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“You are seriously out of it.”

“Nah, I’m cool—”

“Then why’re you working your arms like that?”

Rhage dropped his hands. Only to start massaging his thighs.

“We’ve got to get you to One Eye,” V said softly. “You’re losing it. You need to have some sex.”

“Fuck that.”

“Phury told me how he found you out in the hall.”

“You guys are a bunch of old maids, for real.”

“If you won’t do your female, and you can’t find a fight, what’s your alternative?”

“It’s not supposed to be like this.” He moved his head around, trying to loosen his shoulders and neck. “This isn’t how it works. I just changed. It’s not supposed to come out again—”

“Supposed to in one hand, shit in the other, see what you get the most of. You’re in a bad space, my brother. And you know what you have to do to get out of it, true?”

When Mary heard the door open, she came awake with a groggy disorientation. Shoot, she had another night fever.

“Rhage?” she mumbled.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

His voice sounded like hell, she thought. And he’d left the door to the room open, so he probably wasn’t staying for long. Maybe he was still angry at her from that last phone call.

From inside the closet, she heard the shifting of metal and some fabric flapping, as if he were pulling on a fresh shirt. When he came out, he went right back for the hallway, his trench coat billowing behind him. The idea that he would leave without saying good-bye was somehow shocking.

As he gripped the doorknob, he paused. Light from the hall fell on his bright hair and his broad shoulders. His face was in profile, in darkness.

“Where are you going?” she asked as she sat up.

There was a long silence. “Out.”

Why did he seem so apologetic? she wondered. She didn’t need a babysitter. If he had business to attend to…

Oh…right. Women. He was going out after women.

Her chest cavity turned into a cold, damp pit, especially as she looked at the bouquet of flowers he’d given her. God, the idea of him touching someone else like she knew he could made her want to retch.

“Mary…I’m sorry.”

She cleared her throat. “Don’t be. There’s nothing going on between us, so I don’t expect you to change your habits for me.”

“It’s not a habit.”

“Oh, right. Sorry. Addiction.”

There was a long silence. “Mary, I…if there were another way—”

“To do what?” She swept her hand back and forth. “Don’t answer that.”

“Mary—”

“Don’t, Rhage. It’s none of my business. Just go.”

“My cell phone will be on if you—”

“Yeah. I’m really going to call.”

He stared at her for a heartbeat. And then his black shadow disappeared through the door.

Chapter Twenty-seven

John Matthew walked home from Moe’s, trailing the three-thirty A.M. police patrol. He dreaded the hours until dawn. Sitting in his apartment was going to feel like being in a cage, but it was much too late for him to be out and about on the street. Still…God, he was so restless he could taste the agitation in his mouth. And the fact that there was no one he could talk to made him ache.

He really needed some advice. Ever since Tohrment had left him, he’d been scrambled in his head, debating whether or not he’d done the right thing. He kept telling himself he had, but the second-guessing wouldn’t stop.

He wished he could find Mary. He’d gone to her house the night before, only to find it dark and locked up. And she hadn’t been going to the hotline. It was as if she’d disappeared, and worrying about her was one more reason he was twitchy.

As he approached his building, he saw a truck parked in front. The bed was full of boxes, like someone was moving in.

What a weird time of night to do that, he thought, eyeing the load.

As he saw that there was no one around to stand guard, he hoped the owner came back soon. Otherwise, their stuff was going to get disappeared.

John went into his building and up the stairs, ignoring the cigarette butts and the empty beer cans and the crumpled potato-chip bags. When he stepped off onto the second floor, he squinted.