counter.
Oh, hell, no. Hell mother fucking no.
V couldn't see much of the rest of the condo, so he jogged around the side, his bare feet
screaming as he crunched through icy snow patches. As an old woman from the condo next door
peered out her window as if she'd seen him, he threw some mhis around as a precaution-and
because he figured he should do something that proved he had a brain.
This stalker routine sure as shit wasn't going to get him on Jeopardy!
As he came up to the back windows and got a look-see into the living room, he saw the death of
another as clearly as if he'd committed the murder in real time:
That human male, that doctor, was on his knees and pressed up close to Jane as she sat on her
sofa. The guy had one hand on her face, the other on her neck, and he was focused on her mouth.
V lost his concentration, dropped the mhis, and moved without thinking. Without reasoning.
Without hesitation. He was nothing but screaming, bonded male instinct as went for the French
doors, prepared to kill-
From out of nowhere Butch stepped in front of him, derailing the attack by grabbing him around
the waist and dragging him away from the condo. It was a dangerous move, even between best
friends. Unless you were an eighteen-wheeler, you didn't want to get in between a bonded male
and the target of this kind of aggression: V's attack instinct shifted its focus instantly. He bared
his fangs, hauled off, and punched his nearest and dearest in the side of the head.
The Irishman dropped V like a beehive, whipped back his fist, and threw a low-higher that
caught V on the underside of his chin. As his jaw slammed into his skull and his teeth sang like a
choir of angels, he caught fire sure as a dry meadow, instantly into overburn.
«Mhis, you fucker,» Butch spat. «You mhis this place first before we do this.»
V slammed the visual block down and the two of them went at it hard-core, no holds barred,
blood popping from noses and mouths as they pummeled the shit out of each other. Half way
through, V realized this wasn't just about Jane being lost. It was about him being utterly alone.
Even with Butch around, it wouldn't be the same without her, so it was as if V was left with
nothing.
When it was all over, he and the cop lay flat on their backs side by side, chests heaving, sweat
not so much drying on them as freezing. Shit, V could already feel the swelling: His knuckles
and his face were going Michelin Man on him.
He coughed a little. «I need a cigarette.»
«I need an ice pack and some Neosporin.»
V rolled to the side, spat out some blood, then flopped back to where he'd been. He wiped his
mouth with the back of his hand. «Thanks. I needed that.»
«No pr-« Butch groaned. «No problem. Damn, did you have to pound out my liver like that? As
if the Scotch ain't enough of a problem for the thing.»
«How did you know where I was?»
«Where else would you be? Phury came back alone and mentioned shit was going down, so I
figured you'd eventually end up here.» Butch cracked his shoulder and cursed. «Let's face it, the
cop in me's like a radio tower for stupid morons. And no offense, but you're not winning any
awards in the smarty division.»
«I think I would have killed that man.»
«I know you would have.»
V lifted his head. When he couldn't see through Jane's windows, he pushed himself up on his
elbows to get a clear shot. The sofa was empty.
He let himself fall down onto the ground again. Were the two of them making love upstairs in
her bed? Right now? As he lay ruined on her back fucking lawn?
«Shit. I can't deal.»
«I'm sorry, V. I really am.» Butch cleared his throat. «Listen… it might be a good idea not to
come here anymore.»
«Said the jackass who did drive-bys on Marissa for how many months?»
«It's dangerous, V. For her.»
V glared at his best friend. «If you are going to insist on being reasonable, I'm going to stop
hanging with you.»
Butch popped a misshapen smile-on account of the crack in his upper lip. «Sorry, buddy, you
can't shake me even if you tried.»
V blinked a couple of times, horrified at what he was about to say. «God, you're going for
sainthood, you know that? You've always been there for me. Always. Even when I…»
«Even when you what?»
«You know.»
«What?»
«Fuck. Even when I was in love with you. Or some shit.»
Butch clasped his hands to
| | |
|