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“Make an appointment with that garage we use,” Wrath said as he played with one of George’s paws, rubbing his thumb into the pads and then stroking the nails. “Switch out the VIN, get a title, and register it for him.” As Saxton took notes, Wrath looked at the seller. “And you’re giving him a thousand dollars back for the trouble.”
“Now, wait a minute, I sold him a good car—”
“You stole the fucking thing and got free cash. And you’re now giving him two thousand dollars because you’re a pain in his ass and mine.” Wrath lifted an eyebrow over his wraparounds. “You want to make it three? We can do that—”
Phones started to go off around the room, the vibrations quiet, but pervasive, and V and Rhage both straightened and went for their cells.
Vishous immediately started texting, then looked up from his screen. “We are stopping now.”
The King put George back down to the floor and turned his head in the direction of the buyer. “We’ll take care of the car.” Then he appeared to look the seller right in the eye. “You get him the money and you won’t have any problems. You have seven nights. I will be personally checking on the disposition of the funds, and if they’re not where they should be, I’m going to show up at your back door and—”
Saxton cut the King off with a loud clearing of the throat, and in the tense silence that followed, Wrath glared over at his solicitor. Then he pressed his lips together like he was holding his tongue on a number of subjects.
“Just fucking do it, okay. Your life will go better.”
As the civilian nodded like he was having a seizure, Saxton hustled out from behind his desk and led the Buffalo Bills fans from the room. As the doors shut, Wrath sat forward on the armchair.
“What.”
“There’s been a lesser attack downtown at Dandelion—”
“Ah, shit—”
“—and Nate’s there along with an aristocrat and Rahvyn—”
Lassiter heard the name, and instantly became corporeal. Confronting the brother, he demanded, “Is she hurt.”
V’s left eye twitched like a seizure was coming. Then his diamond stare narrowed. “You know, you could have told us you were here—and I don’t know if she’s hurt.”
The up-and-leaving was an instantaneous thing, an act of desperate will that shouldn’t have been possible given his panic. And as he ghosted, he didn’t think of Eddie or Adrian, or even the brothers.
Speeding toward downtown, he couldn’t understand how the female had gone from curled up on that hospital bed, safely in the training center, to out in the field, caught in the crossfire of the war. Who the hell had let her go there?
He re-formed in front of the club, and there was no chaos, no disruption, in the wait line. But no bouncer, either, that Pete guy with the shit brown pants and the GF problems nowhere in sight.
Lassiter sank into his thighs and leapt into the air, landing on the roof and ignoring the gasps and shouts of the humans at his superhero routine. As he strode across the tar paper, he heard the thumping bass of the music and felt the vibrations come up through the soles of his bare feet—and he just wanted to scream for them to shut that shit off and stop the dancing. Didn’t those men and women know that something had happened? Something fucking dangerous, and Rahvyn was somehow in it? Didn’t the whole world know—
At the far edge of the roof, he looked down. “Oh, God.”
Jumping to the ground, he landed with a booming impact that startled Shuli and Nate, as well as a male who’d been roughed up. The three were kneeling over Rahvyn, who was clearly bleeding out, and Lassiter fell to his knees—
“Is help coming?” one of them begged. “Is—”
Wait.
Hold on, it wasn’t Rahvyn who was hurt.
This wasn’t Rahvyn on the ground; it was not her blood, not her clothes… it was a male who’d apparently been shot in the throat.
“Where is she?” Lassiter demanded as he looked around. The fact that there was a scorched spot on the pavement made his heart skip beats. “Rahvyn, where is she—”
Shuli pointed at the door into the club. “I made her go inside. She’s okay, she’s in the hallway—but is help coming? He’s dying.”
No, Lassiter thought. He’s dead.
“Yes,” he said gently. “The brothers are on the way.”
“It’s my fault.” Shuli brushed his eyes. “Oh, fuck, I shot him, I—”
“That’s not how it happened,” Nate cut in. “You were defending us.”
“It was still my bullet.”
Jumping up to his feet, Lassiter yanked at the back door, and when he found it locked, he had to force himself to concentrate so he could flip the dead bolt with his mind. The instant he got the thing open, he saw Rahvyn. She was standing just inside in the hall, next to the bouncer who should have been out front with the wait line—and though they were of totally different species, the two of them looked the same, both staring ahead of themselves, him because he’d clearly had memories wiped, her because she was in shock.
