J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8 - J. R. Ward [185]
He rubbed his sternum.
Hell, how was this going to work between them? She pulled long hours. He was limited to night visits. What if that wasn’t enough?
Except it had to be. He wasn’t about to ask her to leave a lifetime of work and discipline and success for him. That would be like her wanting him to bail on the Brotherhood.
When someone muttered something, he looked across the reception area to where a light glowed at the far end of the suite.
Time to take care of business with Dr. Manello.
Do not kill him, V told himself as he walked over to a half-open door. It would be a total buzz kill to have to call Jane and tell her that her boss was fertilizer.
V stopped and glanced around the jamb into the huge office beyond. The human male was seated behind a presidential-looking desk, going through papers even though it was two in the morning.
The guy frowned and looked up. “Who’s there?”
Do not kill him. That shit would totally bum Jane out.
Oh, but V wanted to. All he could see was the guy on his knees, reaching out to Jane’s face, and the image so did not improve his mood. When it came to someone else macking on their females, bonded males liked closure. Of the coffin-lid variety.
Vishous pushed open the door, reached into the doc’s mind, and froze him up good like a side of beef. “You got pictures of my heart, Doc, and I need them back. Where are they?” He shot a suggestion into the man’s mind.
The guy blinked. “Here…on my desk. Who…are you?”
The question was a surprise. Most of the time humans had no independent reasoning when they were put down like this.
V walked up and looked at the sea of paper. “Where on the desk?”
The man’s eyes drifted to the left-hand corner. “Folder. There. Who…are you?”
Jane’s motherfucking mate, my man, V wanted to say.
Hell, he wanted to tattoo the shit on the guy’s forehead so Manello never forgot she was totally taken.
V found the folder and cracked it open. “Computer files. Where are they?”
“Gone. Who…are—”
“Never mind who I am.” Damn, the SOB was tenacious. Then again, you didn’t get to be the chairman of surgery ’cause you were a laid-back Barcalounger kind of boy. “Who else knows about this picture?”
“Jane.”
The sound of the name leaving the bastard’s mouth did not put V into his happy place, but he let it slide. “Who else?”
“No one that I know of. Tried…to send it to Columbia. Didn’t…go through. Who are you—”
“The bogeyman.” V searched through the surgeon’s mind, just in case. There was nothing really there. Time to go.
Except he needed to know one other thing.
“Tell me something, Doc. If a woman were married, would you hit on her?”
Jane’s boss frowned, then shook his head slowly. “No.”
“Well, what do you know. That’s the right answer.”
As V headed to the door, he wanted to lay down a minefield of triggers in the guy’s brain, forge all sorts of neuropathways so that if the bastard thought of Jane sexually he’d feel dread or nausea or maybe burst into tears like a total sissy. After all, adverse impulse training was a godsend when it came to deprogramming. But V wasn’t a symphath, so it would be hard to pull off without a serious time commitment, and besides, that kind of shit was likely to drive someone to madness. Especially someone who was as strong-minded as Manello.
V took one last look at his rival. The surgeon was staring up at him with confusion, but not fear, his dark brown eyes aggressive and intelligent. It was hard to admit, but in V’s absence the man probably would have made a good mate for Jane.
The bastard.
Vishous was about to turn away when he got a vision so crisp and clear that it was like it had been before his premonitions had dried up.
Actually, it wasn’t a vision. It was one word. That made no sense whatsoever.
Brother.
Weird.
V scrubbed the doctor good and clean and dematerialized.
Manny Manello put his elbows on his desk, rubbed