John frowned and eased back against the tunnel wall, ready for more bad news. Although he sure as shit couldn't imagine what it was, life had a way of getting pretty damned creative, didn't it.
Eventually, Z halted and when he looked over, his stare was not golden yellow, as it usually was when they were home. It was pitch-black. Vicious black. And the male's face had gone the color of snow.
John straightened. Jesus . . . what's wrong?
"You remember all those walks you and I used to take in the woods. Just before your transition . . . after you lost it with Lash the first time." When John nodded, the Brother continued. "You ever ask yourself why Wrath put us together?"
John nodded slowly. Yeah . . .
"It wasn't a mistake." The Brother's eyes were cold and dark as the cellar in a haunted house, shadows making up not just the color of the irises but what lay behind that stare. "You and I have something in common. Do you understand what I'm saying. You and I . . . we have something in common."
At first John frowned again, not catching the drift--
Suddenly, he felt a cringing blast of cold shiver through his own body, one that reached his marrow. Z . . . ? Wait, had he heard it wrong? Was he taking this wrong?
Except then, clear as day, he remembered the two of them facing off at each other--right after the Brother had read what that psychologist had put in John's medical record.
You get to pick how you deal with it, because it's no one else's biz , Z had said . You never want to say another fucking word on the subject, you're getting no lip from me.
At that moment, John had been amazed by the Brother's unexpected understanding. As well as the fact that Z didn't seem to judge him or view him as weak.
Now he knew why.
God . . . Z?
The Brother held his palm up. "I'm not telling you this to freak you out, and fuckin' A, I'd have preferred you never know--for reasons I'm sure you get. But I'm bringing it up because of your female's scream this morning."
John's brows pulled tight as the Brother took up pacing again.
"Look, John, I don't like people in my biz and I'm the last person who wants to talk about crap. But that scream . . ." Z faced off at John. "I've thrown too many of those out not to know what kind of hell you gotta be in to holler like that. Your girl . . . she's got some dark in her on a good day, but after Lash? I don't need no deets--but I can guess she's rattled and then some. Hell, sometimes after you're safe again--it's almost worse."
John scrubbed his face as his temples started to pound, and then he lifted his hands . . . only to find he had nothing to sign. The sadness that crushed him took his words away, leaving him with a strange, blank numbness in his head.
All he could do was nod.
Zsadist clapped him briefly on the shoulder and then resumed his back-and-forth. "Meeting and getting with Bella, that was my lifeboat. But it wasn't the only thing I needed. See, before we were mated proper, Bella left me--she took off and just left my ass for no damn good reason. I knew I had to do something to get my head on right if I was ever going to have a shot with her. So I talked to someone about . . . everything." Z cursed again and slashed his hand through the air. "And no, not some white coat at Havers's. Someone I trusted. Someone who was part of the family--who I knew wouldn't see me as dirty or weak or some shit."
Who, John mouthed.
"Mary." Z exhaled. "Rhage's Mary. We had the sessions down in the boiler room under the kitchen. Two chairs. Right next to the furnace. It helped then and I still go back to her from time to time."
John could see the logic instantly. Mary had that kind, calm thing going on--which explained how she'd been able to tame not only the wildest Brother, but the son of a bitch's inner beast.
"That scream tonight . . . John, if you want to mate this female, you gotta help her with that. She needs to talk about her shit because if she doesn't, sure as fuck it's going to rot her from the inside out. And I spoke with Mary just now--without using any names. She's gotten her counseling degree and she said she's ready to work with someone. If you get a chance and the time is right with Xhex . . . tell her about this. Tell her to go talk to Mary." As Z rubbed his skull trim, the nipple rings he wore stood out in sharp relief under his black muscle shirt. "And if you want a testimonial, I can tell you on the life of my daughter that your female will be in good hands."
Thank you, John signed. Yeah, I'll totally say something to her. Jesus . . . thank you.
"No problem."
Abruptly, John locked eyes with Zsadist.
As the two held stares, it was hard not to feel part of a unique club that no one would ever volunteer to be associated with. Membership wasn't sought or desirable or something to crow about . . . but it was real and it was powerful: Survivors of similar wrecks could see the horrors of those jagged shoals in the eyes of others. It was like recognizing like. It was two people with the same tattoo on their insides, the divide of a trauma that separated them from the rest of the planet unexpectedly bringing a pair of weary souls closer together.