J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4 - J. R. Ward [540]
Drifting free of everything, he imagined that he was at the start of a long, blinding hallway at the end of which was a door. Marissa was standing in front of the portal and as she smiled at him she opened the way into a white bedroom full of light.
His soul eased as he took a deep breath and began to walk forward. He’d like to think he was going to heaven, in spite of all the bad things he’d done, so this made sense.
It wouldn’t be paradise without her.
Chapter Six
Vishous stood in the clinic’s parking lot and watched as Rhage and Phury pulled out in the black Mercedes. They were going to grab Butch’s phone from the alley behind Screamer’s, then pick up the Escalade from the ZeroSum lot and head home.
It went without saying that V wasn’t going back into the field tonight. The remnants of the evil he’d handled lingered in his body, making him weak. But more than that, seeing Butch worked out and nearly dead had done some kind of inner damage. He had the sense that a part of him had become unhinged, that some inner escape hatch was hanging open and segments of him were fleeing the core.
Actually, he’d had this feeling for a while now, ever since his visions had left him. But this horror movie of a night made it so much worse.
Privacy. He needed to be alone. Except he couldn’t stand the idea of going back to the Pit. The silence there, the empty couch where Butch always sat, the weighty knowledge that there was something missing, would be unbearable.
So he went to his undisclosed place. Taking form again thirty stories in the air, he materialized on the terrace of his penthouse at the Commodore. The wind was howling and it felt good, biting through his clothes, making him feel something other than the gaping hole in his chest.
He went to the terrace’s edge. Bracing his arms against the ledge, he looked over the lip of the skyscraper, down to the streets below. There were cars. People going into the lobby. Someone reaching into a cab, paying the driver. So normal. So very normal…
Meanwhile, he was up here dying.
Butch was not going to make it. The Omega had been inside him; that was the only explanation for what had been done to him. And although the evil had been taken out, its infection was beyond deadly and the harm was done.
V rubbed his face. What the hell was he going to do without that smart-ass, tough-talking, Scotch-sucking SOB? The rough bastard somehow smoothed the edges of life, probably because he was like sandpaper, a scratchy, persistent wrong-way-rub that left everything more even.
V turned away from the three-hundred-foot drop to the pavement. Going over to a door, he took a gold key out of his pocket and pushed it into the lock. The penthouse beyond was his private space, for his private…endeavors. And the scent of the female he’d had the night before lingered in the darkness.
At his will, black candles flared. The walls and the ceilings and the floors were black and the chromatic void absorbed the light, sucking it in, eating it up. The only true piece of furniture was a king-sized bed that was likewise covered in black satin sheets. But he didn’t spend a lot of time on the mattress.
The rack was what he relied on. The rack with its hard tabletop and its restraints. And he also used the things hanging beside it: the leather straps, the lengths of cane, the ball gags, the collars and spikes, the whips—and always the masks. He had to have the females anonymous, had to cover their faces as he tied up their bodies. He didn’t want to know them as anything more than the equipment for his deviant workouts.
Shit, he was depraved about sex and he knew it, but after trying out a lot of things, he’d finally found what worked for him. And fortunately there