Detritus littered the floor: Empty ammo boxes that suggested they had both shotguns and forties. Dead-soldier bottles of Jack and Jim. Hannaford plastic bags filled with crushed protein-bar wrappers and Motrin bottles with the lids off and wads of surgical gauze marked with dried blood. An open Papa John’s box had a single slice left in it—that was cold, but not moldy.
“They do not live here anymore,” V said.
“And they up and left fast,” Rhage muttered as he poked at another Hannaford bag with the steel tip of his shitkicker.
There wasn’t a single backpack. Duffel. Piece of luggage. And although he wouldn’t have counted the Band of Bastards as any kind of Town & Country types with the personal effects, there wasn’t even a stray sock, backup set of combat boots, or a fucking comb left behind.
As Rhage came around to the base of the stairs, he felt his phone vibrate in the inside pocket of his leather jacket. No checking the thing, though. He wasn’t about to get goat-fucked in this shell of a house, and the farther he and his brother went in, the greater the chances that they’d run into something that could cost them an arm. A leg.
Their lives.
That was the reality of their jobs, and something he accepted, because one, he wasn’t about to let nobody push around his race or its King, whether it was a bunch of shitty-smelling slayers or Xcor’s circle of douches. And two, it wasn’t like he was suited to do anything else.
Well, other than eat and fuck, and God knew he took care of business on those two fronts very, very well during his time off.
Hell, even with all the high alert going on here, in the back of his mind, he was already counting down the hours until he could get his Mary really fucking naked.
Nights like tonight made him think fondly of going down on her for about seven hours straight.
Shaking himself back into focus, he approached the base of the stairs.
“I’m going up,” he told his brother.
“Wait for me.”
But of course, he didn’t. He just headed on up, one foot after the other after the other. Probably a stupid move, but he’d never been good at waiting.
Just not part of his nature.
SEVENTEEN
As Trez stood in the corner of Selena’s hospital room, he felt … shit, totally cornered.
He didn’t want to be angry with the female. For fuck’s sake, she’d nearly died in front of him.
“What?” she said. “What’s on your mind.”
The good news was that he had watched, over the last twenty minutes or so, as her coloring had returned in full, how her eyes were now sharp as tacks, as her body, though still stiff, was so much closer to normal.
The bad news was that her little dissertation there about the nature of his sex addiction and him trying to do right by her was not anything he was going to hear. And he prayed to God she didn’t keep pushing the subject.
“Selena, I think you need to rest.”
“Don’t tune me out, Trez.”
He shoved his hand across his head. Wished he had some long-ass hair like Wrath’s just so he had something to pull at. “Look, I don’t want to argue with you.”
“So tell me I’m wrong. Even though I don’t believe that. But say something. Anything.”
Trez grimaced and shook his head. “I’ma go now and—”
“Trez—”
“No, we’re not going to do this.”
“Why? If we have a thousand nights, what’s one awkward conversation.”
“This is a helluva lot more than awkward, sweetheart.” God, he could hear the sharpness in his own voice. Feel the ramp-up in his body. “Yeah, I think I’ll come back—”
“It’s still going to be here when you return.” She motioned between them with her hand, and for a moment, he was so damned grateful for the movement, he forgot what they were talking about. “Distance is not going to help this.”
His heart started to pound. Like he was afraid or some shit.
But that wasn’t what was happening.
Really. It wasn’t.
“What do you want me to say?” he muttered. “Give me the words and the inflection and I’ll do it. Anything to make this go away.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing.”
Long pause. “All right,” she said with defeat.
Oh, great. That made him feel soooo much better.
How had they traveled the distance between relief at her survival to all this tension so fast?
He wasn’t about to tell her about the news from the s’Hisbe. She had more than enough to worry about on her own, and he didn’t want her concerned that the Queen’s executioner was going to put him in chains and drag him back to the Territory at any moment.