Table of Contents 13 страница

Breaking into a jog, he beelined for the second-story balcony—

When he got a gander at the foyer, he didn’t immediately understand what he was seeing down below: There was a whole knot of people at the base of the staircase, all with their arms reaching forward like they were trying to break apart a fight.

Except it wasn’t between two Brothers.

What the fuck? Were they really trying to peel Qhuinn off Saxton…?

Jesus, the vicious bastard had his hands around his cousin’s throat and was, going by the gray pallor of the other male’s face, about to kill him.

“What the hell are you doing!” Blay screamed, as he took the stairs at a dead run.

When he got to the fray, there were too many Brothers in the way—and those were not the kind of males you just elbowed aside. Unfortunately, if anyone was going to get through to Qhuinn, it would be him. But how the hell was he going to get the dumb-ass’s attention—

There you go, he thought.

Shooting across the foyer, he broke the glass of the old-fashioned manual fire alarm with his fist and then reached in and pulled the lever down.

Instantly, noise exploded through the space, the acoustics of the cathedral ceiling acting like a magnifier as the jet-engine-loud alarm went haywire.

It was like hitting a bunch of fighting dogs with a bucket of water. All the action stopped and heads popped out of the tangle, looking around.

The only one who didn’t pay any mind was Qhuinn. He was still locked on and squeezing hard.

Blay took advantage of all the hey-what-is-that and was able to push his way through.

Focusing on Qhuinn, he shoved his face right into the guy’s grille. “Let him go, now. ”

The moment his voice registered, an expression of shock replaced the cold violence that had marked Qhuinn’s puss—like he’d never expected to have Blay check in. And that was all it took. One simple command from him and those hands released so quick, Saxton dropped to the floor like deadweight.

“Doc Jane! Manny!” someone called out. “Get a medic!”

Blay wanted to scream at Qhuinn right then and there, but he was too terrified about Saxton’s condition to waste time on any what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-yous: The lawyer wasn’t moving at all. Grabbing the guy’s beautiful suit, Blay rolled him out flat and went for the carotid with his fingertips, praying he found a heartbeat. When he didn’t, he tilted Saxton’s head back and bent down to begin administering CPR.

Except then Saxton let out a cough and dragged in a trunkload of air.

“Manny’s coming,” Blay said roughly, even though he didn’t know that to be true. But come on, someone had to be on the way. “Stay with me….”

More coughing. More breathing. And the color started to come back into that handsome, refined face.

With a shaking hand, Blay pushed back the soft, thick blond hair from the forehead he had touched so many times before. As he looked into the fuzzy eyes staring up at him, he wanted to feel something soul defining and life altering and…

He prayed for that kind of reaction.

Hell, in that moment, he would have traded both his past and present for it.

But it was simply not there. Regret, anger on the male’s behalf, sadness, relief…he logged all of those. That was it, however.

“Here, let me check him out,” Doc Jane said as she put her black doctor’s bag down and knelt to the mosaic floor.

Blay shuffled back to give V’s shellan some room, but he stayed close, even though it wasn’t like he could do anything. Hell, he’d always wanted to go to medical school—but not so he could resuscitate ex-lovers because some cocksucking psycho had tried to strangle them in the front goddamn hall.

He glared up at Qhuinn. The fighter was still being held back by Rhage, like the Brother wasn’t entirely sure the episode was over.

“Let’s get you to your feet,” Doc Jane said.

Blay was right on that, helping Saxton up, holding him steady, heading him over to the stairs. The pair of them were silent as they ascended, and when they got to the second floor, Blay took them down into his room out of habit.

Shoot.

“No, it’s fine,” Saxton murmured. “Just let me sit down in here for a minute, would you?”

Blay thought about the bed, but when Sax stiffened as he headed in that direction, he settled for the chaise longue. Helping the male off his feet, he awkwardly stepped back.

In the silence that followed, violent anger hit him from out of nowhere.

Now his hands shook for a different reason.

“So,” Saxton said hoarsely. “How was your night?”

“What the hell happened down there?”

Saxton loosened his tie. Unbuttoned his collar. Took yet another deep breath. “Family tiff, as it were.”

“Bullshit.”

Saxton shifted exhausted eyes over. “Must we do this?”

“What happened—”

“I think you and he need to talk. And once you do, I won’t have to worry about being jumped like a felon again.”

Blay frowned. “He and I have nothing to say to each other—”

“With all due respect, the ligature marks around my neck would suggest otherwise.”

“How we doin’ there, big guy?”

As Rhage’s voice registered in Qhuinn’s ear, it was clear the Brother was checking to see if the drama was well and truly over. Not necessary. The instant Blay had told him to cut the crap, Qhuinn’s body had obeyed, sure as if the guy held the remote to his TV.

Other people were milling around, looking him over, obviously also waiting to see if he showed any inclination to race up after Saxton and resume the death-grip routine.

“You good?” Rhage prompted.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

The iron bars across his chest loosened and gradually dropped. Then a big hand clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a squeeze. “Fritz hates dead bodies in the front hall.”

“But there’s not a lot of blood with strangulation,” somebody pointed out. “Clean-up would have been easy.”

“Just a floor polish afterward,” another guy chimed in.

There was a heavy pause at that point.

“I’m gonna go upstairs.” As the hairy eyeballs started again, Qhuinn shook his head. “Not for a repeat. I swear on my…”

Well, he didn’t have a mother, a father, a brother, a sister…or a young—although hopefully, that last one was a “yet” kind of thing.

“I just won’t, ’kay?”

He didn’t wait for any further commentary. No offense, but a plane crash and a homicide attempt on one of his few remaining relations was enough for the night.

With a curse, he started for the second floor—and remembered he still needed to do a drive-by with Layla.

Hanging a right at the top of the stairs, he went down to the guest room the Chosen had moved into and knocked on the door softly. “Layla?”

In spite of the fact that they were going to have a young together, he didn’t feel comfortable just barging in without an invitation.

Round two with the knuckles was a little louder. So was his voice. “Layla?”

She must be sleeping.

Backing off, he went for his own room, walking past Wrath’s office with its closed doors, and then going down the hall of statues. As he went by Blay’s door, he couldn’t help but stop and stare at the damn thing.

Jesus Christ, he’d nearly killed Saxton.

Still felt like following through.

He’d always known his cousin was a slut—and he hated being right about that. What the fuck was Sax thinking? The guy had the ultimate in his bed every goddamn day, and yet somehow, some random in a bar or a club or the frickin’ Caldwell Municipal Library was better than that? Or even necessary?

Faithless son of a bitch.

As his hands cranked into fists and he entertained the idea of kicking his way into that room just to pound Saxton’s face into soup, he nearly couldn’t control the impulse.

Let him go, now.

From out of nowhere, Blay’s voice reverberated through his head once again, and sure enough, the violence was unplugged. Literally, between one moment and the next, he went from wild bull to neutral.

Weird.

Shaking his head, he walked over to his bedroom, went in, and shut the door.

After willing on the lights, he just stood there, feet glued to the floor, arms hanging like limp ropes, head lolling on the top of his spine. All about the going nowhere.

For no apparent reason, he thought of one of Fritz’s beloved Dysons, the thing rolled into a service closet, left in the dark until somebody took it out for use.

Great. He’d been reduced to the level of a vacuum cleaner.

Eventually he cursed, and ordered himself to carry on with getting undressed and going to bed. The night had been a ballbuster from the moment the sun had gone down, and the good news was that the sorry mess was finally over: Shutters were in place to keep out the sun. House was getting quiet.

Time for a REM-sleep reboot.

As he gingerly took his muscle shirt off and grunted at all the aches and pains, he realized he’d left his leather jacket and his weapons down in the clinic. Whatever. He had extras up here if he needed them during the day, and he could get his stuff brought up before First Meal.

Going for the fly of his leathers, he—

The door behind him exploded open with such force, it ricocheted off the wall—only to be caught on the rebound by the hard grip of one pissed-off motherfucker.

Blay was rip-shit as he stood in the jambs, his body trembling with such rage that even Qhuinn, who had faced off with a lot of things in his life, went whoa.

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” the male barked.

Are you kidding me, Qhuinn thought. How could the guy not have recognized that foreign scent on his own lover?

“I think you need to put that to my cousin.”

As Blay marched forward, Qhuinn moved around the guy to—

Blay snatched a grab and bared his fangs with a hiss. “Running?”

In a quiet voice, Qhuinn said, “No. I’m shutting the damn door so no one else hears this.”

“I don’t give a fuck!”

Qhuinn thought of Layla down at the other end of the hall, trying to sleep. “Well, I do.”

Qhuinn disengaged and shut them in together. Then before he could turn around, he had to close his eyes and take a little TO.

“You disgust me,” Blay said.

Qhuinn hung his head.

“You need to get the fuck out of my life.” The bitterness in that familiar voice went straight into his heart. “You stay the hell out of my business!”

Qhuinn looked over his shoulder. “You don’t even care that he was with someone else?”

Blay’s mouth opened. Closed. Then those brows dropped low. “What?”

Oh. Great.

In the rush of everything, Blay had clearly not clued in to the whys.

“What did you say?” Blay repeated.

“You heard me.”

When there was no reply, no cursing, nothing thrown in terms of punches or objects, Qhuinn turned around.

After a moment, Blay crossed his arms, not around his chest, but his middle, as if he were vaguely nauseated.

Qhuinn scrubbed his face and spoke in a broken voice. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry….I don’t want this for you.”

Blay shook himself. “What…” Those blue eyes focused. “That’s why you attacked him?”

Qhuinn took a step forward. “I’m sorry…I just…he came in through the door and I caught the scent, and I just lost it. I wasn’t even thinking.”

Blay blinked, like maybe he was getting confronted with a foreign concept.

“That’s why you…why the hell would you do that?”

Qhuinn took another step forward, and then forced himself to stop—in spite of an almost overwhelming need to get close to the guy. And as Blay shook his head like he was having problems understanding all of it, Qhuinn didn’t mean to speak.

But he did. “Do you remember down in the clinic, well over a year ago…” He pointed to the floor, like, in case the guy had forgotten where the training center was. “It was before you and Saxton first…” Right. No finishing that one, not if he wanted to keep down all that food he’d eaten. “Remember what I told you?”

As Blay seemed confused, he helped the guy out. “I told you that if anyone ever hurt you, I would hunt them down and leave them for the sun?” Even he heard the way his voice dropped to a menacing growl. “Saxton hurt you tonight, so I did what I said I was going to do.”

Blay rubbed his face with his hand. “Jesus…”

“I told you what was going to happen. And if he does that again, I can’t promise you I won’t finish the job.”

“Look, Qhuinn, you can’t…you can’t be doing that shit. You just can’t.”

“Don’t you care? He was unfaithful. That’s not okay.”

Blay exhaled long and slow, like he was tired of carrying a weight. “Just…don’t do that again.”

Now Qhuinn was the one shaking his head. He didn’t get it. If he were in a relationship with Blay, and Blay stepped out on him? He’d never get over it.

God, why hadn’t he taken advantage of what he’d been offered? He shouldn’t have run. He should have stayed put.

Unbidden, his feet took another step forward. “I’m sorry….”

All of a sudden, he was saying those words over and over again, repeating them with each footfall that brought him closer to Blay.

“I’m sorry….I’m sorry….I’m…sorry….” He didn’t know what the fuck he was saying or doing; he just had an urgency to repent for all his sins.

There were so many when it came to this honorable male who was standing dead still before him.

Finally, there was only one step left before his bare chest hit Blay’s.

Qhuinn’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

In the thick silence that followed, Blay’s mouth parted…but not in surprise. More like he couldn’t breathe.

Reminding himself not to be a world-revolves-around-me asshole, Qhuinn brought it back to what was happening between Blay and Saxton.

“I don’t want that for you,” he said, his eyes roaming around that face. “You’ve suffered enough, and I know you love him. I’m sorry….I’m so sorry….”

Blay just stood in front of him, his expression frozen, his eyes darting around as if they couldn’t light on anything. But he didn’t pull back, jerk away, storm off. He stayed…right where he was.

“I’m sorry.”

Qhuinn watched from a vast distance as his own hand reached out and touched Blay’s face, the fingertips running over the five o’clock shadow. “I’m sorry.”

Oh, God, to touch him. To feel the warmth of his skin, to inhale his clean, masculine scent.

“I’m sorry.”

What the fuck was he doing? Man…too late to answer that—he was reaching forward with his other hand and putting the palm on that heavy shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

Oh, God, he was drawing Blay in, pulling that body up against his own. “I’m sorry.”

He moved one of his hands to the nape of Blay’s neck and pushed it deep into the thick hair that curled under there. “I’m sorry.”

Blay was stiff, that spine straight as an arrow, his arms remaining around his tight belly. But after a moment, almost as if he were confused by his own reaction, the male began to lean in, that weight shifting subtly at first, and then more so.

With a quick jerk, Qhuinn wrapped his arms around the single most important person in his life. It was not Layla, although he felt a pang at that denial. It was not John, or his king. It wasn’t the Brothers.

This male was his reason for everything.

And even though it killed him that Blay was in love with someone else, he’d fucking take this. It had been too long since he’d touched the guy…and never like this.

“I’m sorry.”

Palming the back of Blay’s head, he urged the male closer to him, tucking that face into his own neck. “I’m sorry.”

As Blay went with it, Qhuinn shuddered, turning his own face inward, breathing in fully, pulling all of the sensations deep into his brain so he could remember this forever. And while his palm rubbed up and down, soothing that muscled back, he did what he could to make amends for so much more than his cousin’s infidelity. “I’m sorry—”

With a quick shift, Blay shook his head. Shook himself free. Pushed back.

Pushed away.

Qhuinn’s shoulders dropped. “I’m sorry.”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because…”

In that moment, as their eyes met, Qhuinn knew it was time. He’d blown so much with Blay; there had been so many missteps and deliberate misunderstandings, so many years, so many denials—all on his part. He’d pussied out for so long, but that was over.

As he opened his mouth to speak the three words on his tongue, Blay’s eyes grew hard. “I don’t need your help, okay? I can take care of myself.”

Pound. Pound. Pound.

His heart was thumping so loud, he wondered if it was going to explode.

“You’re going to stay with him,” Qhuinn said numbly. “You’re going to—”

“You don’t pull that shit with Saxton—not ever again. Swear to it.”

Even though it killed him, Qhuinn was powerless to deny the guy anything. “Okay.” He lifted his palms. “Hands off.”

Blay nodded, the deal sealed.

“I just want to help you,” Qhuinn said. “That’s all.”

“You can’t,” Blay countered.

God, even though they were once again at odds, he craved more contact—and abruptly, he saw the pathway to exactly that. Tricky proposition, but at least there was some internal logic to it.

His arms lifted, his hands seeking, finding, latching on. Blay’s shoulders. Blay’s neck.

Sex surged in him, hardening his cock, making him pant. “But I can help you.”

“How?”

Qhuinn edged in close, bringing his mouth right to Blay’s ear. Then he deliberately put his bare chest against Blay’s. “Use me.”

“ What? ”

“Teach him a lesson.” Qhuinn tightened his hold and tilted Blay’s head back. “Pay him back the right way. With me.”

To make things crystal clear, Qhuinn extended his tongue and ran it up the side of Blay’s throat.

The hiss in response was loud as a curse.

Blay punched into him, shoving him back. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”

Qhuinn cupped his heavy, hard sex. “I want you. And I’ll take you any way I can—even if it’s only to get back at my cousin.”

Blay’s expression played table tennis between utter disbelief and epic anger.

“You fucking asshole! You turn me down for years, and then all of a sudden do a one-eighty? What the fuck is wrong with you!”

With his free hand, Qhuinn played with one of his nipple rings—and focused on what was doing at Blay’s hip level: Underneath that robe, the male became fully erect, that terry cloth no match for the likes of that kind of hard-on.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind! What the fuck!?”

Usually Blay didn’t curse or raise his voice. It was a turn-on to see him lose it.

Locking his eyes on his friend’s, Qhuinn slowly sank down onto his knees. “Let me take care of that—”

“ What?”

He leaned forward and tugged at the bottom of the robe, pulling it toward him. “Come here. Let me show you how I do.”

Blay grabbed the tie that kept the two halves together, and yanked it tighter. “What the hell are you doing?”

God, the fact that he was on his knees, begging, seemed only appropriate. “I want to be with you. I don’t give a shit why—just let me be with you—”

“After all this time? What’s changed?”

“Everything.”

“You’re with Layla—”

“ No. I’ll say it however many times you need to hear it—I’m not with her.”

“She’s pregnant.”

“One time. I was with her once, and just like I told you, it was only because I want a family and so does she. One time, Blay, and never again.”

Blay’s head fell back, his eyes closing as if someone were driving spikes under his fingernails. “Don’t do this to me, for God’s sake, you can’t do this—” As his voice gave out, the anguish was a sad insight into all the problems Qhuinn had caused. “Why now? Maybe it’s you who wants to get back at Saxton—”

“Fuck my cousin, it’s got nothing to do with him for me. If you were alone, I’d still be right on this carpet, on my knees, wanting to be with you. If you were mated to a female, if you were dating someone all casual and shit, if you were in a million different places in life…I’d still be right here. Begging you for something, anything—one time, if that’s all you’ve got.”

Qhuinn reached out again, going under the robe, stroking a strong, muscled leg—and when Blay stepped back again, he knew he was losing the battle.

Shit, he was going to lose this chance if he didn’t—

“Look, Blay, I’ve done a lot of shitty things in my life, but I’ve always kept it real. I almost died tonight—and that sets a male straight. Up there in that airplane, looking over the dark night, I didn’t think I was going to make it. Everything got clear for me. I want to be with you because of that.”

Actually, he’d known a fuck of a lot sooner, waaaaaaaay before the Cessna situation, but he was hoping the explanation made sense to Blay.

Maybe it did. In response, the guy weaved on his feet, as if he were going to give in—or leave. There was no telling which one it was.

Qhuinn rushed to get more words out. “I’m sorry I’ve wasted so much time—and if you don’t want to be with me, I get it. I’ll back off—I’ll live with the consequences. But for the love of God, if there’s a chance—for whatever reason on your side—revenge, curiosity…hell, even if you’ll let me fuck you just once and never, ever again, for the sole reason of driving a stake through my heart? I’ll take it. I’ll take you…any way I can get you.”

He reached out a third time, snaking his hand around the back of Blay’s leg. Stroking. Pleading. “I don’t care what it costs me….”

TWENTY-SEVEN

Looming over Qhuinn, Blay was preternaturally aware of everything around him: the feel of Qhuinn’s hand on the back of his thigh, the way the hem of the robe brushed against his calf, the scent of sex thickening the air.

In so many ways, he had wanted this his whole life—or at least ever since he’d survived his transition and had any sexual impulse at all. This moment was the culmination of countless daydreams and innumerable fantasies, his secret desire made manifest.

And it was honest: Qhuinn’s mismatched eyes were without shadows—or doubts. The male was not only speaking the God’s honest as he knew it in his heart; he was at peace with laying himself vulnerable like this.

Blay closed his lids briefly. This submission was the opposite of everything that defined Qhuinn as a male. He never surrendered—not his principles, not his weapons, never, ever himself. Then again, the turnaround did make some kind of sense. Facing death did tend to be followed by a come-to-Jesus chaser….

The trouble was, he had a feeling this wasn’t going to last. This “eye-opener” was undoubtedly tied to that plane ride, but as with a heart attack victim resuming his piss-poor diet soon afterward, the “revelation” probably didn’t have a long shelf life. Yeah, Qhuinn meant what he was saying in this heady moment—there was no doubting that. It was hard to believe it was permanent, however.

Qhuinn was who he was. And soon enough, after the shock wore off—maybe at nightfall, maybe next week, maybe a month from now—he was going to go back to his closed-off, hands-off, distant self.

Decision made, Blay reopened his lids and bent down. As their faces got closer, Qhuinn’s lips parted, the fuller, lower one pursing as if he were already trying out the taste of what he wanted—and liking it.

Fuck. The fighter was so magnificent, his powerful bare chest glowing in the lamplight, his skin carrying a sheen of arousal, his pierced nipples rising and falling to the driving beat of his heated blood.

Blay ran his hand down the corded muscles of the arm that linked them, from the heavy thickness of the shoulder to the bulge of the biceps and the cut curl of the triceps.

He removed the palm from his thigh.

And stepped away.

Qhuinn paled to the point of going gray.

In the silence, Blay didn’t say a word. He couldn’t—his voice was gone.

On sloppy, loose legs, he scrambled for the way out, his hand flapping around the doorknob until it gathered enough coordination to open up the exit. Walking out, he couldn’t have said whether he slammed the door or shut it quietly.

He didn’t make it far. Barely three feet toward his room, he collapsed back against the smooth, cool wall of the hallway.

Panting. He was panting.

And all that effort wasn’t doing any good. The suffocation in his chest was getting worse, and abruptly his vision was replaced by black-and-white checkerboard squares.

Figuring he was about to pass out, he sank down onto his haunches and put his head between his knees. In the recesses of his mind, he prayed that the hall stayed empty. This was not the kind of thing he wanted to explain to anyone: outside of Qhuinn’s room, hard-on obvious, body shaking like he had his own personal earthquake going on.

“Jesus Christ…”

I almost died tonight—that sets a male straight. Up there in that airplane, looking over the dark night, I didn’t think I was going to make it. Everything got clear for me.

“No,” Blay said out loud. “ No …”

Putting his head in his hands, he tried to breathe calmly, think rationally, act reasonably. He couldn’t afford to go any deeper in this—

Those heated, glossy, mismatched eyes had been the stuff of legend.

“ No,” he hissed.

As his voice resonated inside his own skull, he resolved to listen to himself. No further. This would go no further.

He’d long ago lost his heart to that male.

There was no reason to lose his soul, too.

An hour later, maybe two, maybe six, Qhuinn lay naked between cool sheets, staring up in the dark at a ceiling he could not see.

Was this horrible, aching pain what Blay had felt? Like, after that showdown in his parents’ basement—when Qhuinn had been prepared to leave Caldwell, and made it clear that there were gonna be no ties between them anymore? Or maybe after that time they’d kissed in the clinic, and Qhuinn had refused to go any further? Or following that final collision when they had nearly come together, right before Blay’s first date with Saxton?

So damn hollow.

Like this room, really: Without illumination, and essentially empty, just four walls and a ceiling. Or a bag of skin and a skeleton, as it were.

Shifting his hand up, he put it over his beating heart just to reassure himself he still had one.

Man, fate had a way of teaching you things you needed to know, even if you weren’t aware the lesson was required until it had been served to you: He’d spent way too much time wrapped up in himself and his defect and his failure to his family and society. Such a tangled fucking mess he’d been for so long, and Blay, because he’d cared, had been sucked into the vortex.

But when had he ever supported his best friend? What had he ever really done for the guy?

Blay had been right to leave this room. Too little, too late, wasn’t that the saying? And it wasn’t like Qhuinn was offering any kind of winner. Underneath the surface, he was no more stable, really. No more at peace.

Nope, he deserved this—

The slice of light was lemon yellow, and it cut through the black field of his vision as if the blindness were cloth and the beam a sharp knife.

A figure slipped into his room silently, and shut the door.

By the scent, he knew who it was.

Qhuinn’s heart began to thunder as he shot upright off the pillows. “Blay…?”

There was the softest of rustling, a robe being dropped from the shoulders of a tall male. And then, moments later, the mattress depressed as a great, vital weight got up upon it.

Qhuinn reached through the darkness with unerring accuracy, his hands finding the sides of Blay’s neck sure as if they had been led by sight.

No talking. He was afraid that words would cheat him of this miracle.

Lifting his mouth, he pulled Blay down to his own, and when those velvet lips were in range, he kissed them with a desperation that was returned. All at once, the pent-up past was released in a fury, and as he tasted blood, he didn’t know whose fangs had scored what.

Who the fuck cared.

On a hard yank, he laid Blay down and then he rolled over on top of the other male, spreading those thighs and pushing himself between them until his hard cock came up against Blay’s….

They both groaned.

Dizzy from all the naked skin, Qhuinn began pumping his hips up and back, the friction of their sexes and their hot flesh magnifying the wet heat of their mouths. Frenzy, everywhere, hurry, hurry, hurry—holy fucking shit, there was too much hunger to make any sense of where his hands were, or what he was rubbing against, or— for fuck’s sake, there was too much skin to touch, too much hair to pull, too much…

Дата добавления: 2015-11-14