“That is not how I do business.”
“Here’s what I know about you and yours. You have a small operation that controls a huge area. You need distributors—because you killed all the ones that were here before. Without me and my organization? No offense, you’re fucked. You can’t begin to service all of Caldwell—and your product is worth nothing if you can’t get it into the hands of users.” When Assail didn’t immediately reply, the lesser laughed softly. “Or did you think you were unknown, my friend?”
Assail gripped his cell phone hard.
“So I’m thinkin’ you’re right,” the slayer concluded. “You and me are homies. I don’t need to deal with whoever the big wholesaler is. Especially not in my…current incarnation.”
Yes, the smell alone would make Benloise shut the door in his face, Assail thought.
“I need you. You need me. And that is why you’re gonna bring my order to me and give me forty-eight hours to pay for it. It’s just like you said. We got shit without the other, brother.”
Assail bared his fangs, the reflection of his face in the glass of the monitor fearsome indeed.
And yet he kept his voice even and calm. “Where would you like to meet.”
As the lesser laughed again, like he was enjoying this, Assail focused on the snarling image of himself. It would be unwise for the slayer to get greedy, or take too many liberties.
The one thing that was always true about business? No one was irreplaceable.
As Trez came awake, he felt as though he were floating on a cloud—and for a split second, he wondered if he was. His body felt completely weightless, to the point where he wasn’t sure whether he was on his back or his stomach.
A strange sound filtered in through his fog.
Shhhscht.
He lifted his head, and orientation came to him in a rush: The red glow of his alarm clock told him he was on his stomach and running diagonally down the bed.
That sound came again.
What was it? Metal on metal?
He could sense iAm moving around down the hall, his brother’s presence as known to him as his own. So if it was anyone else in the apartment or a threat of any kind? iAm would handle that shit.
Pushing himself up, he got out of bed and—yeah, whoa, the room spun around. Then again, there was absolutely, positively nothing in his stomach. Matter of fact, it was possible he’d thrown up his liver, kidneys, and lungs during that migraine. The good news was that the pain was gone, and the spacey aftermath wasn’t bad. Kind of like being drunk, with the hangover front-loaded.
When he walked into the loo, he knew better than to turn on the lights. Little early for that still.
The shower felt so good he nearly teared the fuck up. And he didn’t bother shaving—there’d be time for that later, after he’d thrown some fuel into his gut. Robe was nice—toasty, especially as he curled the lapels in and covered his throat up.
Bare feet kind of sucked, especially as he stepped out of his bedroom and into the marble-floored hallway, but he needed to find out what the hell that— Trez stopped as he came to the doorway of his brother’s suite of rooms. iAm was in his closet, taking out shirts that were on hangers. As he pulled another armful together on the brass rod, that shhhscht sounded again.
Naturally, his brother didn’t seem surprised that Trez had made an appearance. He just threw the load on his bed.
Fuck.
“Going somewhere?” Trez muttered, his voice too loud in his head.
“Yes.”
Crap. “Listen, iAm, I didn’t mean—”
“I’m packing you up, too.”
Trez blinked a couple of times.
“Oh?” At least the guy wasn’t pulling out solo. Unless he wanted the satisfaction of pitching Trez’s gear off the balcony?
“I’ve found us somewhere more secure.”
“Is it in Caldwell?”
“Yes.”
Cue the Jeopardy! theme. “You wanna give me a zip code?”
“I would if I could.”
Trez groaned and leaned against the jamb, rubbing his eyes. “You’ve got us somewhere to go—and you don’t know where it is?”
“No, I do not.”
Okay, maybe it hadn’t been a migraine, but a stroke. “I’m sorry. I’m not following—”
“We have”—iAm looked at his watch—“three hours to get packed up. Clothes and personals only.”
“So it’s furnished,” Trez said dryly.
“Yes. It is.”
Trez wasted some time watching his brother be extra efficient with the packing. Shirts were stripped off the hangers, folded precisely, put in black LV Epi luggage. Pants, same. Guns and knives went into matching steel briefcases.
At this rate, the guy was going to be done with his shit in a half hour.
“You gotta tell me where we’re going.”
iAm looked over. “We’re moving in with the Brotherhood.”
Trez’s brain got flushed, the fog clearing in an instant. “I’m sorry. What.”
“We’re moving in with them.”
Trez’s eyes bulged. “I’m…wait, I didn’t hear that right.”
“You did.”
“By whose authority.”
“Wrath, son of Wrath.”
“Shiiiiiiiiit. How in the hell did you pull that off?”
iAm shrugged, like he’d done nothing more than make a reservation at a Motel 6. “I talked to Rehvenge.”
“Didn’t know the male had that kind of pull.”
“He doesn’t. But he went to Wrath—who appreciated our backing him up at that Council meeting. The king feels as though we’d be additive on the home front.”
“He’s worried about a raid,” Trez said softly.
“Maybe he is. Maybe he isn’t. But what I do know is that no one’s going to find us there.”
Trez exhaled. So that was the “why” of it all: His brother didn’t want him to be dragged back to the s’Hisbe any more than he did.
“You are amazing,” he said.
iAm just shrugged again, as was his way. “Can you start packing your stuff, or should I do the first shift on that?”
“Nah, I’m good.” He knocked on the jamb and started to turn away. “I owe you, my brother.”
“Trez.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
His brother’s eyes were grim. “This is not a get-out-of-jail-free thing. You can’t run from the queen. I’m just buying us some time, here.”
Trez looked down at his bare feet—and wondered how far, in fact, he could go if they were covered by Nike.
Pretty fucking far.
His brother was the one tie he hadn’t cut, the only thing he felt like he didn’t want to leave behind in order to save himself from a gilded life of sexual enslavement.
And in a moment like this, with the guy once again having stepped up to the plate in a big way…he wondered if it was possible that he couldn’t walk away from iAm.
Maybe he was going to have to cave in to his destiny, after all.
Fucking queen. And her goddamn daughter.
The traditions made no sense. He’d never met the young princess. No one had. That was the way it worked—the next in line to the throne was as sacred as her mother, because she was the one who was going to lead them in the future. And like a rare rose, nobody was allowed to see her until she was properly mated.
Purity and all that.
Blah, blah, blah.
Once she was hitched, however, she was free to come out to society, free to live her life—within the s’Hisbe. The sad-sack motherfucker who married the bitch? He took her place inside the palace walls, doing whatever the hell she wanted, when she wanted—assuming he wasn’t worshipping at her mother’s feet at the moment.
Yeah, that was a party.
And they thought he should feel honored to strap that yoke on?
Really.
He’d turned his body into a garbage dump in the last decade, fucking all those humans—and what was truly whacked? He wished that all those pesky Homo Sapiens diseases were the kind of thing he could pick up. No-go on that one. He’d had as much unsafe sex as he could with the other species and he was still healthy as a horse.
Pity.
“Trez?” iAm straightened. “Trez? Talk to me. Where you at?”
Trez stared at his brother, memorizing that proud, intelligent face and those bottomless, penetrating eyes.
“I’m right here,” he murmured. “See?”