Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last (136 page)

The
lesser
looked back and forth between Assail and the cousins. “What if I want to buy more than this?”

Assail had considered this probability. He hadn’t spent the past twelve months getting middlemen

to shoot themselves in the head for nothing—and he wasn’t about to cede his hard-won power to

anyone. This was a unique opportunity, however. If the Lessening Society wanted to make some

money on the streets, he was fine with providing them the drugs to do so. It wasn’t as if this foul-smelling son of a bitch was going to be able to get to Benloise because Assail was going to make sure that didn’t happen. More to the point, Assail had a rate-limiting issue inherent in his business model

—with just the three of them, he had more product than he had sellers.

So it was time to start outsourcing. His stranglehold on the city complete, the next phase was to

handpick some third parties for contract work, so to speak.

“We’re going to start slowly and see how it goes,” Assail murmured. “You need me. I’m the

source. So it’s your choice how we proceed. I am certainly not…how do you say…disinclined to

increase your orders. Over time.”

“How do I know you’re not working with the Brotherhood?”

“If I were, I would have them ambush you right now.” He indicated the bags at the feet of the

slayer. “Further, as a gesture of good faith, and in recognition of your losses, I have credited you three thousand dollars in this delivery. One grand for each of our, shall we say, misinterpretations from last night.”

The slayer’s brows popped.

In the silence that followed, the wind blew around them all, coats sweeping out, the
lesser’s

jacket collar whistling.

Assail was content to wait for a reaction. There were one of two answers: Yes, in which case

Ehric was going to throw over the package. No, at which time the three of them opened fire on the

fucker, disabled him, and stabbed him back to the Omega.

Either was acceptable to him. But he was hoping for the former.

There was money to be made. For both sides.

Sola kept her distance from the quartet of men who had gathered under the bridge: lingering on the

fringes, she used her binocs to focus on the meeting.

Mr. Mystery Man, a.k.a. the Great Roadside Houdini, was backed up by two huge bodyguards

who were mirror images of each other. From all appearances, it seemed that he was running the

meeting, and that was not a surprise—and she could guess at the agenda.

Sure enough, the twin on the left stepped forward and gave a package the size of a child’s lunch

box to the man who was on his own.

As she waited for the deal to wind down, she knew she was taking her life into her own hands on

this one—and not because she was under the bridge after dark.

Considering the run-in she’d had with the man the night before, it was highly doubtful he was

going to appreciate her getting on his tail, following him out here, and playing third-party witness to his illegal activities. But she had spent most of the last twenty-four hours thinking about him—and getting pissed off. It was a free fucking country, and if she wanted to be out here on public property, she was allowed.

He wanted privacy? Then he should take care of business somewhere other than out in the

goddamn open.

As her temper resurged, she gritted her teeth…and knew that this was her worst character defect

at work.

For her entire life, she had been the type to do whatever she was told not to. Of course, when that involved things like, No, you can’t have a cookie before dinner, or, No, you can’t take the car out; you’re grounded, or…No, you should not go see your father in prison…the implications were very

different from what was going down in front of her.

No, you may not go back to that house.

No, you may not watch me anymore.

Yeah, whatever, big shots.
She
was going to decide when she’d had enough, thank you very much.

And at the moment? She had
not
had enough.

Besides, there was another angle to her tenacity: she didn’t like losing her nerve, and that was

what had happened last night. As she’d pulled away from her confrontation with that man, it had been from a place of fear—and that was
not
going to be the way she ran her life. Ever since that tragedy, oh, so long ago, when things had changed forever, she had decided—vowed, was more like it—that

she would never again be afraid of anything.

Not pain. Not death. Not the unknown.

And certainly not a man.

Sola tightened up the focus, closing in on his face. Thanks to the city’s glow, there was enough for her to see it properly, and yup, it was just as she remembered. God, his hair was so damn black,

almost as if he’d colored it. And his eyes—narrowed, aggressive. And his expression, so haughty and in control.

Frankly, he looked too classy to be what he was. Then again, maybe he was cut from the Benloise

cloth of drug dealer.

Shortly thereafter, the two sides went their separate ways: the single man turned and walked in the direction he’d come from, a collection of barely filled trash bags slung over his shoulder; the other three recrossing the pavement, returning to the Range Rover.

Sola jogged back to her rental car, her dark bodysuit and ski mask helping her blend into the

shadows. Getting behind the wheel of the Ford, she ducked down out of sight and used a mirror to

monitor the one-way that ran underneath the bridge.

The road was the only exit available. Unless the man was willing to risk a pullover by the CPD

for going against traffic.

Moments later, the Range Rover passed her by. After allowing it to get slightly ahead, she hit her

own gas and slid into position about a block behind.

When Benloise had given her the assignment, he’d provided her with the make and model of the

man’s SUV, in addition to that address out on the Hudson. Not the name, though.

All she had was that real estate trust and its single trustee.

As she tracked the threesome, she memorized the license plate. One of her friends down at the

police station might be able to help with that; although, given that the house was owned by a legal entity, she surmised he’d done the same with automobile.

Whatever. There was one thing she was sure of.

Wherever he was going next, she was going to be there.

FORTY-SIX

The shout blasted through the dim bedroom, loud, sharp, unexpected.

As it reverberated in her ears, Layla didn’t immediately know who had woken her up with

it. What had—

Glancing down, she knew she was sitting upright, the sheets crushed in her tight hands, her

heart pounding, her rib cage pumping.

Looking around, she found that her mouth was wide open…

Closing her jaw, she knew she must have made the sound. There was no one else in the room. And

the door was shut.

Lifting her hands, she twisted her wrists so they were palm up, then palm down. The illumination

in the room, such as it was, was not coming from her flesh anymore. It was the bathroom light.

Jerking herself to the side, she peered over the edge of the bed.

Payne was no longer lying in a heap. The female must have left—or been carried out?

Her first thought was to go and find Vishous’s sister, just jump up and start searching. Although

she hadn’t understood exactly what had transpired between them, there was no doubt that it had cost the fighter dearly.

But Layla stopped herself, as worry for her own well-being took over: Her awareness shifted

from the external to the internal, her mind burrowing into her body, searching out and expecting to find the cramping, the warm welling between her legs, the strange lagging aches that rode her bones.

Nothing.

As a room could go silent when all who were within it went quiet, so too could the corporeal

form when all its component parts had no complaints.

Shifting the covers from herself, she moved her legs over so that they dangled off the edge of the

high mattress. Subconsciously, she braced herself for the god-awful sensation of blood leaving her

womb. When there was nothing of the sort, she wondered if the miscarriage hadn’t concluded itself.

But hadn’t Havers said that it would be another week?

It took courage to stand up. Even though she supposed that was ridiculous.

Still nothing.

Layla went into the bathroom slowly, expecting at any moment for the onslaught of symptoms to

return and take her down to her knees. She waited for the pain to strike, for those rhythmic cramps to come back, for that process to once again establish dominance over her body and her mind.

I don’t know whether it will work, but if you’re willing, I’d like to do what I can.

Layla all but ripped off her clothing, shedding what covered her in a mad dash. And then she was

on the toilet.

No bleeding.

No cramps.

Half of her went into a sorrow so deep, she feared there was no bottom to the emotion—in a

strange way, during the process of the miscarriage, she’d felt as though she’d still had some kind of connection with her young. If it was over? Then the death was complete—even though logically she

knew there was naught that had lived or was capable of survival; otherwise, the pregnancy wouldn’t

have terminated itself.

The other half of her was struck by a resonant hope.

What if…

She took a shower quickly, in spite of the fact that she didn’t really know why she was rushing, or where she would go.

Looking down at her stomach, she ran her soapy hands over the smooth, flat stretch of skin.

“Please…anything you want, take anything you want…give me this life inside of me, and you can

take anything else….”

She was talking to the Scribe Virgin, of course—not that the race’s mother was listening anymore.

“Give me my young…let me keep it…
please….”

The desperation she felt was nearly as bad as the physical stuff had been, and she stumbled out of

the shower, drying herself roughly and throwing on clean something-or-others.

From what she’d watched of the television, human women had tests they could take themselves,

sticks and whatnot apparently designed to inform them of their body’s procreational mysteries.

Vampires had nothing of the sort—at least, not of which she was aware.

But males knew. They always knew.

Bursting out of her room, she hurried in the direction of the hall of statues, praying that she ran into someone, anyone—

Except Qhuinn.

No, she didn’t want him to be the one who figured out whether a miracle had happened…or

nothing had changed. That was just too cruel.

The first door she came to was Blaylock’s and she knocked on it after a hesitation. Blay had

known about the situation all along. And at his core, he was a very good male, a strong, good male.

When there was no answer, she cursed and turned away. She hadn’t checked the time, but given

that the shutters were up and there was no scent of dinner being served down below, it was probably in the middle of the night. No doubt he had gone fighting—

“Layla?”

She wrenched around. Blay was leaning through the doorway of his room, his expression one of

surprise.

“I’m so sorry—” As her voice cracked, she had to clear it. “I…I—”

“What’s wrong? Are you—whoa, easy, there. Here, let’s get you to sit down.”

As something came up and caught her bottom, she became aware that he’d settled her on the gold-

leafed bench just outside his room.

He knelt down in front of her and took her hands. “Can I get Qhuinn for you? I think he’s—”

“Tell me if I’m still pregnant.” As his eyes peeled wide, she squeezed his palms. “I need to know.

Something…” She wasn’t sure whether Payne wanted her to talk about what had gone on between

them. “I just need to know whether it’s over or not. Can you…please, I need to know….”

As she started to babble, he put his hand on her upper arm and stroked it. “Calm down. Just take a

deep breath—here, breathe with me. That’s it…okay…”

She did her best to comply, focusing on the steady, even tone of his deep voice.

“I want to call Doc Jane, all right?” When she started to argue, he shook his head firmly. “You

stay right here. Promise me that you won’t go anywhere. I’m just going to grab my phone. You stay

here.”

For some reason, her teeth started to chatter. Odd, as it wasn’t cold.

A second later, the soldier came back and knelt down again. He had his phone up to his ear, and

he was talking.

“Okay, Jane’s coming right now,” he said as he put the thing away. “And I’m going to hang here

with you.”