Lover Avenged

FORTY-EIGHT

Xhex was glad the human mind was clay: It didn’t take long for José de la Cruz ’s brain to register the command she gave, and as soon as it did, he put his cold coffee into a cup holder and started the unmarked car.

Over among the trees, Grady stopped his zombie march, looking like he was shocked as shit that the sedan had even been there. She wasn’t worried the guy would lose his nerve, though. Aching loss and desperation and regret filled out the airspace around him and that grid would soon call him forward to the fresh gravestone with greater resolve than any thoughts she could plant into the fucker’s frontal lobe.

Xhex waited as he waited…and sure enough, as soon as de la Cruz was gone, those boots that were meant for walking got back in the game, carrying Grady right where she wanted him.

As he came up to the granite marker, a choked sound left his mouth and it was the first sob of many. Like a pussy, he started to weep, his breath frothing in white clouds as he crouched down over where the woman he’d killed was going to spend the next century decomposing.

If he liked Chrissy so much, why didn’t he think of that before he snuffed her.

Xhex stepped out from behind an oak and let her masking go, revealing herself to the landscape. As she approached Chrissy’s murderer, she reached around to the small of her back and unsheathed the stainless-steel blade that she nicely holstered along her spine. The weapon was as long as her forearm.

“Hi, Grady,” she said.

Grady flipped himself around like he’d taken a stick of dynamite up the ass and was hoping to extinguish the wick in the snow.

Xhex kept the knife behind her thigh. “How you doing?”

“What…” He looked for both of her hands. When he saw only one, he crabbed away from her on his hands and feet, butt dragging over the ground.

Xhex followed, keeping a good yard between them. Going by the way Grady kept glancing over his shoulder, he was getting ready to do a roll and bolt, and she was going to stay in idle until he-

Bingo.

Grady lunged to the left, but she fell upon him, catching his wrist at the top of its arc and letting his momentum carry him against her hold. He ended up facedown with his arm cranked behind his back, completely at her mercy. Which of course she’d been born without. In a quick slash, she knifed across one of his triceps, slicing through thick, fluffy parka and thin, soft skin.

It was just to get him distracted, and it worked. He howled and went to cover the wound.

Which gave her plenty of time to grab his left boot and wrench it until he didn’t care so much about what the hell was up with his arm. Grady cried out and tried to relieve the pressure by shifting around, but she planted a knee on the small of his back and kept him in place as she broke his ankle by twisting it until it snapped. Quick dismount and another slash and she incapacitated his other side by slicing the tendons of his thigh.

Cut the whining in half.

As Grady was tackled by pain, he lost his breath and quieted down-until she started pulling him over to the grave. He struggled the way he cried, though, with more noise than effect. Once he was where she wanted him, she slit the tendons in his other arm so that as much as he would have loved to bat away her hands, he couldn’t. Then she flipped him over so he had a good view of heaven and hauled up his parka.

She went for his belt at the same time she showed him her knife.

Men were funny. No matter how out of it they were, you got something long, sharp, and shiny anywhere near their primary brain and you got fireworks.

“No…!”

“Oh, yes.” She brought the blade close to his face. “Very much yes.”

He fought hard even with the pick-apart wounds she’d given, and she paused to enjoy the show.

“You’re going to be dead before I leave you,” she said as he flopped around. “But you and me are going to spend some quality time together before I take off. Not a lot, mind you. I have to go back to work. Good thing I’m quick.”

She put her boot on his sternum to immobilize him, popped his button and fly, and yanked his pants down his thighs. “How long did it take for you to kill her, Grady? How long?”

In full panic, he moaned and thrashed, his blood staining the white snow red.

“How long, motherfucker?” She sliced through the waistband of his Emporio Armani boxers. “How long did she suffer?”

A moment later, Grady screamed so loudly, the sound wasn’t even human; it was more the pealing cry of a black crow.

Xhex paused and looked over at the statue of the robed woman she’d spent so much time staring at during Chrissy’s service. For a moment, the stone face seemed to have changed position, the lovely female looking not up to God, but across at Xhex.

Except that just wasn’t possible, was it.

As Wrath stood behind his wall of Brothers, his ears tracked the distant sounds of the front door to Sal’s opening and closing, isolating the subtle turn of hinges in between Sinatra’s scooby-dooby-doos. Whatever they were waiting for had just shown up, and his body, his senses, his heart all downshifted like he was approaching a tight curve and preparing to power through.

His eyes cranked into better focus, the red room and the white table and the backs of his brothers’ heads becoming slightly clearer as iAm reappeared in the archway.

An extremely well-dressed male was with him.

Right, that guy had glymera stamped all over his natty ass. With his wavy blond hair parted on the side, he was rocking The Great Gatsby, his face so perfectly proportioned and balanced that he was downright beautiful. His black wool coat was tailored to fit a lean body, and in his hand, he carried a thin document case.

Wrath had never seen him before, but he seemed young for the situation he’d just walked into. Very young.

Nothing but a very expensive sacrificial lamb with a lot of style.

Rehvenge stalked over to the kid, the symphath palming his cane as if he might unsheathe the sword inside of it if Gatsby so much as took a deep breath. “You better start talking. Now.”

Wrath stepped forward, shouldering between Rhage and Z, neither of whom was too happy about the position change. A quick slash of the hand stopped them from trying to maneuver in front of him.

“What’s your name, son?” Last thing they needed was a dead body, and with Rehv nothing was ever certain.

The Gatsby lamb bowed somberly and straightened. When he spoke, it was in a voice that was surprisingly deep and sure, considering the number of auto-loaders trained on his chest. “I am Saxton, son of Tyhm.”

“I’ve seen your name before. You prepare bloodline reports.”

“I do.”

So, the council was really reaching down the bloodlines, weren’t they? Not even the son of a council member.

“Who sent you, Saxton?”

“A dead man’s lieutenant.”

Wrath had no clue how the glymera had taken Montrag’s death and he didn’t care. As long as the message was out to anyone else in on the plot, that was all that mattered. “Why don’t you say your piece.”

The male put his case on the table and released the gold clip. The instant he did, Rehv pulled his red sword free and placed the point right against a pale throat. Saxton froze and looked around without moving his head.

“You might want to move slowly, son,” Wrath murmured. “Lot of trigger-happy boys in this room, and you’re everyone’s favorite bull’s-eye tonight.”

That oddly deep and even voice spoke in measured words. “That’s why I told him we had to do this.”

“Do what.” This came from Rhage, always the hothead-Rehv’s sword notwithstanding, Hollywood was ready to jump on Gatsby whether or not any kind of weapon came out of those leather folds.

Saxton glanced at Rhage, then went back to focusing on Wrath. “The day after Montrag was assassinated-”

“Interesting word choice,” Wrath drawled, wondering how much this guy knew, exactly.

“Of course it was an assassination. When you’re murdered, usually you still have your eyes left in your skull.”

Rehv smiled, revealing a matched set of oral daggers. “That depends on your murderer.”

“Go on,” Wrath prompted. “And, Rehv, relax with that sharpie of yours, if you don’t mind.”

The symphath backed off a little, but kept his weapon out, and Saxton eyed the guy before continuing. “The night Montrag was assassinated, this was delivered to my boss.” Saxton opened his document case and took out a manila envelope. “It was from Montrag.”

He put the thing facedown on the table to show that the wax seal had not been broken and stepped away.

Wrath looked at the envelope. “V, you mind doing the honors?”

V came forward and picked the thing up with his gloved hand. There was a soft tear and then a quiet whisper of papers sliding out.

Silence.

V replaced the documents, tucked the envelope into his waistband at the small of his back, and stared at Gatsby. “We supposed to think you didn’t read this?”

“I didn’t. My boss didn’t. No one has since the chain of custody fell to him and me.”

“Chain of custody? You a lawyer and not just a paralegal?”

“I’m apprenticing to be an attorney in the Old Law.”

V leaned in and bared his fangs. “You are certain you did not read this, true?”

Saxton stared back at the Brother as if he were momentarily fascinated by the tattoos on V’s temple. After a moment, he shook his head and spoke in that low voice. “I’m not interested in joining a list of people who’ve been found dead and eyeless on their carpets. Neither is my boss. The seal on that was made by Montrag’s hand. Whatever he put in there hasn’t been read since he let that hot wax drip.”

“How you know it was Montrag who stuffed this?”

“It’s his handwriting on the front. I know because I’ve seen a lot of his notes on documents. Plus it was brought to us by his personal doggen at his request.”

As Saxton talked, Wrath read the male’s emotions carefully, breathing through his nose. No deceit. Conscience was clean. Flyboy was attracted to V, but other than that? There was nothing. Not even fear. He was cautious, but calm.

“If you’re lying,” V said softly, “we will find out and find you.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second.”

“What do you know, the lawyer has a brain.” Vishous stepped back in line, palm returning to the butt of his gun.

Wrath wanted to know what was in the envelope, but he gathered that whatever was in there wasn’t suitable for mixed company. “So where are your boss and his buddies, Saxton.”

“None of them are coming.” Saxton looked at the empty chairs. “They’re all terrified. After what happened to Montrag, they are locked in their houses and staying there.”

Good, Wrath thought. With the glymera displaying their talent for being cowards, he had one less thing to worry about.

“Thanks for coming, son.”

Saxton took the dismissal for exactly what it was, reclipping his briefcase, bowing once again, and turning to go.

“Son?”

Saxton stopped and pivoted all the way around. “My lord?”

“You had to talk your boss into this, didn’t you.” Discreet silence was the response. “Then you give good advice, and I believe you-as far as you know, neither you nor your employer peeked in there and saw whatever it is. Word to the wise, though. I would find a new job. Things are going to get worse before they’re better, and desperation makes shits out of even the most honorable of people. They’ve already sent you into the lion’s mouth once. They will do it again.”

Saxton smiled. “You ever need a personal lawyer, let me know. After all the trusts and estates and bloodline training I’ve had since this summer, I’m looking to branch out.”

Another bow and the guy left with iAm, his head high and his stride even.

“What have you got there, V?” Wrath asked quietly.

“Nothing good, my lord. Nothing good.”

As Wrath’s vision dulled to its normal, unfocused uselessness, the last thing he saw with any clarity was V’s icy eyes shifting over and locking on Rehvenge.