He clapped a hand on the guy’s chin and pushed that handsome mug high. After giving a surprisingly thick chest a mammogram, Rhage slapped his way down and honked Throe’s junk so hard, the guy sang a high C.
“I beg your pardon!”
“Nothing in there. Not a surprise.”
Down the thighs. The calves. Back up to eye level.
“Here are the rules. If you make any move toward my King, in any fashion, that I don’t like? You’ll be dead before you hit the floor. Do we understand each other?”
“I’ve come here in peace. I’m through with fighting—”
“Do we have an understanding? If you so much as sneeze on him, try to shake his hand, or look twice at his fucking shitkickers? I’m going to put paid on your toe tag.”
“Are you always so extreme?”
“This is calm, cool, and collected, you little bitch. You don’t want to see me pissed off.”
Rhage shoved the guy toward the door, opened the way out, and locked a hand on the back of Throe’s neck.
“I can walk on my own,” the male drawled.
“Can you? You sure about that?”
Rhage switched his grip around so that he crushed the male’s face in his palm, leading Throe by that collection of eyes, nose, and mouth.
“This working for you better? No? Huh, guess you should have STFU’d.”
As he deliberately kept Throe’s balance off, he enjoyed the Fred Astaire routine as the guy tap-danced past Abalone and entered the library.
“Oh, this is going so well already,” V muttered as he lit up a hand-rolled.
“At least there wasn’t barbecue sauce involved,” the cop tossed back.
“Yet.” V exhaled. “The night is still young.”
Rhage cleared his throat. “My lord and ruler, Wrath, son of Wrath, blooded father of Wrath, I present you with Throe, Piece of Shit.”
On that note, he gave the male a good shove in the direction of the Oriental rug, and what do you know. Ass over teakettle and the motherfucker was where he belonged.
At the foot of the one true King.
FIFTEEN
“No, I’ve got her, thanks.”
As Trez spoke, he shot a smile at Ehlena because he didn’t want the nurse to be offended as he shooed her away. But the truth was, he was beyond ready to be the one who got Selena out of the exam room. Away from the training center. Off to … somewhere, anywhere else.
Although that wasn’t going to happen. Barely two hours ago she’d flatlined, been hit by two billion joules of electricity in the chesticular region, and then somehow managed to come back from the brink thanks to him pulling a living, breathing soul-blanket routine.
Oh, you know, just another day in the life.
Or was it night?
Who the fuck knew.
“You ready?” he asked Selena.
It seemed like something out of a dreamscape that she actually looked into his eyes and nodded. He would never have guessed the reconnection was possible—or the fact that her body actually bent as it was supposed to between the holds he put under her knees and at her shoulders.
“I’ll be … gentle.” As his voice cracked, he wanted to kick his own ass. “Nice and slow.”
She nodded again, and then gasped as he lifted her off the examining table and moved her out from under the multi-light chandelier that had been pulled down close to her body.
“Which way?” he asked again, even though he’d already been told twice.
Ehlena, who was in charge of holding the IV bag, led the way to a door. “Here.”
On the far side, the recovery room was nothing he wanted for his female. The bed was a hospital one with big handrails running down both sides, and blankets that were thin, and sheets that were plain and white. There was an IV pole set up to hang the bag and a lot of monitoring equipment. The pillows looked hard.
Then again, he could have been laying her on a handmade feather bed and even that would have been inadequate.
Selena shuddered as he put her down carefully. And then, when he went to try to get the covers out from under her, she closed her eyes and shook her head.
“A minute?” she groaned, like everything hurt.
“Yeah. Sure. Of course.”
Annnnnnnnnnnnd now he had nothing to do. Looking around, he spotted a chair and figured at least if his ass were in it, he wasn’t crowding her.
As he sat down, and Ehlena left them to whatever small peace they could find, he thought, Shit, Selena was so still. But at least her joints were at seminormal angles, and she was breathing on her own. And she was conscious.
She was still very pale, though. Nearly the color of the sheets. And even though her hair had been smoothed, it had knots in the dark lengths.
“I’m … sorry…”