Lover Mine(132)

And then John heard that voice. That snarky-ass, cocksucking voice.

"Bet you never expected to hear from me again." Lash's tone was one of grim satisfaction. "Surprise, motherfuckers, and guess what? I'm about to do you a favor. You might want to know that there was a mass induction into the Lessening Society tonight. Farmhouse out RR 149. Happened around four a.m., so if you get off your asses and head there as soon as night falls, you might find them still throwing up all over the place. FYI, wear your waders--it's a mess. Oh, and tell Xhex I can still taste her--"

V canned the speakerphone.

As John's lips peeled off his fangs, and he let out a soundless snarl, the painting on the wall behind him trembled.

When George whimpered, Wrath soothed the dog and pointed the letter opener across the way. "You'll get your chance at him, John. I swear it on my father's grave. I need your head in this game now, though, dig?"

Easier said than done. Reeling in the urge to kill was like restraining a pit bull with one hand behind his back.

Next to him, Xhex frowned and crossed her arms over her chest.

"We cool?" Wrath demanded.

When John finally whistled an assent, Vishous exhaled a cloud of Turkish tobacco and cleared his throat. "He didn't leave an exact address for this so-called massacre. And I tried to trace the number he called from and got nothing."

"The question I'm wondering," Wrath said, "is what the fuck's doing. He's head of the Lessening Society--so if his tone was all I've-got-the-biggest-balls-of-them-all? Hey, cool, I get that shit. But that wasn't my read."

"He's tattling." Vishous stabbed out his hand-rolled in an ashtray. "That's what it sounded like to me--although I'm not willing to bet my big balls on it."

Now that John had his inner pit recaged and was able to think properly, he was inclined to agree with the Brother. Lash was a self-serving shit, and about as trustworthy as a rattlesnake, but the thing was, when you couldn't rely on morality, you could absolutely bank on narcissism: It made the bastard utterly predictable.

John was sure of this--to the point where he felt like he'd been through it all before.

"Is it possible he's been dethroned," Wrath murmured. "Daddy-o maybe decide that the son was not so amusing after all? Or did the evil's shiny, pretty new toy break--is there some shit in Lash's bizarre biology that's just coming out now? I want us to go in assuming it's an ambush. . . ."

There was broad consensus in the room for the plan, as well as some cheap shots involving Lash's ass and various kinds of large-bore instruments of impact: size- fourteen boots being the most likely to come to pass, but hardly the most creative.

For example, John seriously doubted Rhage could in fact park his GTO in the guy's sun-don't-shine. Or would want to.

Man . . . what a turn of events. And yet it wasn't really surprising--if what they were guessing had actually happened. The Omega was known to go through Fore-lessers like shit through a goose, and blood wasn't necessarily thicker than evil, so to speak. And if Lash had been kicked to the curb, his calling the Brotherhood out to pull a middle finger on his father was brilliant maneuvering--especially as lessers were weakest right after their inductions, and therefore incapable of fighting back.

The Brothers could clean house.

Jesus Christ, John thought. Destiny could make for strange bedfellows.





Xhex was on a low boil as she stood next to John in a study that, but for the desk and throne, could have been mistaken for a French female's parlor.

The sound of Lash's voice coming from that phone made her feel like her stomach had been scrubbed down with ammonia, the burning, churning routine doing a nasty on that poor, well-intended turkey sandwich she'd just had.

And Wrath's assumption that John was going to defend her honor didn't calm things down in there.

"So we infiltrate," the Blind King was saying. "At nightfall, all of you go out 149 and--"

"I'll go now," she said loud and clear. "Give me a pair of guns and a knife and I'll go check it out right now."

Okaaaaaay. Short of pulling the pin on a hand grenade and chucking it into the center of the room, she couldn't have commanded more attention.

As John's emotional grid went dark with oh-no-you-don't, she started the countdown before the explosion hit.

Three . . . two . . . one . . .

"That's a kind offer," the king said as he slid into full cajole-the-female mode. "But I think it's best--"

"You can't stop me." She dropped her arms to her sides--and then reminded herself that she wasn't about to physically attack the guy. Really. She wasn't.

The king's smile was about as warm as dry ice. "I'm sovereign here. Which means if I tell you to hang tight, you're going to goddamn well do that."