can peel your hands from his throat when he mouths off.”
“Hey, you know where Tohr is? I can't reach him.”
“No idea, but I'll go to his house on the way over to D's if you want.”
“Do that. He needs to be here tonight.” Wrath hung up.
Damn it . Someone was going to have to put a muzzle on Zsadist.
Or a dagger in his chest.
Butch let the car roll to a stop. He had no real hope Beth was going to be at the apartment, but he went to the lobby door and hit the buzzer anyway. No answer.
Surprise, surprise.
He walked around the side of the apartment building and through the courtyard. It was after dark, so he was not encouraged by her lights being off. He cupped his hands and leaned into the sliding glass door.
“Beth! Oh, God! Sweet Jesus!”
Her body was facedown on the floor, one arm extended in front of her toward a phone that was just out of reach. Her legs were sprawled, as if she'd been writhing in pain.
“No!” He pounded on the glass.
She moved a little, as if she'd heard him.
Butch went over to a window, whipped off his shoe, and pushed his hand deep inside the sole. He punched at the glass until it cracked and then shattered. As he reached in to free the lock, he cut himself, but he didn't care if he lost an arm getting to her. He threw his body inside and knocked over a table as he lunged forward.
“Beth! Can you hear me?”
She opened her mouth. Worked it slowly. No words came out.
He looked for blood and found none, so he gingerly rolled her onto her back. She was pale as a grave marker, clammy, barely conscious. When she opened her eyes, her pupils were totally dilated.
He extended her arms, searching for track marks. There were none, but he wasn't about to waste time stripping off her shoes and checking between her toes.
Butch flipped open his cell phone and dialed 911.
When the service picked up, he didn't wait for the greeting. “I have a probable drug overdose.”
Beth's hand fluttered up, and she started to shake her head. She was trying to bat the phone away.
“Baby, be still. I'm going to take care—”
The operator's voice cut him off. “Sir? Hello?”
“Take me to Wrath,” Beth moaned.
“Fuck him.”
“Excuse me?” the operator said. “Sir, can you tell me what's happening?”
“Drug overdose. I think it's heroin. Her pupils are fixed and dilated. She hasn't vomited yet—”
“Wrath, I need to go to Wrath.”
“—but she's going in and out of consciousness—”
And then Beth jerked up from the floor and snatched the phone out of his hand. “I'm going to die…”
“The hell you are!” he yelled.
She gripped the front of his shirt. Her body shook, sweat staining the front of her T-shirt. “I need him.”
Butch stared into her eyes.
He'd been wrong. So very wrong. This wasn't an OD. It was withdrawal.
He shook his head. “Baby, no.”
“Please. I need him. Going to die.” Suddenly, she jack-knifed into the fetal position, like a wave of pain had snapped her in half. The cell phone skittered out of her hand, out of reach. “Butch… please.”
Fuck . She looked bad. As in death's-doorstep bad.
If he took her to an ER, she might die on the way over or while waiting to be treated. And methadone was meant to ease cravings, not pull an addict out of a free fall.
Fuck.
“Help me.”
“Goddamn him,” Butch said. “How far away?”
“Wallace.”
“Avenue?”
She nodded.
Butch couldn't allow himself to think. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her out through the courtyard.
He was so going to nail that bastard.
Wrath crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall in the drawing room. The brothers stood around, waiting for him to speak.
And Tohr was there, though from the minute he'd come through the door with Vishous, he'd refused to meet Wrath's eyes.
Fine , Wrath thought. We'll just do this in public.
“My brothers, we've got two pieces of business.” He stared at Tohr's face. “I have gravely injured one of you. Accordingly, I offer Tohrment a rythe.”
Tohr snapped to attention. The brothers likewise were surprised.
It was an unprecedented action, and he knew it. A rythe was essentially a free shot, and the one to whom it was offered could choose the weapon. Fist, dagger, gun, chains. It was a ritual way of assuaging honor, both for the offended and the offender. Both could be cleansed.