Lover Avenged (Black Dagger Brotherhood #7) - J. R. Ward Page 0,103

wall of glass and around the corner into the glow of the dining room.

Two candles lit. Two place settings of silver. Two glasses for wine. Two glasses for water. Two napkins folded precisely and laid on top of two plates.

He sat down on the chair he’d been going to give to her, the one to his right, the position of honor. He rested his cane against his thigh and put the plastic bag down on the ebony table, smoothing it out so that the antibiotics were resting one next to another in a neat and orderly row.

He wondered why they hadn’t come in a little orange bottle with a white label on it, but whatever. She had brought them to him here. That was the main thing.

Sitting in the silence, surrounded by candlelight and the scent of the roast beef he’d just taken out of the oven, Rehv stroked the plastic bag with his numb forefinger. Sure as shit he was feeling something, though. In the dead center of his chest, he had an ache behind his heart.

He’d done a lot of evil deeds over the course of his life. Big ones and small.

He’d set people up just to mess with them, whether they were rogue dealers infringing on his turf, or johns who didn’t treat his whores right, or idiots who screwed around at his club.

He’d leveraged the vices of others to his benefit. Sold drugs. Sold sex. Sold death in the form of Xhex’s special skills.

He’d fucked for all the wrong reasons.

He’d maimed.

He’d murdered.

And yet, none of that had bothered him at the time. There had been no second thoughts, no regrets, no empathy. Just more schemes, more plans, more angles to be discovered and exploited.

Here at this empty table, though, in this empty penthouse, he felt the ache in his chest and knew it for what it was: Regret.

It would have been extraordinary to deserve Ehlena.

But that was just one more thing he wasn’t ever going to feel.

TWENTY-SEVEN

As the Brotherhood met in his study, Wrath kept an eye on John from his vantage point behind the frilly desk. Across the way, the kid looked like roadkill. His face was pale and his big body was still and he hadn’t participated in the discussion at all. The scent of his emotions was the worst part of it, though: There was none. Not the stinging, nostril-bracing bite of anger. Not the acrid, smoky blow of sadness. Not even the lemony pitch of fear.

Nothing. As he stood among the Brothers and his two best friends, he was insulated by his nonresponsiveness and his numbed-out trance…with them, but not really.

Not good.

Wrath’s headache, which like his eyes and his ears and his mouth seemed to be permanently attached to his skull, made a renewed assault into his temples, and he sat back in his pansy-ass chair in the hope that a spinal realignment might ease the squeeze.

No luck.

Maybe a cranial amputation would work. God knew Doc Jane was good with a saw.

Over in the ugly green armchair, Rhage bit down on a Tootsie Pop, breaking one of the many thumb-up-the-ass silences that had marked the meeting.

“Tohr couldn’t have gone far,” Hollywod muttered. “He’s not strong enough.”

“I checked the Other Side,” Phury said from the speakerphone. “He’s not with the Chosen.”

“How about we do a drive-by of his old house,” Butch suggested.

Wrath shook his head. “I can’t imagine he’d go there. So many memories.”

Shit, not even the mention of that home John had spent time in elicited anything from the kid. But at least it was finally dark so they could go out and look for Tohr.

“I’m going to stay here and see if he comes back,” Wrath said as the double doors opened and V strode in. “I want the rest of you out searching for him in the city, but before you go, first let’s get an update from our very own Katie Couric.” He nodded at Vishous. “Katie?”

V’s glare was the ocular version of a fully extended middle finger, but he got on with it. “Last night, on the police blotter, there was a report filed by a Homicide detective. Dead body was found at the address where those gun crates came from. Human. Pizza delivery guy. Single knife wound through the chest. No doubt the poor bastard walked into something he shouldn’t have. I just finished hacking into the case details and what do you know, I found a note in it about a black, oily stain on the