J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8 - J. R. Ward [512]
“I want your tithe handed to me properly. And I want to know who she is. I have sensed your interest in this one before—when you are away from me.”
Rehv kept that beach ad pinned to his frontal lobe and knew she was bluffing. “I don’t bow down to you or anybody else, bitch. So if you want that bag, you’re going to have to touch your toes. And as for what you think you know, you’re wrong. There is no one for me.”
She slapped him again, the sting flickering down his spinal cord and pulsing into the head of his cock. “You bow down to me every time you come here with your pathetic payment and your hungry sex. You need this, you need me.”
He pushed his face closer to hers. “Don’t flatter yourself, Princess. You are a chore, not a choice.”
“Wrong. You live to hate me.”
The princess took his cock in her hand, her graveyard fingers wrapping around him tightly. As he felt her grip and her stroking, he was revolted…and yet his erection wept at the attention even as he couldn’t bear it: although he didn’t find her attractive at all, his symphath side was fully engaged in the battle of wills, and that was the erotic thing.
The princess leaned into him, her forefinger rubbing over the barb at the base of his arousal. “Whoever that female is in your head, she can’t compete with what we have.”
Rehv put his hands up to the sides of his blackmailer’s neck and pressed in with his thumbs until she gasped. “I could snap your head off your spine.”
“You won’t.” She moved her red, glossy lips over his throat, the crushed-pepper lipstick she wore burning him. “Because we couldn’t do this if I were dead.”
“Don’t underestimate the appeal of necrophilia. Especially where you’re concerned.” He grabbed onto the back of her chignon and yanked hard. “Shall we get down to business?”
“After you pick up—”
“Not going to happen. I don’t bow.” With his free hand, he ripped the front of her robe open, exposing the fine mesh weave of the bodysuit she always wore. Spinning her around, he forced her face-first into the door, fishing up through the folds of red satin as she gasped. The weave she wore over herself was soaked in scorpion venom, and as he worked toward her core, the poison soaked in through his skin. Hopefully, he could fuck her for a while with her robes still on—
The princess dematerialized out of his grip and re-formed right at the window Trez could see through. In a shifting rush, her robes left her, removed by her will, her flesh revealed. She was built like the snake she was, sinewy, and altogether too thin, her shimmering bodysuit giving the impression of scales as the moonlight reflected off its interlocking threads.
Her feet were planted on either side of the bag of rubies.
“You’re going to worship me,” she said, her hand going in between her thighs and stroking her slit. “With your mouth.”
Rehv came over and got down on his knees. Looking up at her, he said with a smile, “And you will be the one who picks up that bag.”
EIGHTEEN
Ehlena stood just outside the clinic’s morgue, arms banded around her chest, heart in her throat, prayers leaving her lips. In spite of her uniform, she was not waiting in any kind of professional capacity, and the STAFF ONLY sign that was at eye level barred her as much as it would have anyone in regular clothes. As the minutes passed slow as centuries, she stared at the letters as if she’d forgotten how to read. The word staff was on one half of the doors, the only on the other. Big red block print. Underneath the English was a translation in the Old Language.
Alix had just gone through them, with Havers at his side.
Please…not Stephan. Please let the John Doe not be Stephan.
The wail that filtered through the STAFF ONLY doors had her shutting her eyes hard enough to make her head spin.
She hadn’t been stood up after all.
Ten minutes later, Alix came out, his face white, the stretch underneath both eyes red from his having wiped away