J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4 - J. R. Ward [567]
“I care about you, too. That’s why I’m telling you to leave. I’m protecting you.”
“You’re…‘protecting’ me.” She eyed him up and down, knowing damn well he’d been able to peel Havers off her only because Butch had had the element of surprise working for him and the male in question had been a civilian. If her brother were a fighter, Butch would have been leveled. “You’re protecting me? Christ, I could lift you over my head with one arm, Butch. There’s nothing you can do physically that I can’t do better. So don’t do me any favors.”
It was, of course, the perfectly wrong thing to say.
Butch’s eyes shifted away and he crossed his arms over his chest, his lips narrowing flat.
Oh, God. “Butch, I don’t mean that you’re weak—”
“I’m very glad you reminded me of something.”
Oh, God. “Of what.”
His tight smile was ghastly. “I’m on the lower end of things on two counts. Socially and evolutionarily.” He nodded to the door. “So…yeah, you go on, now. And you’re absolutely right. Don’t wait for me.”
She started to reach out to him, but his cold, empty eyes held her back. Damn it, she’d blown it.
No, she told herself. There hadn’t been anything to blow. Not if he was going to shut her out of the ugly parts of his life. Not if he was going to take off and leave her and maybe come back at some indefinable, probably-never point in time.
Marissa went to the door and had to look back at him once more. The image of him with that sheet wrapped around his hips, his chest bare, bruises still healing all over him…was one she was going to wish she could forget.
She walked out, the air lock sealing him in with a hiss.
Holy shit, Butch thought as he sagged down onto the floor. So this was what getting skinned alive felt like.
Scrubbing his jaw, he sat there staring into space, lost though he knew exactly what room he was in, alone with the remnants of the evil in him.
“Butch, my man.”
He jerked his head up. Vishous was standing just inside the room and the brother was dressed for fighting, a big-ass, leather-wearing, stabbing machine. The Valentino garment bag dangling from his gloved hand seemed totally out of place, just as whacked as a butler toting an AK-47.
“Fuuuuck, Havers has got to be nuts to release you. You look like crap.”
“Bad day, s’all.” And there were going to be a lot more of those, so he should get used to it.
“Where’s Marissa?”
“She left.”
“Left?”
“Don’t make me say it again.”
“Oh. Hell.” Vishous took a deep breath and swung the bag onto the bed. “Well, got you some threads and a new cell phone—”
“It’s still in me, V. I can feel it. I can…taste it.”
V’s diamond eyes did a quick up and down. Then he came over and held out his hand. “Rest of you is healing up good. Healing up quick.”
Butch took his roommate’s palm and got pulled to his feet. “Maybe if I’m free of here we can figure this out together. Unless you’ve found—”
“Nothing yet. But I haven’t lost hope.”
“That makes one of us.”
Butch unzipped the bag, dropped the sheet, and dragged on some boxers. Then he punched his legs into a pair of black slacks and stuffed his arms into a silk shirt.
Putting on street clothes made him feel like a fraud because the truth was he was a patient, a freak, a nightmare. Jesus Christ…what had come out of him as he’d orgasmed? And Marissa…at least he’d washed her as soon as he could.
“Your levels look good,” V said as he read the chart Havers had tossed. “Everything seems back to normal.”
“I ejaculated about ten minutes ago and the stuff was black. So everything is not normal.”
Silence greeted that happy little announcement. Man, if he had hauled off and sucker-punched V, he would have gotten less of a shocked-out reaction.
“Oh, Christ,” Butch muttered, slipping his feet into his Gucci loafers and grabbing the black cashmere dress coat. “Let’s just go.”
As they went to the door, Butch glanced back