J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8 - J. R. Ward [410]
There were flies.
“Man, those lessers are sick, for real.”
John swallowed down the bile in his throat and walked over.
“Shit, do you really need a close-up there, buddy?”
Peering into the room, John forced himself to ignore the horror and note the details. The platter that the roasted chicken was on had blood marks on the edges.
The killer had put it on the table. After he’d arranged the bodies, most likely.
Let’s go up to Lash’s room.
Walking upstairs was totally freaky, because they were alone in the house—but not really. Somehow, the dead downstairs filled the air with something close to sound. Certainly the smell followed John and Qhuinn up the stairwell.
“His crib’s on the third floor,” Qhuinn said when they got to the second-floor landing.
They walked into Lash’s bedroom, and it was such a non-event compared to the shock of the living room. Bed. Desk. Stereo. Computer. TV.
Bureau.
John went over and saw the drawer with the bloody prints. These were too smudged to tell whether or not a swirl pattern had been left. He picked up a random shirt and used it to open the thing, because that was what they did on the TV shows. Inside, more bloody marks, too smudged to read.
His heart stopped beating and he bent down closer. There was one print that was especially clear, on the corner of a Jacob & Co. watch box.
He whistled to bring Qhuinn’s head around. Do lessers leave fingerprints?
“If they come into contact with something, sure.”
I mean, do they leave prints, prints. Not just blanks, but, like, stuff with lines.
“Yeah, they do.” Qhuinn came over. “What are you looking at?”
John pointed to the box. On the corner was a perfect reproduction of a thumb . . . that had no discernible ridges. Like a vampire’s would.
You don’t suppose—
“No. No way. They’ve never turned a vampire.”
John took out his phone and snapped a picture. Then, on second thought, he took the box itself and put it inside his jacket.
“We done?” Qhuinn asked. “Make my night and say yes.”
I just . . . John hesitated. I need a little longer up here.
“Okay, but I’m going to go through those second-floor bedrooms, then. I can’t . . . I can’t be in here like this.”
John nodded as Qhuinn left, and felt bad. Jesus, maybe it had been cruel even to ask the guy to come here.
Yeah . . . because this was fucked-up. Standing around all this shit of Lash’s, it was like he was still alive.
Across town, behind the wheel of the Focus, Lash was not a happy camper. The car was a piece of shit, for real. Even though they were in residential traffic, the beater still had no pickup. For chrissakes, it was zero to thirty in three days.
“We need to upgrade.”
In the passenger seat, Mr. D was checking his gun, his slim fingers flying over the weapon. “Yeah . . . um, ’bout that.”
“What.”
“I think we gonna need to wait ’til the money comes in from the looting.”
“What the fuck?”
“I gots me the bank statements, you know, from the last Fore-lesser? That Mr. X? They was in his cabin. And there’s not a ton in there.”
“Define ‘not a ton.’ ”
“Well, it’s all gone, basically. I don’t know where and I don’t know who. But there’s about five thousand left.”
“Five? Are you fucking kidding me?” Lash let the car decelerate. Which was like taking a vegetable off life support.
Out of money? What the hell? He was like the Prince of Darkness or some shit. And his army’s net worth was five grand?
Sure, he had his dead family’s money, but as much as that was, he couldn’t wage an entire war with it.
“Man, fuck this . . . and I’m going back to my old house. I’m not driving this tin-can piss box anymore.” Yeah, he was so over the whole mommy/daddy thing all of a sudden. He needed a new car ASAP, and there was a spank Mercedes parked in that Tudor’s garage. He was going to get in the damn thing and drive it around, and he wasn’t going to feel guilty.
Fuck the whole vampire thing.
As he hung