Aw, hell, what did it matter. Half-formed ideas winged around his mind, plans forming and disintegrating, every single one of them brilliant.
Benloise, he had to get to Benloise and reestablish the connection. Make more lessers of his own. Find the little Shit and stab him back to the Omega.
Fuck his father like the guy fucked him.
Fuck Xhex again.
Go back to the farmhouse and fight with the Brothers.
Money, money, money--he needed money.
As he passed by one of Caldwell's parks, his foot eased off the accelerator. At first, he wasn't sure whether he was actually seeing what he thought he was . . . or whether his coked head was warping reality.
But no . . .
What was going down in the shadows by the fountain presented the opportunity he'd planned on manufacturing for himself. Or infiltrating if need be.
Pulling the Mercedes into one of the metered parking spaces, he turned off the car and got his knife out. As he went around the hood of the AMG, he was vaguely aware he wasn't thinking straight, but as he rode the cocaine rush, that felt just fine.
John Matthew took form in a stand of pines and bushes along with Xhex and Qhuinn, and Butch, V and Rhage. Up ahead, the ratty farmhouse with the yellow crime scene tape around it looked like something out of Law & Order.
Although if that were true, without Smell-o-Vision, you wouldn't get an accurate pic even with great camera work. Despite the acres of fresh air around, the scent of blood was strong enough to make you clear your throat.
To properly cover Lash's intel dump, the Brotherhood had split in half, with the others staking out the address which had been tied to the license plate on that souped-up Civic. Trez and iAm had just taken off to handle their own biz for the night, but they were ready to come back at the drop of a text. And according to the Shadows, there was nothing too special to report since Xhex had left them except for the fact that Detective de la Cruz had returned, spent an hour, and left again.
John searched the scene before him, focusing on the shadows more than what the risen moon illuminated. Then he closed his eyes and let his instincts bleed out from him, giving that indefinable, invisible sensor in the center of his chest free rein.
In moments like this, he didn't know why he did what he did; the urge just came upon him, the conviction that he had done this before--to good effect--so strong it was undeniable.
Yeah . . . he could feel something was off. . . . There were ghosts in there. And the certainty reminded him of what he'd felt when he'd been in that dreaded bedroom where Xhex had been so close and so far away. He had sensed her too, but been blocked from making the connection.
"The bodies are in there," Xhex said. "We just can't see or get to them. But I'm telling you . . . they're in inside."
"Well, let's not fuck around out here then," V said, dematerializing.
Rhage followed, poofing it right into the farmhouse while Butch took a more labor-intensive approach, hotfooting it across the scruffy lawn, with gun drawn and down at his thigh. He looked in the windows until V let him in the back.
"You going in?" Xhex asked.
John signed carefully so she could read his hands. You've already reported what's doing inside. I'm more interested in who's going to show up at the front door.
"Agreed."
One by one the Brothers came back.
V spoke softly. "Assuming that Lash isn't just showing off his induction efforts, and assuming Xhex is right--"
"No assumption there," she bit out. "I am."
"--then whoever turned the poor bastards has to come back."
"Thank you, Sherlock."
V glared in her direction. "You want to dial back the attitude, sweetheart?"
John straightened, thinking that however much he loved the Brother, he was so not appreciating that tone.
Xhex evidently agreed. "Call me sweetheart one more time and it'll be the last word you ever speak--"
"Don't threaten me, swee--"
Butch stepped behind V and clapped his palm over the guy's piehole while John put his hand on Xhex's arm, urging her to calm down as he glared in Vishous's direction. He'd never understood the enmity between the pair of them, even though it had been there since he could remember--
He frowned. In the aftermath of the flare-up, Butch was looking at the ground. Xhex was focused on a tree over V's shoulder. V was growling and staring at his fingernails.
Something is off with all this, John thought.
Oh . . . Jesus . . .
V had no reason to dislike Xhex--in fact, she was precisely the kind of female he'd typically respect. Unless, of course, she happened to have been with Butch . . .
V was known to be possessive about his best friend with everyone but the guy's shellan.
John stopped his extrapolations right there; he so didn't need to know any more. Butch was one hundred percent about his Marissa, so if anything had happened with Xhex . . . it was a lifetime ago. Probably before John had even met her--or maybe when he'd been just a pretrans.