Текст книги "The King"

Автор книги: J. R. Ward

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 39 страниц)

FOURTEEN

The Commodore was arguably the place to live in downtown Caldwell. Rising up over twenty floors high, the condo building overlooked the Hudson River and was cut up into large block apartments that had plenty of square footage as well as state-of-the-art kitchens and bathrooms. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows meant the views in all four directions were as much a part of the decor as anything the owners put into the spaces, and there were rumors that celebrities, looking for a break from Manhattan, used them as drop pads.

Speaking of which, there was even a helicopter landing square on the top.

iAm got off at the eighteenth floor and hung a right. Down about a hundred feet, he stopped in front of a door marked 18A and popped the copper lock he and his brother had insisted on installing when they’d moved in five years ago.

Walking into the three-thousand-square-foot condo, his Merrells didn’t make much noise even though the polished floor was bare of rugs and the modernist furniture was minimal not just in terms of style, but amount.

Damn … that view was still amazing. Especially like this, at night with no lights on inside: The city had its evening face on, everything sparkling, from the patchwork of lights left on in the skyscrapers to the double arches of the twin bridges to the stripes of red taillights and white headlights moving next to the shore down below.

So easy to forget that the heart of Caldie was a dirty place with as much poverty as wealth—if not more: Up here, insulated from reality, with the wailing sirens and stench of garbage so far removed, it was tempting to believe in the sanitized version of the 518.

But he was no fool.

Across the way, there were sliding glass doors that led out to the terrace, and after hitting the lights, he crossed over and opened one up, a cold gust rushing in and agitating the stuffy interior air. His visitor wasn’t due for an hour yet, but he wanted to make sure the place looked lived-in. Doubling back to the open kitchen, he made some discreet clutter by popping a couple of already clean dishes into the rack by the sink and littering up the counter with … let’s see … a spoon or two. A half-eaten bag of Cape Cod potato chips that were stale. An issue of GQ that he flipped through and left open to a page with a jacket Trez would like.

Then he got the coffee started.

He and his brother had no intention of ever coming back here, but he had to keep the place going because it was important that the s’Hisbe have no idea that they’d moved: A search party in Caldwell was not going to be a value add. Especially if it somehow culminated in a visit to the Brotherhood’s mansion—

iAm pivoted to the glass door. Out on the terrace, a figure had materialized from the black night like a wraith, its robes thrashing in the stiff wind racing up the slick side of the building.

“Welcome,” iAm called out to the high priest in a flat tone. “You’re early.”

Okay, which one of them had lost track of time?

The figure came to the doorway, walking in such a controlled, smooth manner you’d swear he was on a hover pad.

“Am I invited in?” came a dry voice.

iAm’s heart skipped one single beat.

Fuck, that was not the high priest.

With those robes covering everything from head to foot, he’d assumed he knew who had come to him.

This was worse. So much worse.

The executioner’s hood should have tipped him off.

“Well, am I, iAm.” You could practically hear the nasty smile. “Such alliteration on that.”

“Yeah, come in,” iAm said, subtly tucking a hand under his jacket. With a flick, he released the holster’s strap across the butt of his Glock. “Never expected you in my house.”

“Interesting. I didn’t think you were that naive.” The male had to duck to make it inside. “And isn’t this your brother’s, too?”

Christ, all iAm could think of was the Grim Reaper.

Then again, s’Ex, as the Shadow queen’s enforcer, had killed enough things to fill a graveyard or two. And he was built for bringing death. The male was seven feet tall and over three hundred pounds—easy. And that voice, coming from under the hooding? Pure evil.

“So I heard you never let AnsLai in,” he said as he closed the slider. “I’m touched.”

“Don’t be. Actually, the high priest thought this place was too contaminated by our contact with humans. Coffee?”

“Like this is a date?” As opposed to the high priest, s’Ex didn’t have any patience for the rules of court or the formality observed between members of the s’Hisbe. Then again, the supreme ruler didn’t keep him by her side for his charm. “And yeah, why not. I like the idea of you waiting on me.”

iAm ground his molars, but he wasn’t going to get pissy. The s’Hisbe had raised the stakes about a thousand miles by sending this guy instead of the high priest, so things were already starting off on a bad foot.

Going around the granite counter, he took two mugs down from the glass-front cupboard and hoped the bastard didn’t want milk in his. As he waited while the coffeemaker burbled and hissed to the end of its cycle, the last thing he expected was for s’Ex to come over and sit down on a stool—normally the enforcer would have cased the place.

Unfortunately, this probably meant he already had.

“So you and your brother been busy lately.” s’Ex put his massive forearms on the counter and leaned into them. “Well, have you?”

“You mind taking that dress off.” iAm stared right into the mesh that covered that face. “I want to see your eyes.”

“How romantic.”

“Not even close.”

“You know, you haven’t got a leg to stand on when it comes to demands.”

“You hate wearing that goddamn hood. Don’t front.”

“Unlike some people, duty doesn’t chafe my ass.”

“Bullshit.”

The short pause told him he’d gotten through on some level. But that didn’t last. “Coffee’s finished. Bring me mine, would you.”

iAm turned away so that his tight jaw wasn’t on display. “Sugar?”

“I’m sweet enough as it is.”

Yeah. Right.

iAm brought over both mugs. “If you want a straw for this, you’re SOL. Sorry.”

s’Ex revealed himself with a quick, no-fuss jerk of the headdress—in spite of the fact that that thing must have weighed thirty pounds.

And yup, underneath was exactly what iAm remembered. Dark, dark skin. Cunning black eyes. Head with the ceremonial shaving patterns. White tattoos down the throat that continued around every square inch of his flesh.

And P.S., those tats were not made by ink. It was poison, injected into the skin in a pattern such that when the dermis died, it “discolored.” Most males, to prove their masculinity, had a small one on their arm—and were sick for days. Nobody, but nobody had the likes of what s’Ex did.

The bastard was a monster. Especially as he smiled—for some reason, probably the testosterone overload, his fangs were always fully descended.

“Happy now?” he drawled.

“Not the word I would use.” iAm took a draw off the rim of his mug. “So to what do I owe this honor.”

Or kick in the nuts, as was the case.

s’Ex smiled a little—which was worse than his full-on grin. “So you and your brother have been busy.”

“You already said that.”

“I’ve paid you a couple of visits here. Nothing special—just a flyby or two. The pair of you haven’t been hanging here lately. Busy with the females?”

“Working.”

“Night and day, then. Wow … worried about money? Do you need a loan?”

“Not from you. I can’t afford the vig.”

“Too right.” Black eyes narrowed on his own. “So where are you.”

“Around. Here now, obviously.”

“I don’t think you live here anymore.”

“Then why are you sitting on something I own.”

“I’ll bet if I go in your room, the closet’s empty.”

“And I assume breaking and entering is part of your ‘flybys’—unless you’ve changed your style.”

s’Ex eased back and crossed his arms under his robes. “Now how rude would I be if I did something like get in here and sniff around. It would be unthinkable.”

“You’re saying you haven’t done that.” iAm rolled his eyes. “Really.”

“No. Or I could be lying. Kind of like you are about living here anymore.”

“Maybe you’ve just come while we’ve been out.”

“Okay, let’s look at tonight. Why are you in your coat? Why are the spoons on the counter clean? Oh, and that magazine? Last month’s. And yet it’s been open like you’ve been ‘reading’ it.” He even did the air quotes. “And one, already-opened bag of chips does not a full pantry make.”

Goddamn it. “Isn’t GQ contraband in the Territory?”

s’Ex smiled again. “Her Royal Highness likes to keep me happy. What can I say.”

Either that or the queen herself was scared of the guy.

iAm lowered his lids to half-mast. “Talk to me.”

“I thought I was. Or were we using sign language and I missed it?”

Except the enforcer got serious, frowning into his mug, going still.

And the longer the silence lasted, the stranger things got. s’Ex didn’t waste time, and he had no patience—ordinarily, the fucker was as decisive as a chain saw.

iAm waited things out for two reasons: One, what other choice did he have. And two, he was used to that by now.

Thanks to Trez’s shit, he’d had a master class in nothing-I-can-do.

s’Ex’s eyes shifted back over. “The high priest is coming to tell you that Trez’s time is up. The queen wants what she’s been promised and the daughter is ready to receive him. Any delay from this point on is going to have measurable repercussions. So, no lie, if you’ve got any way of making your brother toe the line, do it. Now.”

“She’s going to get you to kill him, isn’t she,” iAm said grimly.

The enforcer shook his head. “Not yet. I’m going to start with your parents. Your mother first. Then your father. And it’s not going to be pretty.” The male’s stare never wavered. “I’ve been ordered to tie her up and shave her head first—then rape her and cut her so she bleeds out slow. Your father is going to watch it all and then what I do to him will be worse. If you honor them in any way, talk to your brother. Get him to the Territory. Make him do the right thing. She’s not going to stop until she gets him—and just so we’re clear, I will not hesitate to do my job.”

iAm braced his hands on the granite counter and leaned into his arms. The situation with their parents was … complicated, to use a Facebook term. But that didn’t mean he wanted them dead and/or desecrated.

As s’Ex got to his feet and slung his executioner’s hood over his shoulder, iAm heard himself say, “You didn’t touch your coffee.”

“You might have poisoned it.” The enforcer shrugged. “I don’t take chances with anybody—sorry.”

“Smart.” iAm measured the male. “But then, you’re a real professional.”

“And I have my reputation for a good reason, iAm.”

“I know.” He cursed under his breath. “I am well aware of your work.”

“Don’t pull my trigger. I didn’t have parents, and wish I had. I’m not looking forward to this.”

“Goddamn it, it’s not up to me.” iAm curled up two fists. “And I don’t know if Trez is going to care, to be honest. He hates them.”

s’Ex shook his head. “That’s not good news. For any of you.”

“Why the hell can’t she just get someone else.”

“Not a question I’d be asking if I were you.” s’Ex looked around the apartment. “Nice place, by the way. Just my style—and I’ve been enjoying the view while I’m here.”

iAm narrowed his eyes at the odd tone in that deep voice. Son of a bitch … “You get it, don’t you.”

“What? How someone would want out of the Territory. To be free to live their own life.” Abruptly, s’Ex’s face turned into a mask. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The enforcer turned away and stalked back to the slider. As he moved, his robes wafted behind him, his body shifting with the grace of a predator.

“s’Ex.”

The male looked over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

iAm reached out and took the coffee he’d poured for his guest. Lifting it to his lips, he drank long and hard, finishing the shit on a oner even as it burned its way down to his gut.

As he put the empty mug back down, the enforcer bowed. “You have more honor than most, iAm. And that’s why I came to you. I actually like you—not that that’s going to help you much further than tonight.”

“I appreciate it.”

The enforcer looked around, as if he were storing the memories for later. “Back at the s’Hisbe, I’ll do what I can to delay things, but this is on you. Your brother may be the one with his neck in a noose—but you’re the guy who’s going to have to get him where he needs to go.”

“He’s not clean, you realize.”

“How so?”

“He’s been fucking humans. A lot of them.”

s’Ex threw his head back and laughed. “I should goddamn hope so. If I were on the outside, I would.”

“Bet your queen won’t feel like that.”

“She’s your ruler, too—and I wouldn’t play that card if I were you.” s’Ex pointed his forefinger across the distance. “She’ll put him through a cleanse, and if he survives that—which is not a foregone conclusion—he’ll never be the same. You need to shut your fucking mouth on his love life, trust me. Oh, and AnsLai doesn’t know I’ve come. Let’s keep this our little secret, shall we.”

After the enforcer went out and disappeared into thin air, iAm strode over and closed the door. Then he proceeded directly to the bar at the far end of the open space and poured himself a bourbon.

Looked like Trez’s get-out-of-jail-free card had a hole in it: His sex addiction was not going to be the turnoff they’d been hoping it would.

Great.

And if s’Ex hadn’t shown up here and told him to keep all that fucking on the QT? God only knew what would have happened.

He hadn’t even heard about cleansing, but he could guess.

One thing was sure: He never thought in a million years he’d ever owe that coldhearted executioner a solid. Then again, it looked like Trez wasn’t the only one balking at the restrictions of the Territory.

The question was … now what. And he had about ten minutes to figure the shit out before the high priest got here.

FIFTEEN

“I never expected to see you again. They said you’d left town.”

As St. Francis’s Chief of Neurology leaned into the computer screen, the guy seemed to be talking to himself. And sure enough, as Manny Manello didn’t answer him, he didn’t seem to care.

Beth stepped in a little closer to take a look herself—although, come on, it wasn’t as if the multiple views of her brother’s brain up on that monitor meant anything to her. Hopefully, however, this guy in the white coat with the impressive credentials came at things from a different angle.

The dim anteroom they were all squeezed into was like something out of a Star Trek episode, high-tech equipment whirring and blinking, the massive MRI machine in the chamber beyond kept separate by a thick plate-glass window. And actually, the neurologist, sitting in front of that banked console, was kind of like Lieutenant Sulu as he faced off at the computer screens, the keyboards, a telephone or two, another laptop.

“How long did this most recent seizure last?” the neurologist asked absently.

“About fifteen minutes,” Beth answered as John glanced over at her.

“Any numbness or tingling?”

When John shook his head, Beth said, “No. Nothing.”

John had come out of the hollow doughnut about ten minutes ago and changed from his hospital johnny back into his relatively innocuous-looking jeans and Giants T-shirt. The IV that had pumped contrast into his body was out of his arm, a little white Band-Aid in the place of its needle, and his shitkickers were back on.

He’d left his weapons at home.

Xhex, however, was fully loaded as she stood next to him, a black Nike baseball cap pulled down low over her eyes. Payne was the other backup, the fighter dressed in black and wearing the same kind of loose coat John’s wife was.

Beth did a retug of her own Bos Sox hat. It had been a while since anyone had seen her in the human world, and she didn’t know anyone in particular at the hospital—but there was no reason to layer on more complication to this trip.

Oh, God, please let this be okay, she thought as that doctor scrolled through all the images again.

Right behind him, not that the man was aware of it, Doc Jane was also peering over his shoulder at the black-and-white pictures—in full ghost mode.

The more eyes, the better.

“What do you see?” Manny demanded.

To his credit, the neurologist didn’t spin back around until he was good and ready—and he addressed John when he finally faced the crowd.

“There’s nothing abnormal in there that I can see.”

Cue the collective sigh of relief. And the first thing John did was grab Xhex’s tight body and haul her in close, the world obviously disappearing for them both.

As Beth watched them, she knew she should be focused on the good news. Instead, all she could think of was how she was not only alone while she waited to hear whether her brother had some kind of embolism or tumor or heaven only knew what horror in his brain—but there was a big-ass metaphorical pink elephant between her and her husband that was not going to go away anytime soon.

Pink. As in baby-girl color.

Or maybe not. Maybe it was pale blue.

“All of the brain structure is normal…”

The doctor launched into a whole lot of physician-speak that luckily meant something to Manny, given the nodding. But the lovebirds ignored all that, and their self-absorption was actually a beautiful thing to see.

At least until tears of relief mixed with tears of sadness, and everything went wavy for Beth.

Time to excuse herself.

Murmuring something about making a phone call, she ducked out into the hall. The imaging facility was isolated in the basement of one of the many St. Francis buildings, and outside of it, there was a whole lot of nothing going on: no patients in transport, no carts of supplies rolling by, no staff rushing around in soft-soled shoes.

Putting her head into her hands, she eased her butt against the wall and slid down to the floor. Thank God John seemed okay. So at least one part of her family was all right—

I need you to hear this and know that it’s the God’s honest. I will not service you in your needing. Ever …

Shit, she thought as she rubbed her eyes. Now she had to go back home and deal with all that.

A little while later, the group emerged from command central, and she shimmied to her feet, trying not to look anything other than relieved at John’s scan.

The neurologist was staring at a check in his hands and shaking his head. “Jesus Christ, Manello. Did you win the lottery?”

Kinda. Thanks to Darius’s investments, fifty grand to the neurology department as a donation was no BFD.

And to think, all the white coat had had to do was shove her brother into his pinging machine for about a half hour.

“I’m just grateful you got us in,” Manello murmured.

The doctor turned to John as he folded the check and put it in his pocket. “So, yeah, I still recommend the anti-seizure meds, but if you’re dead-set against them, the only thing I can tell you is, try to keep track of the whens and wheres. See if there’s a pattern—maybe there is, maybe there isn’t. And know that I’m here if you need me. Remember what I said, though—just because I can’t see anything doesn’t mean you’re out of the woods. The episodes are happening because there’s something wrong. Period.”

“Thanks, man.” Manello put out his hand. “You’re the best.”

The former colleagues clapped palms. “Anytime—and I mean that. And … you know, if you ever want to come back, they’d take you in a heartbeat. You’re missed here.”

Manny’s eyes shifted over to Payne, and the secret smile that hit his lips was another source of awwww.

“Nah. I’ve got it good now, but thanks.”

Chatter. Chatter. Good ol’ days. Bye. Thanks again.

And then the vampire contingency split off once again from the human one, Manny leading them out through a maze of bare tiled corridors that looked exactly the same—to the point where she began to become convinced they were lost. Wrong. Either their man in front had a compass implanted in his frontal lobe or he remembered well his decade working in the place—because eventually they hit ground level and went out the revolving doors they’d entered.

Fritz was waiting by the curb, that huge black-on-black Mercedes looking like it belonged to a diplomat. Which was another reason the car was so useful: People tended to err on the side of not screwing with it, like its inhabitants were really important or heavily armed. Fritz got more wave-throughs at stop signs and parking garages than she’d ever seen. Then again, he drove in the exact opposite way he moved.

The elderly butler didn’t have a lead foot. The damn thing was made out of tungsten—

Let’s go back now? John signed in front of her face—like maybe he’d been trying to get her attention.

“Wha—oh, sorry.” She pushed her hair back. “Don’t you want to go with Xhex?”

“I’m heading to the club,” the female said. “With Trez out, I need to check the traps.”

And that was a good, plausible excuse—except it was impossible to ignore the side glances being shared among the group.

“This isn’t about me,” she muttered.

Of course it isn’t, John signed. You’re doing a favor coming back with me. You know, to keep me company.

Fritz was only too happy to jump out and get her door for her, and as she ducked into the back of the sedan, she caught sight of Manny giving Payne a smooch, and John lip-locking with Xhex.

As a wave of dread came over her, she thought fondly of getting drunk as opposed to confronting her husband. The only problem was, that wasn’t going to solve anything, and besides, she had always despised women who got lit. Nothing uglier or more pathetic.

John got in on the other side, and then the Mercedes floated off, following the lane out from under the porte cochere and into the roadway that went around the medical center. With signs like EMERGENCY ROOM, FARNSWORTH REHABILITATION, and YARDLEY SPINE CENTER, it was like a highway with exits to towns you really didn’t want to visit.

Next to her, her brother kept looking over, like she was a stick of dynamite and he was measuring how much wick was left before shit went Technicolor boom.

“I’m fine.”

Okay, I won’t press. But here.

“Huh?” He answered her question by passing over a white handkerchief. “Why do I need—”

Fantastic. She’d started tearing up.

Really, truly fantastic.

As she blotted away tears she hadn’t been aware of crying, she shook her head and let it all fly: “I want a baby.”

Holy crap … that’s awesome, her brother signed. That’s—

“A nightmare, actually. Wrath’s a no-go.”

Oh, her brother mouthed.

“Yeah. Pretty much. And I found out right before we left.”

My God, you shouldn’t have come.

“I needed to get out of that house. And I wanted to help you.”

Well … Wrath’s probably just worried about you. It’s a scary thing for females. At this, his face got tight. I mean, Xhex isn’t into kids, and I gotta tell you, I’m relieved.

Twisting the cotton square in her hands, she let her head fall back against the rest. “But if I’m willing to assume the risks, I feel like he should go along with it. And by the way, it wasn’t like he laid his argument out in terms of being worried for my health. It was just, ‘I’m not servicing you.’ Period.”

John whistled under his breath.

“I know. Not our best moment.” She glanced back over at her brother. “I envy you and Xhex so much. You guys are so in sync.”

Ha! You should have seen us a year ago. John shrugged. I didn’t think we were going to make it.

“Really?”

Shit, yeah. She wanted to go out to fight, and like, that was fine with me—until it really dawned on me that she could get hurt. He circled his hand next to his brain. Fucked my head up bad. I mean, as a male, your woman is your thing in a way I don’t think you females can appreciate. When it comes to Xhex, I am literally not in control of my emotions, my thoughts, my actions as they relate to her safety. It’s a kind of psychosis.

When she didn’t respond, he touched her arm to make sure she was paying attention. Sounds a lot like what you and Wrath are dealing with. Yeah, you can be all, ‘It’s about a kid,’ but given the mortality rates for females? In his mind, it’s probably about your survival—and he’s picking that over any kind of son or daughter.

God, maybe it made her a bitch, but … she really didn’t want to see Wrath’s side of things. Especially not spelled out so rationally—assuming that was, in fact, how her man felt.

She was still too hurt and angry.

“Okay, fine, maybe that’s all true. But let me ask you a question—would you ever deny Xhex a child if she wanted one?” When he didn’t answer, Beth said, “See? You wouldn’t.”

Technically, I didn’t reply.

“It’s in your face.”

Yeah, but, it’s easy for me to be all like, whatever—because she doesn’t want one. Maybe I’d feel differently if she did. The risks are real, and there’s only so much medical management can do.

“I still say it’s my body, my decision.”

But you’re his primary concern. So he does get a vote.

“A vote’s one thing. The royal veto’s another.” She shook her head again. “Besides, if you’re able to articulate the position of a bonded male? So should he. He doesn’t get a pass just because he’s the King.” As sound bites came back from the confrontation, she got nauseous. “His solution is to drug me. Like I’m some kind of animal. I just … I don’t know if I can get over this.”

Maybe you should take a break. Like … get away until you aren’t so pissed off. Then come back and talk it out.

She put her hand on her stomach, and as she measured the fat padding that was now there, she felt so damned dumb for sitting on her ass eating ice cream with Layla. She wasn’t any closer to her needing—whenever, if ever, that came, it was clearly going to be on its own schedule. All she’d done was make her pants tight and drive a wedge between herself and her husband.

In the words of Dr. Phil, How’s that working for ya?

Great, Phil. Just awesome.

Hell, maybe she should watch OWN more often. Dr. Phil reruns were on for, like, five hours every morning, Monday through Friday. Surely he’d done a show on couples who disagreed over the baby thing.

Why don’t you go stay at our father’s house, John signed.

She thought of the mansion. “Yeah, no. I don’t want to even think about that place.”

As if on cue, images of her and Wrath from back in the beginning hit her hard—especially the memory of their first official date. God, things had been so perfect back then, the two of them falling in love so easily. Wrath had had her over to the house and dressed in a Brooks Brothers suit for the one and only time in their relationship. They’d sat at the dining room table and Fritz had waited on them.

That’s when Wrath had told her she tasted like—

With a groan, she put her head in her hands and tried to breathe calmly. Didn’t work. Her brain seemed to have the mental equivalent of an arrhythmia, thoughts and memories from the happy past and worries about the grim future mixing into a jumpy, jerky mess.

The only thing she was clear on?

John was right. She couldn’t go back home yet: The instant she saw Wrath, she was going to light into him, and that was going to get them nowhere.

God knew they’d already had that conversation once. A repeat was just going to make things harder.

“Okay,” she heard herself say. “All right. But I need something to eat first.”

It’s a deal, John signed.