Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last (29 page)

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