Hollywood's voice was hollow. "Nah, V, let him go. Just let him go . . . he already hates Lash enough for a lifetime."
V's stare flashedas if he were going to argue, but then he took a hand-rolled out of his jacket and stepped aside with a curse.
With the back of his neck as tight as a fist, John burst through the door and skidded to a halt. The sadness in the room was a tangible threshold he had to breach, his body penetrating the cold wall of desolation only because he forced his feet forward.
She had been kept here.
Xhex had been kept here . . . and hurt here.
His lips parted and he breathed through his mouth as his eyes traced the scratches on the walls. There were legions of them, along with black stains . . . and other dried blood.
Which was a deep, purpley red.
John went over and ran his hands down one gouge that was so deep, the silk wallpaper had given way to the lath and plaster beneath.
His inhales grew sharper and his exhales shorter as he went around the room. The bed was an absolute mess, the pillows scattered to the floor, the duvet a tangle. . . .
There was blood on it.
Reaching out, he picked up one of the pillows and held it gently. Bringing it to his nose, he inhaled . . . and caught a stronger version of what he dreamed of every night: Xhex's scent.
His knees weakened and he went down like a stone through still water, collapsing by the side of the mattress. Burying his face into the softness, he drew her into him, her fragrance lingering like a memory, at once tangible and elusive.
She had been here. Recently.
He glanced at the bloodied sheets. The bloodied walls.
He was too late.
John's face grew wet and he felt something drip off his chin, but he didn't give a shit. He was consumed with the thought that he'd come so close to saving her . . . but just not arrived soon enough.
The sob that breached his throat actually made a sound.
For all of her life, Xhex's heart had not been prone to breaking. She'd long suspected that it was a result of her symphath side, a kind of congenital condition that hardened her about things that most females lost it over.
Turned out that was wrong, however.
As she stood beside John Matthew, and watched his huge body crumple down by the bed, the organ that beat behind her sternum shattered like a mirror.
Nothing but shards.
She was utterly and completely ruined as he cradled that pillow like it was a newborn, and in this moment of his utter despair, she would have done anything to ease his pain: Even though she had no idea why he felt the way he so clearly did, the reasons were unimportant.
His suffering was paramount.
Weakened herself, she knelt down next to him, her eyes sending the tragic image he cut straight into the core of her brain.
It felt like centuries since she had seen him, and God, he was still so beautiful--even more than she remembered in her quiet moments. With his strong, hard profile and his extraordinary blue eyes, his face was that of a warrior, and he had the huge body to match, his shoulders making three of hers. All his clothes were leather except for the T-shirt under his jacket and his hair was essentially shaved off, like he'd stopped giving a shit and was cutting it with a buzz razor.
There was lesser blood down the front of his jacket and on his shirt.
He had killed tonight. And maybe that was why he'd found her.
Well, almost found her.
"John?" a male voice said softly.
She looked over toward the doorway, even if he did not. Qhuinn was standing with the Brothers Rhage and Vishous, having just joined them.
In an absent way, she noted the shock on the Brothers' faces--and got the sense that they hadn't guessed there'd been any serious connection between her and John. They knew it now though. Loud and clear.
As Qhuinn stepped inside and approached the bed, his tone continued to be gentle. "John, we've been here for a half hour. If we're going to interrogate that lesser downstairs about her, we need to move him pretty damn quick. We don't want to do it here and I know you want to be in charge of things."
Oh, God . . . no . . .
"Take me with you," Xhex whispered desperately. "Please . . . don't leave me here."
Abruptly, John glanced up at her, as if he heard her plea.
Except no, he was just staring through her to his friend.
As he nodded, she memorized his face, knowing that it was the last time she'd see him. When Lash found out about the break-in, he'd either kill her outright or move her somewhere else--and chances were good she wouldn't survive long enough to be found again.
Lifting her hand, even though it would do no good, she laid it on the side of John's face and swept her thumb back and forth over the tracks of his tears. She imagined she could almost feel the warmth of his skin and the wetness on his cheeks.
She would have given anything to be able to take him into her arms and hold him close. More still to go with him.