J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8 - J. R. Ward [250]
Cormia jumped back from the statue so fast she tripped on the hem of her robe.
As heavy footfalls stormed to the stairway and pounded up to the second floor, she took cover in a window’s alcove and peeked around the corner.
The Brother Zsadist appeared at the head of the stairs. He was dressed for fighting, with daggers on his chest and a gun on his hip—and by the hard set of his jaw it looked like he was still in combat.
After the male stalked out of sight, she heard knocking on what had to be the doors of the king’s study.
Moving silently, Cormia went down the hall, pausing at the corner next to where the Brother was.
There was a barking command, and then the door open and shut.
The king’s voice resonated through the wall she leaned against. “Not having fun tonight, Z? You look like someone ’s shit on your front lawn.”
The Brother Zsadist’s words were dark. “Has Phury been home yet?”
“Tonight? Not that I know of.”
“Fucking bastard. He said he was going home.”
“Your twin says a lot of things. Why don’t you four-one-one me on the current drama bomb?”
Flattening herself in hopes of being less visible, she prayed that no one came down the corridor. What had the Primale done?
“I caught him making California rolls out of lessers.”
The king cursed. “I thought he told you he was going to stop.”
“He did.”
There was a groan, as if the king were rubbing his eyes or maybe his temples. “So what exactly did you walk into?”
There was a long pause.
The king’s voice dropped even lower. "Z, my man, talk to me. I gotta know what I’m dealing with if I’m going to do anything about him.”
“Fine. I found him with two lessers. His leg was knocked off, and he had a burn mark around his neck like he’d been strangled with a length of chain. He was leaning over a slayer’s belly with a dagger in his hand. Goddamn it . . . he wasn’t aware of his surroundings at all. Didn’t look up at me until I said something. I could have been another fucking lesser, and if I had been? He’d either be getting tortured right now or he’d be deader than dead.”
“What the fuck am I going to do with this guy?”
Z’s voice took on a tight tone. “I don’t want him kicked out.”
“Not your call. And don’t look at me like that—I’m still your boss, you hotheaded SOB.” There was a pause. “Shit, I’m beginning to think your twin needs to be airmailed to a goddamned shrink. He’s a danger to himself and others. Did you say anything to him?”
“We’d just gotten jacked by the CPD—”
“There were cops involved in this, too? Christ—”
“So, no, I didn’t gum-flap.”
The voices grew muffled until the Brother Zsadist said more loudly, “You consider what that would do to him? The Brotherhood is his life.”
“You’re the one who brought this to my attention. Use your head. A week off rotation and a little vacay is not going to be enough to fix this.”
There was another silence. “Look, I need to go check on Bella. Just talk to Phury before you burn his house down. He’ll listen to you. And give him this back.”
When something heavy hit what was likely a desk, Cormia ducked into one of the guest rooms. A moment later she heard the Brother Zsadist’s heavy footsteps as he went down to his room.
Danger to himself and others.
She couldn’t picture the Primale brutalizing their enemy or putting himself in harm’s way because he was careless. But why would the Brother Zsadist lie?
He wouldn’t.
Suddenly exhausted, she sat on the corner of the bed and idly looked around. The room was done in the same shade of lavender as her favorite rose.
What a lovely color, she thought, letting herself fall back against the duvet.
Lovely, indeed, though it did nothing to soothe her agitated nerves.
The Caldwell Galleria was two stories of Hollister, H&M, Express, Banana Republic, and Ann Taylor, located in the exurbs of the city. With JCPenney, Lord and Taylor, and Macy’s anchoring the ends of the floor plan’s three spokes, it was solidly in the middle tier as malls went, and the crowd it drew was three parts teenage and one part restless soccer mom. Food court