The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood #12) - J.R. Ward Page 0,135

you reach him?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell him to meet me at noon at our apartment.”

“That’s the deadline for you to show at the s’Hisbe.” When his brother didn’t reply, iAm lifted his brows. “You aren’t turning yourself in, are you?”

“Set up the meeting.”

iAm cursed long and low. Yeah, he wanted to kick his brother’s ass—but absolutely, positively didn’t want anyone else to. “Trez.”

“Do it.”

“Not unless you tell me where you’re at.”

“I thought you wanted me to go back.”

“So that’s what you’re doing? Tell me something, you planning on bringing your Chosen with you—make a happy little family or some shit?”

“She’s not mine.”

“Have you told your hormones that?”

Trez slashed his hand through the air. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“And that’s your fucking problem.”

“Just call the executioner. That’s all I’ve got to say.”

As Trez turned on his heel, iAm spoke sharply. “I can’t let you go back there.”

Trez stopped. Looked over his shoulder.

“What,” iAm groused.

“I just … I don’t know. I guess I didn’t expect that.”

Time to go back to the sauce. Stew. What the fuck was he making again?

Popping the lid off, he remanned his spoon and stirred slowly. He’d handmade everything from the chicken stock to the spice satchels that were floating on the surface of the fragrant mélange.

“iAm?”

“I don’t care if they die.” He watched slices of carrots and squares of onions surface in the thick base. “I know I’m supposed to, because they’re my parents, but I’ve thought about it and I’m sorry—if they can be selfish, so can I. My family is you and me, and I will choose us over anyone.”

“God … I think I needed you to say that.”

He shot another glare over. “You doubted it? Like, ever?”

Trez went across and parked it on one of the stools at the counter. “There are limits.”

iAm had to laugh. “You don’t say.”

Going to the cabinets on the left, he took out two deep-bellied bowls, then sprang one of the drawers and got some soup spoons. Ladling the stew in, he served his brother first.

Trez tried some and moaned. “This is amazing.”

When iAm gave the shit a taste, he had to agree, but he kept that to himself. Pride was an unattractive trait, even if it was well-placed.

“What are you going to do about the Chosen?” iAm asked.

Trez’s shrug was just a liiiiiittle too nonchalant. “Nothing.”

“Not sure it’s going to work out like that for you.”

Trez stared into the stew. “She’s just one more reason to stay on the outside. Not that I needed it.”

“She says you told her everything. That right?”

It was a long while before Trez nodded slowly. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

“What exactly did you keep to yourself.”

Those black eyes lifted after a while. “Seconds?”

iAm snagged the now-empty bowl and brought it over for a redo.

“I didn’t tell her how bad it’s going to get,” Trez said softly as more stew was delivered.

“So you lied.”

There was another long silence. “Yeah. I did.”

Because after the queen was done eliminating their parents? The tribe was going to come after iAm. He was the next rung on the ladder of coercion because they couldn’t touch Trez, after all. He had to be in one piece.

iAm found himself nodding. “Probably a good move.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

It was easy to think of God while watching the sun rise over the Hudson River.

As Sola sat on the empty terrace of Assail’s glass house, she stared across the cold, sluggish water. Little flashes of peach and yellow skimmed over the icy expanse as, across the way, that great orange orb crested over the skyscrapers of downtown.

She had made it out of that prison, she thought for the hundredth time. And whatever scars might have formed on the inside of her, her body was intact, her mind functional, and her safety, at least in the short term, assured.

Thinking back to all those prayers, she couldn’t believe they’d been granted. Desperation had made her utter the words, but she hadn’t really expected anyone to be listening.

The question now was … did she keep her side of the bargain?

Man, it would have been so much easier if an angel with wings had come down and freed her, magically depositing her here. Instead, she’d done the dirty work herself, Assail had been on cleanup, and one of those fierce cousins of his had been a chauffeur for the five-hour trip back to sanity. Oh, and then there had been all those people in that facility.

Mere mortals touched by the hand of God? Or a series of random events that just happened to