Lyric stared down at the palm that was in front of her as if she’d never seen one before. “Oh, you don’t have to—”
“I owe you a debt for saving his life. Period.”
Tentatively reaching out, she shook his hand. “That’s really not necessary.”
As was his way, her uncle V didn’t argue with her—but not because he wasn’t into confrontation. The fucker loved conflict. No, he’d stated his point and that was that. Lyric’s opinion on the matter was irrelevant.
When she looked up Qhuinn’s way, as if she couldn’t believe what was happening, he smiled as his chest swelled. There were few greater things in life than when your kid impressed someone important. It made you feel like you hadn’t fucked them up, after all. And also that you had done a very, very good thing in bringing them into the world.
Qhuinn went over and knelt down next to her. Glancing at the raw wound on her wrist, he felt a spike of concern. “Do you need anything?”
Smothering a yawn, she shook her head. “No, thank you. I’m just a little tired.”
“You should go crash,” V said. “You need a rest—”
“I’m not leaving,” she shot back, “until he stands up on his own and walks out of here.”
As V chuckled with respect, Qhuinn had to ask: “How did you know? To come here when you did?”
Her blue and her green irises, identical to his own, shifted away, and she hesitated.
“I, ah… I’d come to apologize, actually.” Lyric cleared her throat. “The night that billboard fell, he’d come to visit me at Bathe. He was very sweet to do that—but this woman who I’d hired was rude to himand he left in a hurry. I chased after him, right into the middle of Market Street, where I… well, you know what happened. So, yes, I came here because I wanted to thank him and make that apology happen—”
“Not… necessary…”
They all focused on Allhan. The male had come around and was staring at Lyric. “It’s… all right.”
Qhuinn watched as his daughter leaned down and stroked some of the dark hair off the male’s sweated brow.
“No, it’s not.” Her smile was gentle. “But something tells me, nobody’s ever writing you off again. I can’t wait to see what you think of your new body.”
“For… truth?”
Lyric nodded and took his hand. “I think you’re going to like what you see, my friend. I really do.”
“Thank you…”
“You’d have done the same for me. In a heartbeat.”
As the two continued to talk softly, Qhuinn looked over at V. The brother glanced up at the same time, and as their eyes met, it was weird. They’d bonded a lot over the years, what with the fighting and the stress and the camaraderie that just happened among the members of the Brotherhood.
The sudden connection that linked them now, though, was something different.
His kid had been good to V’s, and that was an even deeper level, wasn’t it.
From Shuli’s recline in his own bed, he put his hand out to his side table and picked up his vintage rose-gold AP Royal Oak. As he looked at the dial, he groaned.
“What’s the matter,” L.W. said next to him. “Not drunk enough to sleep?”
He glanced across his mountain of pillows. The heir to the thronewas stretched out next to him on the enormous king-sized mattress. The pair of them had been propped against his headboard and watching movies since they’d decided to pair up and commit their own kind of treason.
Nothing like some felony-level insurrection to bring two guys closer.
The current viewing selection—the old-school, evergreen favoriteAliens—was playing quietly, Sigourney Weaver locking into a giant cargo mover that was like a transformer suit.
“You still awake, too, sunshine?” He pushed himself up a little higher. “I could have sworn you were snoring—or was that just your trademark dark, brooding menace escaping out of your nose instead of every pore.”
“Oh, fuck off,” the male said with exhaustion.
