The Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8

by J. R. Ward

  Fun, fun, fun. Getting that one to take money from a male she hated was going to be a real party.

  “Whatever you need,” Xhex said tightly as she left.

  Making her way through the club, she prayed no one rubbed her the wrong way, especially given that a badge was in the house.

  When she finally got to her office, she reined her frustration in and opened the door, sticking a tight smile on her face. “Evening, Detective.”

  De la Cruz turned around. In his hand, he had a small ivy plant, one that was no bigger than his palm. “Got a present for you.”

  “I told you, I’m not good with living things.”

  He put it on the desk. “Maybe we’ll just start you off slow, though.”

  As she sat on her chair, she stared at the fragile living thing and felt a flare of panic. “I don’t think—”

  “Before you say I can’t give you anything because I work for the city”—he took a receipt out of his pocket—“it cost less than three dollars. Which is cheaper than a coffee from Starbucks.”

  He put the little white slip next to the dark green plastic pot.

  Xhex cleared her throat. “Well, as much as I appreciate your concern for my interior decorating—”

  “Got nothing to do with your furniture choice.” He smiled and sat down. “Do you know why I’m here?”

  “You found the man who murdered Chrissy Andrews?”

  “Yeah, I did. And if you’ll excuse my French, he was in front of her headstone with his cock cut off and stuffed in his mouth.”

  “Wow. Ouch.”

  “You mind telling me where you were last night? Or do you want to get an attorney first?”

  “Why would I need one of those? I’ve got nothing to hide. And I was here all evening. Ask any of the bouncers.”

  “All evening.”

  “Yup.”

  “I found footprints around the crime scene. Smallish, combat boot–style ones.” He looked down to the floor. “Kind of like what you wear.”

  “I’ve been to the grave. Of course I have. I’m mourning a friend.” She put her soles up so he could see them, knowing they were a different make and manufacturer than the ones she’d worn the night before. Different size, too, with padding all along the interior making them a ten wide, not a nine medium.

  “Hmm.” After his inspection, de la Cruz leaned back and put his fingertips together, elbows resting on the stainless-steel arms of the chair. “Can I be honest with you?”

  “Yup.”

  “I think you killed him.”

  “Do you.”

  “Yeah. It was a violent crime, the ins and outs of which suggest it was committed for the purpose of payback. See, the coroner believes, as I do, that Grady was alive when he was…shall we say, worked on. And this was no hatchet job. He was disabled in a professional way, like the murderer had been trained to kill.”

  “This is a tough neighborhood, and Chrissy had a lot of tough friends. Any one of them could have done it.”

  “There were mostly women at that funeral.”

  “And you don’t think females are capable of something like that? Rather sexist, Detective.”

  “Oh, I know women can kill. Trust me. And…you look like the kind of female who could.”

  “You profiling me? Just because I wear black leather and work security in a club?”

  “No. I was with you when you IDed Chrissy’s body. I saw the way you looked at her, and that’s what makes me think you did it. You have a revenge motive, and you had the opportunity, because anyone could slip out of this place for an hour, do the business, and get back here.” He stood up and went to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “I would advise you to get a good lawyer. You’re going to need one.”

  “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Detective.”

  He shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so. See, most people I go and talk to when there’s a body involved, the first thing they tell me, whether it’s true or not, is that they didn’t do it. You haven’t said anything even close to that.”

  “Maybe I don’t feel the need to defend myself.”

  “Maybe you have no remorse because Grady was a shithead who beat a young woman to death, and that crime sits no better with you than it does any of us.” De la Cruz’s eyes looked sad and exhausted as he turned the knob. “Why didn’t you let us pick him up? We’d have nailed him. Put him away. You should have let us take care of it.”

  “Thanks for the plant, Detective.”

  The guy nodded, like the rules of the game had just been laid out and the playing field agreed upon. “Get that lawyer. Fast.”

  As the door shut, Xhex eased back in her chair and looked at the ivy. Nice green color, she thought. And she liked the shape of the leaves, the pointed symmetry pleasing to the eye, the little veins forming a pretty pattern.

  She was so going to end up killing this poor, innocent thing.

  A knock on the door brought her eyes up. “Come in.”

  Marie-Terese entered, smelling of Calvin Klein’s Euphoria and wearing loose blue jeans and a white shirt. Obviously her shift hadn’t started yet. “I just interviewed two girls.”

  “You like either of them?”

  “One is hiding something. I’m not sure what. The other’s okay, although she’s had a botched boob job.”

  “Should we send her to Dr. Malik?”

  “Think so. She’s pretty enough to pull the Benjamins. You want to meet her?”

  “Not right now, but yeah. How about tomorrow night?”

  “I’ll have her here, you just name the time—”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  Marie-Terese nodded without hesitation. “Anything.”

  In the silence that followed, it was on the tip of Xhex’s tongue to bring up John and Gina’s little bang sesh in the bathroom. But what was there to know? It had just been a business transaction that was common in the club.

  “I was the one who sent him to Gina,” Marie-Terese said quietly.

  Xhex’s stare flipped up to the woman. “Who?”

  “John Matthew. I sent him to her. I figured it would be easier.”

  Xhex fiddled with the Caldwell Courier Journal on her desk. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Marie-Terese’s expression was all about the yeah-whatever, but to her credit she didn’t take it any farther. “What time tomorrow night?”

  “For what?”

  “Meeting the new girl.”

  Oh, right. “Let’s say ten o’clock.”

  “Sounds good.” Marie-Terese turned away.

  “Hey, do me a favor?” When the woman pivoted back around, Xhex held out the little ivy plant. “Take this home for me? And, like, I don’t know…make it live.”

  Marie-Terese glanced at the thing, shrugged, and came over to get it. “I like plants.”

  “Which means that damn thing just won the lottery. Because I don’t.”

  FIFTY-SIX

  Rehvenge hit CTRL-P on his laptop and leaned back to pick up the papers spitting out of his printer one by one. When the machine let out a final whir and sigh, he brought the stack forward, separated the pages accordingly, initialed the top right of each, then signed his name three times. Same signature, same letters, same cursive scrawl.

  He didn’t call Xhex in to witness. Didn’t ask Trez to do it.

  iAm was the one who came, the Moor John Hancocking the name he’d assumed for human purposes on the appropriate lines to verify the will and the transfer of real property assets and the trust. After that was done, he went on to sign his true name on a letter that was written in the Old Language as well as a declaration of bloodline.

  When it was all done, Rehv put everything in a black LV Epi briefcase and gave the lot to iAm. “I want you to take her out of here in thirty minutes. Take her even if you have to knock her ass cold. And make sure your brother is with you and all the staff is gone.”

  iAm didn’t say anything. Instead, he t
ook out the knife he kept at the small of his back, sliced open his palm, and reached out, his blood dropping thick and blue onto the laptop’s keyboard. He was as steady as Rehv needed him to be, totally unblinking, and solid.

  Which was why long ago he had been the one chosen for the rough shit.

  Rehv had to swallow hard as he stood up and took the hand that was presented. They shook on the blood vow, and then their bodies met in a hard, tight embrace.

  iAm said softly in the Old Language, “I knew you well. I loved you as mine own flesh and bone. I will honor you e’er more.”

  “Take care of her, okay? She’s going to be wild for a while.”

  “Trez and I will do whatever we have to.”

  “None of this was her fault. Neither the beginning nor the end. Xhex is going to have to believe that.”

  “I know.”

  They parted and Rehv had a hard time letting go of his old friend’s shoulder, mostly because this was the only good-bye he was going to make: Xhex and Trez would have fought what he was going to do, would have tried to negotiate other solutions as they clawed and grabbed for some other outcome. iAm was more fatalistic than that. More realistic, as well, because there was no other way.

  “Go,” Rehv said in a cracked voice.

  iAm put his blooded palm over his heart, bowed down to the waist, then left without looking back.

  Rehv’s hands were shaking as he pulled back his cuff and checked his watch. The club was closing now at four. Cleaning people arrived at five a.m. on the dot. Which meant after everyone was gone he had about a half hour.

  He picked up his phone and headed for his bedroom, hitting a number he called often.

  As he locked the door, his sister’s voice was warm on the line. “Hey, brother mine.”

  “Hey.” He sat on the bed, wondering what to say.

  In the background, Nalla whimpered in a little plaintive plea, and Rehv grew still. He could just picture the two of them together, the young held against his sister’s shoulder, a fragile bundle of future wrapped up in a soft blanket edged with a satin ribbon.

  For mortals, the only infinity you had was the young, wasn’t it.

  He would never have them.

  “Rehvenge? Are you there? You okay?”

  “Yeah. I just called because…I wanted to say…” Good-bye. “I love you.”

  “That is so sweet. It’s hard, isn’t it. Being without Mahmen.”

  “Yeah. It is.” He squeezed his eyes shut, and as if on cue, Nalla started to cry properly, a howl warbling through the phone.

  “Sorry about my little noise box,” Bella said. “She won’t sleep unless I’m walking around, and my feet are starting to give out.”

  “Listen…do you remember that lullaby I used to sing to you? Back when you were small.”

  “Oh, my God, the one about the four seasons? Yes! I haven’t thought about that for years…. You used to do it when I couldn’t sleep. Even when I was older.”

  Yes, that was it, Rehv thought. The one directly from the Old Myths about the four seasons of the year and of life, the one that had gotten both him and his sister through a lot of sleepless days, him singing, her resting.

  “How did it go again?” Bella said. “I can’t—”

  Rehv sang awkwardly at first, the words tripping from rusty memory, the notes not perfect because his voice had always been too deep for the key it had been written in.

  “Oh…that’s it,” Bella whispered. “Here, let me put you on speakerphone….”

  There was a beep and then an echo, and as he sang on, Nalla’s cries dried up, flames extinguished by a gentle rain of ancient words.

  The spring’s pale green cloak…the summer’s bright-flowering veil…the fall’s chilling weave…the winter’s blanket of cold…Seasons not just of the earth but of every living thing, the peak to strive for and the victory of fruition, followed by the fall from the crest and the soft, white light of the Fade that was the eternal landing.

  He sang the lullaby through twice, and his last trip through the words was his best. He stopped there, because he didn’t want to risk that the next try wouldn’t be as good.

  Bella’s voice was rocky with tears. “You did it. You put her to sleep.”

  “You could sing that for her if you like.”

  “I will. I definitely will. Thank you for reminding me of it. I don’t know why I didn’t think to give it a go before now.”

  “Maybe you would have. Eventually.”

  “Thank you, Rehv.”

  “Sleep thee well, sister mine.”

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, ’kay? You sound off to me.”

  “I love you.”

  “Aw…I love you, too. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  There was a pause. “Take care. Take care of yourself and your young and your hellren.”

  “I will, dearest brother. Bye-bye.”

  Rehv hung up and sat with the phone in his hand. To keep the screen lit, he pressed the shift key every couple of minutes.

  It killed him not to call Ehlena. Text her. Reach out. But she was in the place she needed to be: Better she hate him than mourn him.

  At four thirty, he got the text from iAm he’d been waiting for. Just two words.

  All clear.

  Rehv stood up off the bed. The dopamine was wearing thin, but there was enough still in him so that without his cane he wobbled and he had to catch his balance. When he was convinced he was steady enough, he took off his sable coat and his jacket and disarmed himself, leaving the guns he usually kept under his arms right on the bed.

  It was time to go, time to use the system he’d installed after he’d purchased the club’s brick building and renovated it from cornerstone to rooftop.

  The whole place was wired for sound. And not the Dolby kind.

  He went back out into the office and sat behind the desk and unlocked the lowest right-hand drawer. Inside was a black box no bigger than a TV remote, and other than him, iAm was the only one who knew what it was and what it was for. iAm was also the only guy who knew about the bones that were tucked under Rehv’s bed, bones that were human male in nature and roughly the size Rehv was. Then again, iAm had been the one who’d gotten them.

  Rehv took the remote and got to his feet, looking around one last time. Neat piles of paperwork on the desk. Money in the safe. Drugs back in Rally’s scale room.

  He walked out of the office. The club was well lit now that it was after hours, and the VIP section had the detritus of the night all over it, like a whore too well used: There were footprints on the glossy black floor, circular water marks on the tables, napkins wadded up and left in the banquettes here and there. The waitresses cleaned up after each patron, but there was only so much you could see in the dark if you were a human.

  Across the way, the waterfall was off, so there was a clear view to the general-pop section—which didn’t look any better. The dance floor was scuffed up. There were swizzle sticks and lollipop wrappers everywhere, and even a pair of panties had been left behind in one corner. On the ceiling above, the laser lighting system’s networks of girders and wires and lamp cups was exposed, and without music being played, the huge speakers hibernated like black bears in a cave.

  In this state, the club was The Wizard of Oz made obvious: All the magic that went on here night after night, all the buzz and excitement, was really just a combination of electronics, booze, and chemicals, an illusion for the people who walked through the front doors, a fantasy that allowed them to be whatever they weren’t in their day-to-day lives. Maybe they jonesed to be powerful because they felt weak, or sexual because they felt ugly, or chic and rich when they weren’t, or young when they were gaining speed on middle age. Maybe they wanted to burn off the pain of a failed relationship or get revenge over being jilted or pretend they weren’t searching for a mate when actually they were desperate for one.

  Sure, they came out for “fun,” but he was damn certain that underneath the surface of all the
bright and shiny, there was a whole lot of dark and seedy.

  The club as it was now was the perfect metaphor for his life. He had been the Wizard, fooling those closest to him for so long, fitting in with the normals through a combination of drugs and lies and subterfuge.

  That time had passed.

  Rehv took one last turn around and went out the front double doors. The black-on-black ZeroSum sign was not spotlit, indicating that they were closed for the night. Closed for good was more like it.

  He glanced left and right. There was no one on the street, no cars or pedestrians in sight.

  He walked over and checked the alley by the side entrance that led into the VIP section and then quickly went across and looked down the other alley. No homeless. No hangers-on.

  Standing in the cold wind, Rehv took a moment to sense out the buildings around the club, searching for grids that indicated there were humans in them. Nothing. All clear was right.

  Ready to go, he walked across the street and down two blocks, and then he paused, slid the top of the remote down, and entered an eight-digit code.

  Ten…nine…eight…

  They’d find the bones burned to a crisp, and he wondered for a brief moment whose they were. iAm hadn’t said, and he hadn’t asked.

  Seven…six…five…

  Bella was going to be okay. She had Zsadist and Nalla and the Brothers and their shellans. It was going to be brutal on her, but she would get through it, and better this than her learning the truth that would destroy her: She didn’t need to ever know that her mother had been raped and her brother was half sin-eater.

  Four…

  Xhex would stay away from the colony. iAm would make sure of that, because he was going to force her to stick to the vow she’d made the night before: She’d promised to take care of someone, and the letter Rehv had written in the Old Language and made iAm witness had been the demand that she take care of herself. Yes, he’d tricked her into it. No doubt she assumed he was going to get her to kill off the princess, or maybe even watch after Ehlena. But he was a symphath, wasn’t he. And she’d made the mistake of giving her word without knowing what she was committing to.