FORTY-SEVEN

As the Brotherhood household gathered for Last Meal in the grand dining room, Mary went over and sat next to Marissa. “You mind if we talk a little shop before we eat?”

Marissa put her wineglass down and nodded with a glowing smile. “I’m sorry I left work early tonight, but Butch took me out for a date.”

“Oh, you guys deserve it! Where’d you go?”

“Nowhere special. Just a pizza place in the suburbs. He was right—it was the best pepperoni-and-onion I’ve ever had. He’s helping V unpack some supplies and then he’ll be here just for the conversation as I am. It was so good to just have a little time off together, you know?”

“Totally. Rhage and I are going out tomorrow night, actually.” Mary cleared her throat. “Which is part of what I need to talk to you about. I’ve finally made a breakthrough with Bitty.”

“You did?” Marissa leaned in for a quick hug. “I knew you could do it! That’s wonderful. There’s so much for her to process.”

“Yes.” Mary eased back. “But there’s something I want to have checked out. Medically, that is. It’s not emergent or anything . . . it’s just that she’s thirteen, not nine.”

As Marissa’s brows jumped in surprise, the female murmured, “Are you sure?”

Mary went into everything, including what Bitty had said about her mom telling her to lie about her age, and the visit to the grave site and the supermarket.

Marissa frowned. “You took her to your mother’s grave?”

“She wanted to see it. She asked to. Her treatment is going to have to involve more than just sitting in a chair talking. She’s incredibly intelligent, but she’s led a life that has been so remote, so full of violence that if she’s got any hope of getting through her grieving in one piece and transitioning into the world, she’s going to need exposure.”

“There are group field trips to accomplish things like that.”

“She’d never been to a supermarket before.” As Marissa recoiled, Mary nodded. “She didn’t know what automatic doors were. She’d never seen downtown. She didn’t tell me at the time, but when Rhage and I took her for ice cream last night? She’d never been in a restaurant or a café before.”

“I had no idea.”

“No one did.” Mary looked at the thirty-foot-long dining room table with all its finery. “She and her mother kept quiet because they were afraid. And the thing is, I’m worried about Bitty’s health. I know that she had treatment at Havers’s for that broken leg, and there was a work-up at that point. But that was a while ago. I want someone to take a look at her sometime soon, and I want to bring her to the clinic here, not to Havers’s.”

As Marissa started to protest, Mary put her hand up. “Hear me out. Her mother just died there. You think she needs to head back to that facility anytime soon? And yes, it can wait a month or two, but you’ve seen how frail she is. Even if you assume vampires are under-developed compared to humans of similar age until the change, she’s alarmingly small. Ehlena has a great background with young vampires, Doc Jane has a perfect bedside manner, and we can easily bring Bitty into the training center, do the work-up there, and take her out again as soon as it’s over.”

Marissa fiddled with her fork. “I can see the logic.”

“We can even do it tomorrow night if Doc Jane has some time. We’re taking Bitty to dinner with us.”

“You and Rhage?”

“It’s just like the ice cream trip. She really likes him.” Mary smiled. “She calls him a big friendly dog.”

Marissa’s frown did not inspire confidence. And neither did the period of silence that was filled with talk from other people as folks filed into the room in pairs and small groups.

“Marissa. I know what I’m doing here. And more to the point, the proof that I’m on the right track with her is the fact that she’s finally opening up. She’s been with us for how long?”

“Look, I’m not qualified to tell you how to do your job—and I guess that’s my problem. I’m a manager, I make the trains run on time. I do not have a master’s in social work—so I’d like to talk to some of the others. You’re very good at your job, and I can’t argue with the results, especially in Bitty’s case. But I don’t want you to get in over your head—and I’m a little worried about that.”

“How so?” Mary put her hands up. “I admit I might have treated the situation with her mother’s passing in a different way if I’d known—”

“You’re taking an orphan out for ice cream. To your mother’s grave site. To dinner with your mate. You don’t think there’s a possibility that you’re doing this for reasons that are personal in nature?”

* * *

“Lemme see. Come on, lemme see.”

Out in front of the mansion, Rhage elbowed Butch’s body to the side so he could check out what was in the back of the Hummer. When he got a gander at the display of hardware, he laughed under his breath.

“Not bad.” He picked up one of the Glock autoloaders out of its egg-carton padding and ran a check on it, popping out the clip, pumping the trigger, assessing the weight and sight. “How many did you get?”

V popped a second steel briefcase. “There are another eight in here. Sixteen total.”

“What was the price?” Butch demanded as he snagged another weapon and put it through the same workout.

“Ten thousand.” V opened a black nylon duffel and showed off the boxes of ammo. “There’s no discount on them, but there are also no numbers, and we didn’t have to worry about dealing with legit human channels.”

Rhage nodded. “Fritz has got to be on some kind of watch list by now.”

“What else can we get from them?” Butch asked as he palmed up a third, the sound of metal-on-metal rising from his quick hands.

“Like they have a catalog or some shit?” V shrugged. “I’m thinking ask and ye shall receive.”

“Can we BOGO some rocket launchers?” Rhage asked. “Or, I’m telling you, we could use some anti-aircraft guns.”

Butch punched Rhage’s biceps. “If he gets anti-aircraft, I want a cannon.”

“You two are a pair of fuck sticks, you know that?”

Rhage took the duffel with the ammo, and Butch took the two suitcases so V could lock up and light up. They were about halfway across the cobblestones when V hesitated. Wobbled. Shook his head.

“What’s doing?” Butch asked.

“Nothing.” The brother kept going, taking the stone steps two at a time and opening the vestibule’s door. As he put his puss in the security camera, he muttered, “Just hungry.”

“I feel you on that one.” Rhage rubbed his belly. “I need food stat.”

The comment was casual. The look he and Butch shared was not. The reality, however, was that even Brothers could be hypoglycemic, and not everything was an emergency. Going by the cop’s grim expression, he was going to be on it, though, when he and V went back to the Pit for the day.

“Where you want this stuff, V? In the tunnel?”

When Vishous nodded, Rhage took the suitcases from Butch and walked the load behind the grand staircase to the hidden door to the tunnel. Unlocking things by entering the code, he placed the load of metal and lead on the landing and triple-checked that things re-locked as he shut the panel once again. With Nalla crawling, nobody took any chances with guns or ammo, even when the shit was separated.

Doubling back, he headed for the dining room.

Inside the beautiful space, there was lots of chatter and laughing, with people everywhere, and doggen making sure drinks were served before they brought out the food. Mary was over by Marissa, and at first Rhage started to go around to them, but then he caught the tension and backed off, taking his normal chair across the way.

Meanwhile, Mary was leaning into her boss, speaking urgently. Marissa nodded. Then shook her head. Then spoke. And now it was Mary’s turn again.

Had to be about work.

Maybe even about Bitty?

Manny pulled up a chair. “How we doing, young man?”

“Hey, old fart. Where’s your better half?”

“Payne’s having a lie-down. I tired her out, if you get what I mean.”

The two pounded knuckles, and then Rhage went back to trying to look as if he weren’t lip-reading. Which, P.S., wasn’t going that well.

“Cabbage nightmare, juicing machine cassette player,” Mary said.

“Movie magic twelve times a day.” Marissa took a sip from her wineglass. “Then tennis with the can-can. Peanuts and Philly steak, bagel bagel cream cheese.”

“Saran wrap?”

“Toothpaste.”

“Garage bay, Christmas bikini wannabe Grape Nuts with Dr Pepper.”

“Fuck me,” he muttered. And considering how many food references his brain was pulling out of their mouth positions, he was so ready to eat.

Mary eventually got up and the two nodded. Then his shellan came around to him.

“You okay?” he asked as he pulled out her chair.

“Oh, yes. Yes.” She smiled at him and then sat down and stared at her empty plate. “Sorry. I’m just . . .”

“What can I do to help?”

Turning to him, she rubbed her face. “Tell me that everything’s going to be okay?”

Rhage pulled her into his lap and ran his palm up and down her outer thigh. “I promise you. Everything is going to be fine. Whatever it is, we’ll make it fine.”

The doggen of the house filed in with silver trays of roast beef and potatoes, chicken and rice, and some steaming veggies and sauces. As Mary shifted back onto her own seat, he was bummed, but he understood where she was coming from. He would just end up feeding her until she was stuffed while he starved—and then he would wolf everything that wasn’t nailed down before dessert came.

They’d been through this before.

“Sire,” a doggen said behind him. “There is a special preparation for you.”

Even though he was worried about his Mary, Rhage clapped his palms and rubbed them. “Fantastic. I’m ready to eat this entire table.”

A second member of the staff removed his charger and pushed his silverware setting wide. Then a large silver platter with a cloche was placed in front of him.

“Wassup, Hollywood?” someone said. “Our food not good enough for you?”

“Yo, Rhage, you get your own cow or something?”

“I thought you were on Jenny Craig,” another voice called out.

“I think he’s eating Jenny Craig—and that shit is just wrong. Humans are not food.”

He gave everyone the middles, and popped the lid—

“Oh, come on!” he barked as laughter exploded in the air. “Seriously? You guys are serious. Really.”

A snorkel and a diving mask had been arranged with care on a porcelain platter, little sprigs of parsley and lemon wedges tucked in around the edges.

Mary started laughing, and the only thing that saved his brothers was that she threw her arms around his meatheaded neck and kissed him.

“That’s a good one,” she said against his mouth. “Come on, you know it is.”

“You flood one goddamn bathroom, and suddenly, it’s a theme—”

“Shh, just kiss me, okay?”

He was still grumbling, but he did what his shellan told him to. It was either that or ruin his appetite . . . . by commiting murder.

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