The good-bye-ing was considerably less friendly on Qhuinn's side, but again Saxton didn't seem to give a damn or didn't notice--the latter being hard to believe.
"Will you excuse me," Blay said, to no one in particular.
He left the restaurant by himself, and when he stepped out under the porte cochere, he lit up a cigarette and leaned back against the cool brick, bracing the sole of one boot on the building.
He took the card out as he smoked. Thick, creamy stock. Engraved, not embossed--naturally. Black, old- school font. As he lifted the thing to his nose, he could smell that cologne.
Nice. Very nice. Qhuinn didn't believe in the stuff . . . so he just smelled like leather and sex most of the time.
As he tucked the card inside his jacket, he took another drag and exhaled long and slow. He wasn't used to being looked at. Or approached. He was always the one doing the focusing and Qhuinn had been the target for as long as he could remember.
The doors burst open and his boys walked out.
"Man, I hate cigarette smoke," Qhuinn muttered, waving away the cloud that had just been exhaled.
Blay extinguished his Dunhill on his boot heel and tucked the half-finished length into his pocket. "Where we off to?"
The Xtreme Park, John signed. The one close to the river. And they've given us another lead, which is going to take a couple of days to set up.
"Isn't that park in gang territory?" Blay asked. "Aren't there a lot of police around?"
"Why worry about the cops?" Qhuinn laughed in a hard burst. "If we get into trouble with the CPD, Saxton can always come bail us out. Right?"
Blay glanced over, and this time, he should have braced himself. Qhuinn's blue-and-green stare was boring into him and, as it registered, that old, familiar thrill licked into his chest.
God . . . this was who he loved, he thought. And always would.
It was the thrust of that stubborn jaw, and the dark, slashing eyebrows, and those piercings up his ear and in his full lower lip. It was that thick, glossy black hair and the golden skin and that heavily muscled body. It was the way he laughed and the fact that he never, ever cried. It was the scars on his inside no one knew about and the conviction that he would always be the first to run into a burning building or a bloody fight or a car wreck.
It was all the things Qhuinn had been and was ever going to be.
But things were never going to change.
"What's not going to change?" Qhuinn said with a frown.
Oh, shit. He'd spoken aloud. "Nothing. Are we going, John?"
John glanced back and forth between them. Then nodded. We've only got three hours before daylight. Let's hustle.
SIX
"I love the way you look at me."
From over in the opposite corner of the bedroom, Xhex made no reply to the words Lash spoke. From the way he was collapsed in front of the bureau, with one of his shoulders higher than the other, she thought it was entirely possible she had dislocated his upper arm. And that wasn't his only injury. Black blood dripped off his chin from the split lip she'd given him and he was going to walk with a limp after she'd bitten him in the thigh.
His eyes roamed over her and she didn't bother to cover herself with her hands. If he was up for round two, she needed every ounce of strength she had left. And besides, modesty mattered only if you gave a shit about your body and she'd long ago lost that connection.
"Do you believe in love at first sight?" he asked. With a grunt, he pushed himself up off the floor, and he needed the edge of the dresser for support as he did some experimentation with that arm of his.
"Do you?" he prompted.
"No."
"Cynical." He gimped over to the archway that led into the bathroom. Standing in between the jambs, he braced one hand against the wall, faced off to the left, and took a deep breath.
With a slam, he put his upper arm back into its socket and the crack and curse were loud. As he sagged afterward, his breath coming in hard draws, the cuts on his face left black smudges of lesser blood on the white molding. Turning toward her, he smiled.
"Care for a shower with me?" When she stayed silent, he shook his head. "No? Pity."
He disappeared into the marble expanse and after a moment, water came on.
It was only after she could hear him washing himself and smelled the fragrance of that milled soap that she carefully rearranged her legs and arms.
No weakness. She showed him no weakness. And it wasn't just about wanting to appear strong so he would think twice about tangoing with her again. Her nature refused to relent to him or anyone else. She would die fighting.
It was just how she was hardwired: She was invincible--and that wasn't her ego talking. The sum of her experience was, no matter what was done to her, she could handle it.