What came out of that drum would haunt Blay’s nightmares for years…decades afterward.
In fact, what was inside hadn’t latched onto Qhuinn; it was the other way around. And as Blay hauled back, a male form was extracted from the tight squeeze, the Omega’s blood pouring out in rivers, splashing onto the cold wooden planks of the cabin’s floor, hitting Blay’s shitkickers and leathers, drenching Qhuinn.
Qhuinn had to scramble to keep his grip from slipping off, his gun and flashlight long forgotten, his gloved hands slapping and scratching to keep from losing contact….
As they hoisted…
The oil drum fell over onto its side as the male sprawled out flat at their feet.
No one moved. It was as if they had all stepped in and assumed their positions in a tableau.
Blay recognized who it was immediately.
He couldn’t believe it.
The dead had returned to the living…in a manner of speaking.
Qhuinn squatted down and touched the male’s shoulders. Then he spoke his brother’s name roughly: “Luchas?”
The response was immediate. His brother’s hands began to slowly pinwheel, his mangled legs shifting, his naked body trying to move. His skin was bruised all over, the harsh illumination from the flashlights showing every contusion and cut and black-and-blue, the stain of the Omega’s blood gradually receding from the pale skin.
Dear God, what had they done to him? One of his eyes was swollen shut, and his mouth was lopsided, as if he’d been punched there. As he grimaced, it appeared that his teeth had all been spared, but that was about the only mercy he seemed to have been given.
“Luchas?” Qhuinn said again. “Can you talk to me?”
From off to the side, Rhage was on his phone again. “V? We’ve really got a situation. What’s your ETA…what? No, abso no—I need you now….No, you. And Payne.” Hollywood glanced over and mouthed, Do you guys know who he is?
Blay had to clear his throat, his reply tripping and stumbling out. “It’s his…brother.”
Rhage blinked. Shook his head. Leaned in. “I’m sorry, what did you—”
“His brother,” Blay repeated loudly and clearly.
“Jesus…” Rhage whispered. And then he snapped back into action. “Now, V. Now.”
“Luchas, can you hear me?” Qhuinn spoke.
Vishous burst into the cabin a split second later. The Brother was covered in lesser blood and bleeding red thanks to a gash across his face—he was also breathing like a freight train and had a dripping black dagger in his hand.
The instant he saw what they were all clustered around, he stopped. “What the fuck is that?”
Rhage quickly made slashing motions across his throat, shutting up any further commentary. Then he grabbed V’s arm and dragged him out of earshot. When the pair came back, V was showing no emotion at all.
“Let me take a look at him,” V said.
Qhuinn just kept talking at his brother, the words coming out in a steady stream that didn’t make much sense. Then again, as far as anyone had known, the male had been killed in the raids, along with Qhuinn’s mother, father, and sister. So, yeah, this was enough to make even Shakespeare sport a case of the babbles.
Except…this wasn’t possible, Blay thought. There had been four bodies at the house—and Luchas had been among them.
Blay should know. He’d been the one to go in and do the identifying.
He put a hand on Qhuinn’s shoulder. “Hey.”
Qhuinn’s words drifted off. Then he looked up into Blay’s eyes. “He’s not answering me.”
“Can you let V take a quick look? We need a medic’s opinion.” And maybe a helluva lot more to answer what the hell was going on here. “Come on, stand over here with me.”
Qhuinn straightened and pulled back, but he didn’t go far, and his eyes never left his brother. “Have they turned him?” He crossed his arms and curled himself forward. “Do you think they turned him?”
Blay shook his head, and wished he could lie. “I don’t know.”
SIXTY-ONE
As Qhuinn stared down at the cabin floor, his brain was firing in a series of disconnected flashes, the concrete notion that his whole family had been wiped out colliding into what appeared to be a very different reality.
He kept coming back to a night long, long ago, when he’d walked through the front door of his parents’ to find his family sitting together at that dining room table…and his brother getting that ring that was on his now mangled hand.
You’d think the sight of the guy tortured but alive would be all he’d concentrate on.
“What’s going on, V?” he demanded. “How is he?”