The Bastard (21 page)

“Almost done, then you can sleep.”

Silence buzzed like a bee. Lacy nudged the door open and glanced inside. Her nose wrinkled. It reeked. She kicked a pile of dirty clothes out of the way and pushed the door wider. The counter top was crusted with stains and piled with weapons. Trash, dust and decomposing food filled the living area. In just a fast glance, she automatically counted six firearms and as many knives. A long curved sword had been tossed on the couch.

Dray was more than a slob. He was a pig.

“Hello?”

Omen loped from the bedroom to sit in front of the doorway, guarding those inside. His owner stepped around him. Nomad’s scowl no longer surprised her, but now it was heavily lined with caution. “Need something?”

“Dray’s hurt, right? Do
you
need some help?”

“No, I got it.” She knew Nomad had his medical license, but he didn’t have the most charming bedside manner. Blood splattered across his skin and his uncharacteristic wordless black tee shirt clung wetly to his stomach. Her eyes fell to his right arm. What kind of doctor had a tattoo of a bloody sickle? “Can’t you give him something for pain?”

His eyes narrowed. “He’s allergic to most pain killers.”

“Oh.” What a dangerous allergy for Dray to have in this profession. “What happened?”

His dark beard twitched as his jaw shifted. “We stumbled into some of your admirers. Dray’s fine and they’re dead.”

So bluntly stated, the deaths rocked Lacy to her bones. Dray got hurt searching for a way to keep her safe. Vomiting noises jerked Nomad’s head around. He didn’t spare a word as he darted back into the bedroom. Her heart ached hearing the noises coming from the other room. This was her fault. There had to be something she could do.

Lacy eyed the dog. If she could get past the guard.

“Good boy, Omen. I just want to check on him. Good boy.”

Deep brown canine eyes locked on her, watched her approach with a hand outstretched. He was huge, his head reaching her bust even while sitting. Her fingers shook but she kept her voice sing-songy.

“Good boy. Such a good doggie. Nice doggie.”

She patted his head, marveling at how soft his fur was. He was a terrifying mutt, but his ears were like velvet. The dog didn’t lessen his vigilant stance, didn’t arch to be petted or nuzzle her fingers but he also didn’t bite. She took that as acceptance and scooted past him.

The room was empty, sounds of a shower and the men talking in low voices leaking through the bathroom door. The actual bedroom was a scene out of a horror movie. Although there was less trash than in the living area, it still looked torn apart. Clothes hung out of dresser drawers and milkshake cups had melted and solidified to the dresser top. Candy wrappers littered every surface. The bed was rumpled, the sheets dingy and bloody. Her stomach twisted. Not all of the blood smears were fresh. Some were so dried they had faded to softness.

Who knew when he’d changed those sheets last? She couldn’t let him lay on them now. He’d probably get an infection. At the very least, he should rest in a clean bed. She tore the pillowcases off first. Two knives and a gun beneath the pillows stopped her. The hair on the back of her neck rose. Did these men never let down their guard? Why did they feel the need for protection at all times? What kind of life had they lived that put that suspicion there?

Gingerly, she put Dray’s weapons on the cluttered dresser top then ripped the sheets from the bed, tossing them out into the outer room. She’d burn them later. The hall linen closet held sheets she’d washed herself, so she grabbed a new king-size set and in minutes had the bed covered. His comforter looked less dirty, but she didn’t want to risk it. A plain green blanket would serve until she could disinfect his set.

The bathroom door opened. Dray swayed on his feet, his dark hair hanging wet and lank against his face. The stark white bandages on his right thigh stood out like snow against his skin. Lacy quickly averted her gaze when she realized the bandage was all he wore. He would have fallen face first into bed, but Nomad turned him and pushed him to his back. “Couple hours is all you’ll need.”

“Feels like a week,” Dray moaned.

“Don’t be a pussy. Get some sleep.”

Lacy tugged the clean sheets over his legs. “Can he take Tylenol at least? Something? He’s got to be in misery.”

“Nope, just let him sleep.” Nomad tapped his leg and Omen trailed him out of the apartment. Neither spared a glance back.

Annoyance pressed her lips tight. Whatever happened to some simple human compassion? She went into the kitchenette and opened the fridge. Leftovers from every conceivable place crammed the shelves, most with green stuff growing on them. But the bottled water was okay. She grabbed one and headed back into Dray’s bedroom.

His eyes were closed and his breathing slower. Pending sleep had softened the lines of pain around his mouth. Muscles that had been bunched were relaxed, sinking into the mattress. She closed the drapes to block out the sun and sat the bottle on the nightstand, smoothing a stray hair away from his cheek.

Dark forest-green eyes snapped open as his hand jammed under the pillow and found no weapon. Instant distrust blazed in his look. Intuition made her whirl. If he needed a dagger like a child needed a security blanket, she wasn’t going to keep it from him. She grabbed a knife and shoved it under his pillow. His hands wrapped around hers, squeezing until her fingers dug into the hilt. His suspicion layered with a palatable fear that made her chest ache.

Extracting her fingers, Lacy stroked his cheek. His skin was clammy, but at least there was no fever. “You’re safe, Dray. No one will hurt you. I’ll be right outside the door, shoveling the mess out of the living room. If you need anything, just shout.”

“Why are you doing this?”

His voice was scratchy. Disbelief warred with something bright in his gaze, something she hoped was growing trust. “Because everyone needs someone sometime.”

The tense lines in his forehead softened but his eyes narrowed, judging her words. She fought to keep her smile in place. “I set some water by the bed. I’ll check on you in a few hours, okay?”

He stared for a several breaths. Impulse struck and she gave in, dropping a light kiss to his forehead and straightened the blanket around him. “I’m going to go get some bleach from downstairs. I’ll be right back.”

“Why aren’t you married?” His words were starting to slur.

“Almost was once. Annie needed me more.”

“You like to be needed.”

Her spine straightened. “Something wrong with that?”

“No.” Slowly his eyes closed and he whispered something soft and in a strange language.

“What did that mean?”

“An old Romanian saying — all the power in the world is in a woman’s touch.”

The elevator ride down was short but it gave her time to think. These men were rough and rigid, strong and gruff. They were all hard men, but they weren’t bad men.

Nomad hated everyone and everything, but his dog couldn’t have had a better keeper. His sarcasm never cut too deeply or struck too low. He was just a grouch. Dray was like a teenager, out to have as much fun as he could stomach. His stomach was a teasing point. He had the dietary habits of a twelve-year-old boy. She just overlooked the nights he went out dressed in leather and chains and came home smelling of wax and sex.

Rex was a man-whore, spending most evenings out with this piece of tail or that. Sexual innuendo flavored almost every word out of his mouth, but it was delivered in such a charming manner it made her laugh. When she’d cautiously asked if he practiced safe sex, he gave her a spontaneous hug and swore he never did anything without full protection.

Myth carried a dry wit and a sophistication that astounded her yet never made her feel outclassed. One of her favorite new pastimes was to play
Senet e roso
, a complicated antique race game that always reminded her of backgammon on speed. He never let her win, but he never made her feel stupid.

Zale was… Zale. He refused to eat anything she cooked and hadn’t said a single word to her. He alone could still send shivers down her spine with a simple, eerie look. Thankfully, she rarely saw him. He spent most of his off-duty time in his apartment.

Erik was almost too perfect, too much to believe in. He ran interference with the police, finally agreeing to let them speak to her by phone, but refusing to disclose her whereabouts. She’d grown used to waking beside him, to curling against his back as she fell asleep, to finding strange gifts in the kitchenette he’d left to surprise her.

They were never anything huge, but each one carried meaning. If she mentioned craving chocolate, a box of candy would be discovered and shared over melting kisses. A murmured desire to read garnered a stack of books by authors she’d tossed out casually. She was never sure how he found the tea she had to order from England but each cup was like an embrace from him. Sure, he had some rough edges, but those never bothered her. They were uniquely his. It was his tenderness when they were alone that touched her.

Though he was an intensely private man, he’d told her that his parents sent him away at age seven. A military-like school, he called it with a sardonic grin. He had been trained as a soldier since before puberty and hadn’t been allowed to return home for his mother’s funeral because only the weak wept. Memory had hollowed the tale until he stopped speaking, turning instead to her kiss for comfort.

He’d never told her he loved her, never hinted at a future, but her heart and her mind filled in the blanks. It seemed incredible to her that in the middle of her life crumbling and falling apart, she’d found her hero.

Her blood froze as the elevator door slid open. A stranger sat on the couch playing with the Xbox, his feet propped on the coffee table, a jam-covered biscuit in his hand. In a faded green sweatshirt and ragged jeans, he looked like a typical college kid. Dark auburn hair cut long brushed his collar. His eyes were the same multi-colored swirls as Sela’s.

“Good day, woman. Did you make these? They’re good.”

“Thank you,” she muttered on automatic. A fast glance showed none of the men around. “Who are you?”

“Oh, sorry.” He shoved the controller aside, popped the last bite in his mouth and wiped his fingers on his jeans. He stood and offered Lacy a slight bow. “Gabe Vangeli.”

“Vangeli? Related to Sela?”

“Sort of. She calls me her little brother.”

“That’s because
douchewazzie
isn’t her style.” Nomad came out of the hall. Omen’s ears were laid back and his teeth were bared in a silent snarl. “What do you want?”

“Peace on Earth, but I’ll settle for the Angels in the playoffs. Where’s Sela?”

Nomad glared. “Lacy, you need to go upstairs. We’ll be busy with Sela’s brother for a while.”

“I was just going to grab some stuff to clean Dray’s apartment.” Lacy darted into the hall for the cleaning supplies. When she came back, every man minus Dray had circled Gabe, irritation etched across each face. Vike positioned himself between her and Gabe until she got into the elevator.

“What’s going on?” she whispered.

“Nothing to worry about.” His thumb brushed the curve of her cheek, but it didn’t hide his lie. “Stay upstairs until one of us comes for you, all right?”

“Everyone acts like he’s a threat. Is he dangerous?”

Vike’s lips flattened as he punched the elevator button. “Go upstairs, Lace.”

Chapter Eleven

Vike bellowed. “What the shit were you thinking, popping in here like a fucking firefly?”

“I came in human dress,” Gabe sneered. “Looks like you hired a maid. It’s nice in a man-cave meets Animal House sort of way.”

Sela paused in the hallway, stealing a few seconds to calm her racing pulse. So long, it had been so long since she’d seen him. Memories of old times, of laugher and song, rose from somewhere deep. She couldn’t halt her feet as they flew to him.

“Gabe!”

He picked her up, spinning her around. Even when he put her down, his hand lingered on her shoulder. “You look great, Sela.”

“
I haven’t seen you since Rome fell.”
I’ve missed you so much
. “What are you doing here? You could have called first.”

“Nah, I like making your men go all rabid.” He laughed before sobering. “I was sent with an announcement from above.”

Irritation cooled her excitement. Michael had always used Gabriel for the unpleasant tasks or things he couldn’t be bothered with. The younger Vangeli never complained, but after so many centuries, it had to grate on him. She pasted a deliberately bored expression across her face. “I really have no interest in any announcements Mikey has.”

“The announcement comes from higher up.”

Disquiet tightened her stomach. Higher up than Michael meant… Her heart began to pound. After so many eons, she had not been forgotten by her Creator. Part of her wanted to weep with relief, but her men looked on, each one eagle-eyed and tense. They trusted no one but her. She could never let them see her in any way other than in complete control.

She tried to keep her eagerness from her voice, waving her hand in a magnanimous arc. “Very well. Do your wing-thing.”

His shoulders slumped. “Can’t I just tell you? Do I have to do the whole ‘Fear Not’ bullshit?”

Despite his claims, Gabriel loved the theatrics of Holy Announcements and it had been far too long since she’d witnessed any of Heaven’s glory. “Indulge me.”

“Does he have to?” Vike sneered. “The whole Vangeli-as-Loud-Speaker deal chaps my ass.”

“Coulda just sent a fucking text message,” Nomad grumbled.

Gabriel bristled then his eyes shone like luminescent gold. Dove-gray wings spread from his shoulders as the reverent light haloed his entire body. The flash was a little more than was necessary and Sela fought her smile. Gabe loved to show off. His clothing melted to a rich flowing robe in royal blue. His voice deepened to a rolling cadence of music that stirred her holy soul.

“Fear me not, soldiers of His Right Hand, for I bring tidings that shall ease your way. Perilous days approach but know you are not alone. Heed His servant. Obey and believe and she shall guide you for her talents are more than she knows. He has given many gifts, but of these, the greatest is within your power. Stand strong and fail Him not.”