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With a curse, he went to the front of the gatehouse and checked the security monitors at his desk. He wasn’t surprised at who it was, but holy hell, Butch was not ready for primetime viewing right now.

V stepped into the vestibule and shut the door behind him before opening the outer one. As Marissa looked up at him, he could smell the sadness and the worry coming off her, the scent like dried roses.

Her voice was low. “I saw the Escalade pull up, so I know he’s home now. I need to see him.”

“Not tonight you don’t. Come back tomorrow.”

Her face hardened until it was like a marble depiction of her beauty. “I’m not leaving until he tells me to go.”

“Marissa—”

Her eyes flashed. “Not until he tells me himself, warrior.”

V measured her resolve and found she was packing with nothing lacking—kind of like that muscled head of security back at the club, just without the knuckles.

Well, wasn’t this the night for female hard-asses.

V shook his head. “At least let me get him cleaned up, okay?”

Her eyes flared with panic. “Why would you have to?”

“Christ, Marissa. What did you think was going to happen when you fed from Rehvenge?”

Her mouth dropped open. “How did you know—”

“Butch went after him at the club.”

“What? He…oh, God.” Abruptly, her eyes narrowed. “You better let me inside. Right this minute.”

V threw his hands up and muttered, “Fuck,” as he opened the door.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Marissa marched past Vishous, and the Brother got out of her way. Which proved he was as smart as his reputation held.

When she got to the doorway of Butch’s room, she stopped. From the glow of the hall light, she saw him lying on the bed on his back. His suit was all out of joint and there was blood on his shirt. Blood on his face, too.

She walked over and had to cover her mouth with her hand. “Dear Virgin in the Fade…”

One of his eyes was swollen and going black and blue again, and there was a cut on the bridge of his nose, which explained the blood. And he smelled like fresh Scotch.

From the doorway, Vishous’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle. “You should really come back tomorrow. He’s going to be pissed as hell that you saw him like this.”

“Exactly who did this to him? And so help me God, if you say it was just a quick fight, I’m going to scream.”

“Like I said, he went after Rehvenge. And Rehv happens to have a lot of bodyguards.”

“Those must be big males,” she said numbly.

“Actually, the one who nailed him was a female.”

“A female?” Oh, why the hell did the particulars matter. “Can you bring me a couple of towels and some hot soapy water?” She went to Butch’s feet and pulled off his shoes. “I want to wash him.”

After V walked down the hall, she stripped Butch down to his boxers then sat beside him. The heavy gold cross that lay on his chest was a surprise. In the earlier frenzy up in the sitting room, she hadn’t paid much attention to the thing, but now she wondered where he’d gotten it.

She looked farther down, to the black scar on his belly. Which seemed no better, no worse.

When V showed up with a bowl of suds and a short stack of terry cloth, she said, “Put it all on this table where I can reach it, then leave us, please. And shut the door behind you.”

There was a pause. Which made sense. You didn’t order around a member of the Black Dagger Brotherhood anywhere, much less in his own house. But her nerves were shot and her heart was breaking and she really didn’t care what anyone thought of her.

It was her rule number one in action.

After a silent stretch, the things were placed where she wanted them and then the door clicked shut. Taking a deep breath, she wet one of the washcloths. As she touched Butch’s face with it, he winced and muttered something.

“I’m so sorry, Butch…but it’s over now.” She returned the washcloth to the bowl, submerging it, then squeezing the excess water out. The dripping seemed very loud. “And nothing happened other than the feeding, I swear.”

She got the blood off his face then stroked his hair, the thick waves damp from the washing. In response,