J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8 - J. R. Ward [107]
Up in his room he took a shower and stretched out on his majestic bed. He knew he should be calling one of the females he used for blood, but he so wasn’t interested. Instead of picking up the phone, he closed his eyes and let his arms fall to his sides, his hand landing on the firearms book, the one he’d taught class from tonight. The one with his drawing in it.
His door opened without a knock. Which meant it was Zsadist. With news.
Phury sat up so fast, his brain went fish-tank in his skull, sloshing around, threatening to spill out his ears. He put his hand up to the bandage as pain speared into him. “What happened with Bella?”
Z’s eyes were black holes in his scarred face. “What the fuck were you thinking!”
“Excuse me?”
“Getting jumped because—” As Phury winced, Z cut the volume down on his boom-box routine and shut the door. Relative silence didn’t improve his mood. In a hushed voice, he bit out, “I can’t fucking believe you played Jack the Ripper and got cracked—”
“Please tell me how Bella is.”
Z pointed his finger right at Phury’s chest. “You need to spend a little less time worrying about my shellan and a little more worrying about your own sorry ass, feel me?”
Swamped by pain, Phury squeezed his good eye shut. The brother was, of course, right on the money.
“Shit,” Z spat into the quiet. “Just…shit.”
“You’re absolutely right.” Phury noticed that his hand was clutching the firearms book, and he forced himself to let go of the thing.
As a clicking sound started to go off, Phury glanced up. Z was flicking the top of his RAZR phone over and over again with his thumb. “You could have been killed.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Cold comfort. At least for one of us. What about your eye? V’s doc save it?”
“Don’t know.”
Z walked over to one of the windows. Pushing the heavy velvet drape aside, he stared out across the terrace and the pool. The strain in his ruined face was obvious, his jaw clenched, his brows down low over his eyes. Strange…before it had always been Z who was on the edge of oblivion. Now Phury was standing on that thin, slippery lip, the worrier having become the cause for concern.
“I’ll be okay,” he lied, leaning to the side for his bag of red smoke and his rolling papers. He spun a thick one up fast, lit it, and the false calm came right away, like his body had been trained well. “Just had an off night.”
Z laughed, though it was a curse more than anything jolly. “They were right.”
“Who?”
“Payback is a bitch.” Zsadist took a deep breath. “You get yourself killed out there and I’m—”
“I won’t.” He inhaled again, not willing to take the vow any further than that. “Now please tell me about Bella.”
“She’s going on bed rest.”
“Oh, God.”
“No, it’s good.” Z rubbed his skull trim. “I mean, she hasn’t lost the young yet, and if she keeps quiet she might not.”
“She in your room?”
“Yeah, I’m going to go get her something to eat. She’s allowed to be up for an hour a day, but I don’t want to give her excuses to be on her feet.”
“I’m glad she—”
“Fuck, my brother. Is this what it was like for you?”
Phury frowned and tapped the blunt over his ashtray. “I’m sorry?”
“I’m fucked in the head all the time. It’s like whatever I’m doing moment to moment is only half-real because of all the crap I’m worried about.”
“Bella’s—”
“It’s not just about her.” Z’s eyes, now back in yellow because he wasn’t as pissed off, drifted across the room. “It’s you.”
Phury made elaborate work of bringing the blunt to his mouth and inhaling. As he let the smoke out, he searched his mind for words to comfort his twin.
He didn’t come up with much.
“Wrath wants us to meet at nightfall,” Z said, looking back out the window, as if he knew damn well there would be no meaningful reassurance. “All of us.”
“Okay.”
After Z left, Phury opened the firearms book