“When do you go back?”
“She has invited me unto her hellren’s epic birthnight celebration. Has the invitation come through to Wrath the now?” He sniffed again, and brushed at the base of his nostrils. “I believe she is intending to present such soon, if it has not already arrived.”
There was a shhhh-cht and an exhale, as if the Brother were lighting up something. “Not yet. But we’ll be waiting. He has no intention of going, but members of the Brotherhood will be there for sure.”
“As shall my cousins and I.” Assail frowned as something occurred to him. “Pardon me for going a bit off topic, but please allow me to inquire about your armaments.”
There was a long pause. And then the Brother’s voice, which was already low, bottomed out completely. “What do you want to know.”
“Are you in need of any?”
“Why.”
“I have contacts with my black market suppliers that could facilitate such purchases.”
“Now you want to be an arms dealer? Have your ambitions always pointed you toward lofty pursuits?”
“There is naught lofty about graves, is there? At any rate, consider the offer extended. They contacted me for further business and I declined their kind and generous offer with respect to certain powders and potions. But it did get me thinking that there could still be some exchange of money for goods that Wrath would permit me to engineer.”
Vishous laughed in a deep purr. “Always looking for an angle. And will you stop with the coke? You’ve been sniffing through this conversation like a human in a hayfield.”
“I remain loyal to you and your King,” Assail concluded. “Contact me as you wish. If I hear anything further or have any further contact with her before next week, I shall call you immediately.”
“You do that, true.”
Assail ended the call and—
Recoiling, he looked down at the back of his hand. There was a streak of bright red blood across the flesh … and droplets upon the white of his starched formal shirt.
Getting to his feet, he went into the nearest bathroom out in the hall and flipped on the light.
“Damn it…”
His nose was leaking all over the place.
After cranking the water on, he took a hand towel that he had washed and folded the day before and put the thing under the cool rush. Then he wiped away the blood that was streaming out of his nostrils before applying the cold compress in a pinch and tilting his head back.
He was rather some time with that, all the while standing before the mirror and brushing at the stains on the fine cotton of his shirt. OxiClean, he decided. He would start there, as blood had protein in it. Then he would resort to bleach before throwing the fucking thing out if he had to.
When the exsanguination had been extinguished, he took the towel with him and proceeded to the kitchen.
Whereupon he found his patent-leather shoes faltering.
It was the smell in the air. Rich and spicy, yet delicate as well, the combination of spices exotic to his Old Country palate called out to his stomach, making the thing growl.
Portuguese food. Which had been prepared by an authentic, loving, if slightly belligerent, hand.
He closed his eyes. Marisol’s grandmother had prepared he and his cousins many foods prior to her departure and those two had clearly availed themselves of said carefully packaged and frozen entrée packs.
“Would you care to join us?” Evale said as he waited at the microwave. “Or are you just going to stand there in a lure.”
Assail shook himself. “I believe the word you are thinking of is leer.”
“Have you seen your face?” the male asked as there was a bing! After popping open the front, he carried a heaping plate of his own to the table. “Hardly welcoming are you.”
“Which is the definition of ‘leer.’ And you should not eat that.”
“Why ever not?” Ehric asked as he took his first bite. “Ahhh, ’tis masterful.”
“Indeed,” his twin agreed. “Mercilessly so.”
“Also not the word you want.” Assail held off explaining that they should not eat the food because then it all would be gone and the only tie he had left to his Marisol would be— “I shall retire for the day the now.”
“Adieu,” Ehric said.
“Anew,” Evale tacked on.
“That’s ‘anon,’ dear cousin of mine.”
Assail proceeded into the laundry whereupon he dropped the bloodied towel in the wash, shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket and removed his dirtied shirt.
Both of his cousins had looked at the stains, but neither had said anything.
Were words really necessary, though.
As Assail passed back through the kitchen bare chested and with his jacket over his shoulders, he said to no one in particular, “I shall endeavor to employ us a proper doggen. One who is well versed in the caretaking of a home and all that entails. I tire of doing laundry and vacuuming.”
“Are you certain it does not have to do with a dwindling supply of certain frozen foods?”
He glanced at Ehric. “I believe I shall employ you unto Naasha’s underground again soon. I prefer you quiet, even if your brother butchers language as if it were a pig upon the slaughter.”
Assail proceeded onward to the stairs, and he waited until he had made the corner and turned away from them to massage the ache in his chest.
Would the missing of that human woman e’er ease?
As Rhage waited for his Mary to come home from work, he walked in and around the pool tables in the billiards room, cue in hand, balls in play on the felt, mind … back on that vacant lot. That little girl.
Man, destiny could be a real bitch, he thought.
“—talked to him just now.” Leaning over the table, Vishous performed a re-rack, getting things set for the next game. “He wanted to know if we needed more guns.”
Trying to focus, Rhage frowned. “I thought Assail was a drug dealer?”
“Branching out, evidently.” Vishous picked up a chalk square and blued his tip. “What do you think?”
“The new training class is coming in soon, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Might make sense to do a test order on some autoloaders.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
Rhage braced his hip against the table as V bent down and cracked the triangle into pieces. As the colored balls rolled all over the place, Rhage shook his head.
“You see that elephant gun Evale had at Brownswick?”
Those diamond eyes lifted. “Fuck, yeah. We need to get us one of those, true.”
“Just on principle. Think of the target practice.”
“Yeah, we could strap a small car to Lassiter’s back and make him run around by the pool—”
“Hey,” the fallen angel called out from one of the sofas. “I’m in here, assholes.”
Rhage glanced over at the guy. “You’re awake, huh.”
The blond-and-black bastard sat up and yawned, stretching his arms over his head. “Time for my shift to start. Shit! I’m late. Gotta go.”
As Rhage and V watched the angel take off at a dead run, both of them cursed.
“You know,” Rhage muttered, “it’s getting really hard to hate him.”
“Just think of Punky Brewster. Everything will recalibrate.” Vishous prowled around the table, his massive body moving like a panther in his leathers and his muscle shirt. “And fuck me, I never thought I’d know that show.”
V made quick work of things, all kinds of pockets getting filled—but he flubbed it three strokes later.
“Hollywood? My brother, it’s all you.”
Rhage tried to refocus, but he just couldn’t get Bitty off his mind. After a moment, he looked across the green felt, and was glad that all of the doggen were in the kitchen and dining room—and that most of the other brothers hadn’t arrived home quite yet.
And hey, he was always glad when Lassiter left a room.
“What,” V said. “And do I need to light up first.”
“You ever…” Rhage cleared his throat. “You ever think about having a kid, V?”
“No. Why?”
As the guy stared back, it was as if Rhage had asked him whether or not he needed a new toaster. Some laundry done. An oil change.
“You don’t ever wonder what it would be like to be a father?”
“No.”