Lover Avenged (Black Dagger Brotherhood 7)

God, it was like he'd read her mind.

"Your latte? Hello?"

"Sorry." She put her phone back, took what the guy held out to her, and thanked him.

"I double-cupped just like you wanted. The sleeve, too."

"Thanks."

"Hey, you work at one of the hospitals around here?" he said, eyeing her uniform.

"Private clinic. Thanks again."

She left quickly and didn't waste time getting into the ambulance. Back behind the wheel, she hit the locks on the doors, started the engine, and turned the heater on immediately, because the air coming out was still warm.

The latte was really good. Superhot. Tasted perfect.

She got her phone again and went into the received-calls log and fired up Rehvenge's number.

She took a deep breath and a long pull on the latte.

And hit send.

Destiny had a 518 area code. Who knew.

Chapter TWENTY

Lash parked the Mercedes 550 under one of Caldwell's bridges, the black sedan indistinguishable from the shadows thrown by the mammoth concrete supports. The digital clock on the dash told him that showtime was getting close.

Assuming there had been no f**kups.

As he waited, he thought about the meeting with the head of the symphaths. In retrospect, he really didn't like the way the guy made him feel. He f**ked chicks. Period. No guys. Ever.

That kind of shit was for c**k jockeys like John and his weak-ass crew.

Switching tracks in his mind, Lash smiled in the darkness, thinking he couldn't wait to reintroduce himself to those motherfuckers. In the beginning, right after he'd been brought back by his real father, he'd wanted to rush it. After all, John and his boys no doubt still hung out at ZeroSum, so finding them wouldn't be a problem. But timing was everything. Lash was still figuring shit out with this new life of his, and he wanted to be solid when he crushed John and killed Blay in front of Qhuinn, then slaughtered the f**ker who'd murdered him.

Timing mattered.

As if on cue, two cars pulled up between some pylons. The Ford Escort was the Lessening Society's, and the silver Lexus was Grady's wholesaler's car.

Sweet rims on the LS 600h. Very sweet.

Grady was the first to get out of the Escort, and when Mr. D and the other two lessers followed, it was like watching the evac of a clown car, given the amount of meat that had been stuffed inside.

As they approached the Lexus, two men wearing slick winter coats got out of the 600h. In sync, the human males both put their right hands into their jackets, and all Lash could think of was, Better guns than badges coming out of those breast pockets. If Grady had f**ked up and those were undercover cops pulling a modern day Crockett and Tubbs, things were going to get complicated.

But no...no CPD shields, just some conversation on the part of the coats, no doubt along the lines of, Who the f**k are those three ass-wipes you brought with you to a private business transaction?

Grady looked back at Mr. D with out-of-his-league panic, and the little Texan took the reins, stepping forward with an aluminum briefcase. After he put the case on the trunk of the Lexus, he popped it open to reveal what appeared to be stacks of hundred-dollar bills. In reality, they were just bundles of ones with a single Benji on the top of each stack. The coats looked down-

Pop. Pop.

Grady jumped back as the dealers hit the ground like mops, and his mouth opened wide as a toilet bowl. Before he could get a whole lot of oh-my-God-what-did-you-do rolling, Mr. D stepped up into his grille and bitch-slapped his lid shut.

The two slayers put their guns back into their leather jackets as Mr. D closed the suitcase, went around, and got behind the wheel of the Lexus. While he drove off, Grady looked up into the faces of the pale men like he was waiting to get plugged himself.

Instead, they just headed back to the Escort.

After a moment of confusion, Grady followed in a sloppy jog like all his joints had been overoiled, but when he went to open the back door, the slayers refused to let him get in the car. As Grady realized he was getting left behind, he started to panic, his arms flopping, his mouth shouting. Which was pretty f**king dumb, considering he was standing fifteen feet away from two guys with bullets in their brains.

Quiet would be good right about now.

Evidently one of the slayers thought the same thing. With a calm hand, he outted his gun and leveled the muzzle at Grady's head.

Silence. Stillness. At least from the idiot.

Two doors shut and the Escort's engine turned over on a crank and a wheeze. With a buzz of tires, the slayers took off, speckling Grady's boots and shins with frozen dirt.

Lash hit the Mercedes' lights, and Grady spun around, arms going up to shield his eyes.

There was the temptation to mow him down, but for the moment, the guy's utility justified his heartbeat.

Lash started the Mercedes, pulled up to the SOB, and dropped his window down. "Get in the car."

Grady lowered his arms. "What the hell happened-"

"Shut the f**k up. Get in the car."

Lash closed the window and waited while Grady flopped into the passenger seat. As the guy put his belt on, his teeth were doing the castanets, and not from the cold. Fucker was the color of salt, and sweating like a tranny in Giants Stadium.

"You might as well have killed 'em in broad daylight," Grady stammered as they headed out onto the surface road that ran beside the river. "There are eyes all over the place-"

"Which was the point." Lash's phone rang, and he answered as he accelerated up a ramp and onto the highway. "Very nice, Mr. D."

"I think we done good," the Texan said. "'Cept I can't see no drugs. Must be in the trunk."

"They're in that car. Somewhere."

"We still meetin' back at Hunterbred?"

"Yes."

"Hey, ah, listen, y'all plannin' on doin' anything with this here car?"

Lash smiled in the darkness, thinking greed was a great weakness for a subordinate to have. "I'm getting it repainted and buying a VIN and tags for it."

There was silence, as if the lesser were waiting for more. "Oh, that'll be good. Y'sir."

Lash hung up on his disciple and turned to Grady. "I want to know all of the other big retailers in town. Their names, their territories, their product lines, everything."

"I don't know if I got all that-"

"You'd better find it out then." Lash tossed his phone into the guy's lap. "Make the calls you need to. Do the digging. I want every single dealer in town. Then I want the elephant that's feeding them. The Caldwell wholesaler."

Grady's head fell back against the seat. "Shit. I thought this was going to be, like...about my business."

"That was your second mistake. Start dialing and get me what I want."

"Look...I don't think this is...I should probably go home..."

Lash smiled at the guy, revealing his fangs and flashing his eyes. "You are home."

Grady shrank back in the seat, then started pawing for the door handle, even though they were cruising down the highway at seventy miles an hour.

Lash hit the locks. "Sorry, you're on the ride now, and there's no getting off in the middle. Now dial the f**king phone and do me right. Or I'm going to carve you up piece by piece and enjoy every second of the screaming."

Wrath stood outside Safe Place in a ball-numbing wind, not caring two shits about the nasty weather. Rising before him like something out of a Leave It to Beaver Rockwell daydream, the house that was a haven to victims of domestic violence was big and rambling and welcoming, the windows covered with quilted drapery, a wreath on the door, the mat on the top step reading WELCOME in cursive letters.

As a male, he couldn't go inside, so he waited like lawn sculpture on the hard brown grass, praying that his beloved leelan was inside-and willing to see him.

After having spent all day in the study hoping that Beth would come to him, he'd finally gone through the mansion searching her out. When he hadn't found her, he'd prayed she was volunteering here, as she often did.

Marissa appeared on the back stoop and shut the door behind herself. Butch's shellan and Wrath's former blood mate looked typically professional in her black slacks and jacket, her blond hair twisted into an elegant chignon, her scent like the ocean.

"Beth just left," she said as he walked over to her.

"She go back home?"

"Redd Avenue."

Wrath stiffened. "What the...Why's she over there?" Shit, his shellan out alone in Caldwell? "You mean at her old apartment?"