by J. R. Ward
As she reread an op-ed, Beth popped a Tums in her mouth and crunched it into a powder that filled the creases in her molars. Her stomach was sour again. And she was hungry. Great combination.
Maybe it was frustration. Essentially, she knew nothing more than she had when she started.
And the cell phone number the man had given her? Untraceable.
In the information vacuum, she was even more determined to stay away from Wallace Avenue. And feeling the echo of a need to go to confession.
She checked the time. Almost seven o’clock.
Given her hunger, she decided to go eat. Better to skip Our Lady and take nourishment of the physical variety.
Leaning to one side, she looked around the wall of her cubicle. Tony was already gone.
She really didn’t want to be alone.
On a crazy impulse she picked up the phone and dialed the station. “Ricky? It’s Beth. Is Detective O’Neal around? Okay, thanks. No, no message. No, I—Please don’t page him. It’s nothing important.”
Just as well. Hard-ass was not really the uncomplicated company she was looking for.
She stared down at her watch, getting lost in the second hand’s crawl around the dial. The evening hours stretched ahead of her like an obstacle course, the hours to be dodged and surmounted.
Hopefully with speed.
Maybe she’d grab some food and go see a movie afterward. Anything to delay going back to her apartment. Come to think of it, she should probably stay at a motel somewhere.
In the event that man came looking for her again.
She’d just logged off her computer when her phone rang. She picked it up on the second ring.
“Heard you were looking for me.”
Butch O’Neal’s voice was a gravel pit, she thought. In a good way.
“Um. Yeah.” She pushed her hair back over her shoulder. “You still free for dinner?”
His laugh was a low rumble. “I’ll be in front of the paper in fifteen.”
He hung up before she could slide in a properly nonchalant, this-is-just-about-food comment.
After sundown Wrath walked into the kitchen, carrying the silver tray with the remnants of his meal on it. Typical of Darius, everything was the best of the best here, too. Industrial stainless-steel appliances. Plenty of cupboards and granite counter space. Lots of windows.
Too many lights.
Fritz was at the sink, scrubbing at something. He looked over his shoulder. “Master, you didn’t need to bring that back.”
“Yeah, I did.” Wrath put the tray down on a counter and leaned into his arms.
Fritz shut off the water. “Was there something you needed?”
Well, for starters, he’d like to not be such a dickhead.
“Fritz, your job here is solid. Just wanted you to know that.”
“Thank you, master.” The butler’s voice was very quiet. “I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have someone to take care of. And I think of this as my home.”
“It is. For as long as you want it to be.”
Wrath turned and headed for the door. He was almost out of the room when Fritz spoke up.
“This is your home, too, master.”
He shook his head. “Already got a place to sleep. Don’t need another.”
Wrath walked into the hall, feeling particularly ferocious. Man, Beth had better be alive and well. Or God help whoever had hurt her.
And if she’d decided to avoid him? That didn’t matter. Her body was about to need something only he could provide her. So sooner or later she would come around. Or she would die.
He thought of the soft skin of her neck. Felt the sensation of his tongue stroking over the vein that ran up from her heart.
His fangs elongated as if she were before him. As if he could sink his teeth into her and drink.
Wrath closed his eyes as his body began to shake. His stomach, full with food, turned into a bottomless, achy pit.
He tried to remember the last time he’d fed. It had been a while, but surely not that long ago?
He forced himself to calm down. Get control. It was like trying to slow down a train with a hand brake, but eventually a cooling stream of sanity replaced the whacked-out, bloodlust spins.
As he came back to reality he felt uneasy, his instincts crying out for airtime.
That female was dangerous to him. If she could affect him like this without even being in the damn room, she might just be his pyrocant.
His detonator, so to speak. The express-lane EZ Pass to his self-destruction.
Wrath dragged a hand through his hair. How goddamned ironic that he wanted her like no other female.
But maybe it wasn’t irony. Maybe that was precisely how the pyrocant system worked. The urge to cozy up to what could annihilate you ensured the damn thing got a chance to go to work on your ass.
After all, what kind of fun would it be if you could easily avoid your inner hand grenade?
Damn him. He needed to get Beth off his plate of responsibilities. Fast. As soon as she was through her transition, he was going to put her in the hands of an appropriate male. A civilian.
In gory flashback, he pictured that young male’s bloody, beaten body.
How the hell would a civilian keep her safe?
He didn’t know the answer to that one. But what other option was there? He wasn’t going to keep her.
Maybe he could give her to one of his brothers.
Yeah, and who would he pick out of that bunch? Rhage? Who’d just add her to his fuck pool, or worse, eat her by mistake? V with all his problems?
Zsadist?
And did he really think he could handle knowing one of his warriors was doing her?
Not fucking likely.
God, he was tired.
Vishous materialized in front of him. The vampire was running without his baseball cap tonight, and Wrath could dimly make out the complex markings around his left eye.
“Found Billy Riddle.” V lit up one of his hand-rolled cigarettes, his gloved fingers steady. When he exhaled, the fragrance of Turkish tobacco perfumed the air. “He was arrested for sexual assault forty-eight hours ago. Lives with his daddy, who happens to be a U.S. senator.”
“High-profile background.”
“Hard to get higher. And I took the liberty of doing some research. Billy boy’s been in and out of trouble as a juvenile. Violent stuff. Sexual shit. Got to imagine daddy’s campaign manager loves the fact that the guy’s hit eighteen. Everything Billy pulls now is public record.”
“You nail a street address?”
“Yeah.” Vishous grinned. “You gonna put a hurt on the guy?”
“Like you read about.”
“So let’s go.”
Wrath shook his head. “I’ll meet you and the rest of the brothers back here later tonight. I’ve got to go somewhere first.”
He could feel V’s eyes sharpen, the vampire’s fierce intellect churning over the situation. Among the brothers, Vishous had the most raw brainpower, but he paid for the privilege.
Man, Wrath sure had his own demons, and they were no walk in the park, but he wouldn’t have wanted Vishous’s cross to bear. Seeing what had yet to come was a terrible burden.
V drew on the hand-rolled and exhaled slowly. “I dreamed of you last night.”
Wrath stiffened. He’d been kind of waiting for this. “I don’t want to know, brother. I really don’t.”
The vampire nodded. “Just remember something, okay?”
“Shoot.”
“Two guards tortured will happily fight each other.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Dinner was great,” Beth said as Butch pulled up in front of her building.
He thoroughly agreed. She was smart and funny and sit-forward-in-your-chair beautiful. And if he stepped out of line, she never failed to knock him back where he should be.
So she was also incredibly sexy.
He put the car in park, but didn’t turn the engine off
. He figured killing the ignition would make it look like he wanted to be invited in.
Which he did, of course. But he didn’t want her to feel awkward if that wasn’t where she saw things heading.
Well, wasn’t he turning into a nice guy.
“You sound surprised you enjoyed yourself,” he said.
“I am, a little.”
Butch ran his eyes over her, starting with her knees that were just barely showing under the hem of her skirt. From the dashboard’s glow, he could make out the lovely lines of her body, her long, exquisite neck, her perfect, perfect lips. He wanted to kiss her, here in this dim light, in the front seat of his unmarked, just like they were teenagers.
Then he wanted to go inside her apartment with her. And not come out again until morning.
“So thanks,” she said, flashing him a smile and reaching for the door.
“Wait.”
He moved quickly, so that she wouldn’t have time to think and neither would he. He took her face in his hands and put his mouth on hers.
Wrath materialized in the courtyard behind Beth’s apartment and felt a prickling across his skin.
She was close by. But there were no lights on in her place.
Following a hunch, he walked around the side of the building. There was a nondescript American sedan parked in front. She was inside of it.
Wrath went down to the sidewalk and, as if he were just taking a stroll in the shadows, passed by the car.
He stopped dead.
His useless eyes worked well enough to tell him that some guy was all over her. As if the potent sexual craving of the male human wouldn’t have tipped him off.
For God’s sake, he could smell the bastard’s lust through the sedan’s glass and steel.
Wrath lunged forward. His first instinct was to rip the car door off and kill whoever had his hands on her. Just pull the guy out and tear his throat open.
But at the last second he spun away and forced himself back into the darkness.
Son of a bitch. He was literally seeing red, he was so worked up.
That some other male was kissing those lips, feeling that body under his hands…
A low growl vibrated through his chest and out his mouth.
She’s mine.
He cursed. Yeah, and in what parallel universe was he living in? She was his temporary responsibility, not his shellan. She could be with whomever she wished. Wherever. Whenever.
But God, the idea that she might actually like what the guy was doing to her, that she might prefer the taste of the human’s kiss, was enough to make Wrath’s temples pound.
Welcome to the wonderful world of jealousy, he thought. For the price of admission, you get a splitting headache, a nearly irresistible urge to commit murder, and an inferiority complex.
Yippee.
Man, he couldn’t wait to get his life back. The second she was through her transition, he was going to get the hell out of town. And pretend he’d never, ever met Darius’s daughter.
Butch O’Neal was one hell of a kisser.
His lips were firm, but deliciously soft. Not coming on too strong, but letting her know he was prepared to take her to bed and show her he meant business.
And he smelled good up close, a mix of aftershave and fresh laundry. She reached up with her hands. His shoulders were wide and strong under her palms, his body drawn in a tight arch toward hers. He was all coiled power, and in that moment she wanted to be attracted to him. She honestly did.
Except she just didn’t feel that sweet rush of desperation, that wild hunger. Not like she had the night before with…
Now was a hell of a time to be thinking about that other man.
When Butch pulled back, his eyes were hooded. “I’m not doing it for you, am I?”
She laughed softly. Leave it to Hard-ass. Blunt as always.
“You know how to kiss, O’Neal, I’ll give you that. So it’s not for lack of technique.”
He returned to his side of the seat and shook his head. “Thanks a hell of a lot.”
But he didn’t seem terribly hurt.
And now that she was thinking more clearly, she was glad there was no spark on her end. If she had liked him, if she had wanted to be with him, he would have broken her heart. She was sure of it. In ten years, if he made it that long, he was going to implode from the stress, the ugliness, the sorrow of his job. It was eating him alive already. Every year he was wound a little tighter, and no one, but no one, was going to pull him out of that tailspin.
“Careful there, Randall,” he said. “It’s bad enough knowing I don’t turn you on. But that pity on your face is a real ass burner.”
“Sorry.” She smiled at him.
“Mind if I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“What’s up with you and men? Do you, ah, do you like them? Us, I mean?”
She laughed, thinking of what she’d done last night with that stranger. The question of her sexual orientation had certainly been laid to rest. Buried good and hard.
“Yeah, I like men.”
“Did someone do a number on you? You know, hurt you?”
Beth shook her head. “I just like to keep to myself.”
He looked down at the steering wheel, running his hand around the circumference. “That’s a damn shame. Because you’re terrific. You really are.” He cleared his throat as if he’d made himself feel uncomfortable.
Sheepish. Good lord, Hard-ass was actually sheepish.
On impulse, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re pretty fantastic yourself.”
“Yeah. I know.” He shot her his trademark mocking grin. “Now get your butt inside that building. It’s late.”
Butch watched as Beth crossed in front of his headlights, her hair flowing over her shoulders.
She was the real deal, he thought. A genuinely good woman.
And man, she knew exactly what his drill was. That look of sadness in her eyes just now meant she saw the early grave that was waiting for him.
So it was just as well there was no chemistry for her. Otherwise he might try to talk her into falling in love with him just so he didn’t go to hell all by his lonesome.
He put the car in gear, but kept his foot on the brake as she went up the steps to the front lobby. She had her hand on the door and was shooting him a wave when something moved in the shadows beside the building.
He flipped the engine back into park.
There was a man dressed in black heading around to the rear.
Butch got out of the car and jogged silently across the side lawn.
Chapter Fourteen
Wrath’s sole focus was getting to Beth. So it wasn’t until he was halfway across the courtyard that he heard the human behind him.
“Police! Halt!”
And then there was that all-too-familiar sound of a gun being cocked at him.
“Let me see your hands!”
Wrath caught the man’s scent and smiled. Lust had been replaced with aggression, and the fighting urge was as strong as the sexual one had been. The guy was full of juice tonight.
“I said, halt and hands!”
Wrath stopped and reached into his jacket for one of the stars. Cop or not, he was going to drop the human, put a nice little slice through his artery.
But then Beth threw open the slider.
He smelled her instantly, and wouldn’t you know it, he got a hard-on.
“Hands!”
“What’s going on?” Beth demanded.
“Get back in the house,” the human barked. “Hands, asshole! Or I’ll put a window in the back of your skull.”
By this time the cop was no more than ten feet away and closing fast. Wrath lifted his palms. He wasn’t about to kill in front of Beth. Besides, that gun was going to be at point-blank range in another three seconds. And not even he could survive a hit that tight.
“O’Neal—”
“Beth, get the fuck out of here!”
A h
eavy hand clamped down on Wrath’s shoulder. He let the cop push him against the building.
“You want to tell me what you’re doing waltzing around this place?” the human ordered.
“Out for a walk,” Wrath said. “And you?”
The cop grabbed one and then the other of Wrath’s arms and pulled them back. The cuffs went on quickly. The guy was an old pro with the metal.
Wrath looked over at Beth. From what he could tell, she had her arms linked tightly across her chest. Fear thickened the air around her, turning it into a blanket that covered her from head to foot.
Isn’t this going well, he thought. She was scared to death of him again.
“Do not look at her,” the cop said, pushing Wrath’s face toward the wall. “What’s your name?”
“Wrath,” Beth answered. “He told me it was Wrath.”
The human actually snarled at her. “Do you have a hearing problem, sweetheart? Get out of here.”
“I want to know who he is, too.”
“I’ll phone in a fucking report tomorrow morning, how’s that?”
Wrath growled. He couldn’t deny that getting her inside was a damn good idea. But he did not appreciate the way the cop was talking to her.
The human reached inside Wrath’s jacket and started pulling out weapons. Three throwing stars, a switchblade, a handgun, a length of chain.
“Jesus Christ,” the cop muttered as he dropped the steel links on the ground with the rest of the load. “You got some ID? Or wasn’t there enough room in here for a wallet, considering you’re carrying about thirty pounds of concealed weapons?”
When the cop found a thick wad of cash, he cursed again. “Am I going to find drugs, too, or have you sold out for tonight?”
Wrath allowed himself to be spun around and slammed back against the bricks. While his two daggers were stripped from their holster, he stared down at the cop, thinking how much he was going to enjoy ripping that thick throat open with his teeth. He leaned forward, leading with his head. He couldn’t help it.
