John took off after Xhex the instant she left the group and started running. He didn't like the independent thinking or her direction--she was heading into an alley where no one knew whether there was an exit or a brick wall at the end.
He caught up with her, taking her arm to get her attention. Which got him exactly nowhere. She didn't stop.
Where are you going? he tried to sign, but it was tough to do that to a person who was ignoring you while you were gunning full tilt. . . .
He would have whistled but that was too easy to ignore, so he tried again to get her arm, but she shook him off, focused solely on a destination he could neither see nor sense. Finally, he just jumped in front of her and blocked her way; then forced her to see his hands.
Where the hell are you going?
"I can feel him. . . Lash. He's close. "
John went for his dagger as he mouthed, Where?
She jogged around him and resumed her pursuit, and as he followed, Tohr fell in step with them. When the others started to come along, John shook his head and motioned for them to stay put. Additional support in the field was a smart thing, but too many weapons in this sitch were not a value- add: He was going to take Lash out, and the last thing he needed was more trigger-happy fingers pointed at his target.
Tohr understood, though. He knew viscerally why John had to avenge his female. And Qhuinn had to come along. But that was it, no more cups and saucers welcome at the tea party.
John stuck close to Xhex--who seemed to have chosen wisely when it came to alleys. Instead of a dead end, the uneven lane rolled around to the right and wheedled in between other vacant warehouses as it headed down to the river. He knew they were getting really close to the water when the smell of dead fish and algae wafted up into his nose and the air seemed to grow colder.
They found the black Mercedes AMG parked in front of a fire hydrant. The sedan stank of lesser, and as Xhex looked around as if searching for the next directive, John wasn't in the mood to wait.
He curled up a fist and punched out the front windshield.
The alarm went apeshit, and he glanced into the interior. There was some kind of oily residue on the steering wheel, and the cream leather was trashed with stains--he was damn sure the inky ones were lesser blood. . . and that rusty-colored shit was human. Jesus, the backseat looked as if it had been hit with a spastic cat, the scratches so deep in places, the stuffing underneath was showing.
John frowned, remembering back to training-center days. Lash had always been so particular about his stuff, from the clothes he wore to the way his locker was organized.
Maybe this wasn't his car?
"This is his," Xhex said, placing her palms on the hood. "I can smell him everywhere. Engine's still warm. I don't know where he is, though. "
John snarled at the thought of the guy getting so close to his female that she knew him by nose. Fucking bastard son of a bitch--
Just as his anger was getting away from him, Tohr grabbed him by the back of the neck and gave him a shake. "Deep breath. "
"He's got to be around here. . . . " Xhex looked at the building in front of them and then glanced up and down the alley they were in.
When John felt a burning pain in his left hand, he brought up his arm. His grip on his dagger had tightened so hard, the handle was creaking in protest.
His eyes slipped to Tohr's.
"You're going to get him," the Brother whispered. "Don't you worry about that. "
Lash half-expected Benloise's men to pop some shit as he faced off at the pair of thick necks. He was separated from them by about ten yards of cold air, and everyone had their twitch on.
As he looked them over, he hoped they did John Wayne it and try something. The two thugs would have made an excellent addition to his growing stable--they knew the trade and had obviously earned their stripes under Benloise: there were a lot of kilos in those metal suitcases they had in their hands, but the humans were coolheaded and calm.
Armed to the teeth, too.
Just like Lash. Goddamn, it was a real Lead Rave here with all the guns and ammo--and wasn't he going to feel a whole lot better after there was less of him to get shot at. Shadow was better than flesh, anytime.
"Here's the art," the guy on the left said as he hefted the cases. "Sir. "
Ah, yes, the one who'd watched the shit roll out with Benloise. Explained why they were both being so polite.
"Let's see what you got," Lash murmured, keeping the muzzle of his forty trained on them. "And let's have your hands stay nice and visible. "
The flash of goods was efficient and satisfactory, the pair working together with the shuffle and reveal.