J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8 - J. R. Ward [53]
His voice was as hard as the rest of him. “If you weren’t already assed out, I’d put you on the ground myself. What the fuck are you thinking, bringing her here?”
“’Scuse us,” Red Sox said. There was a shuffle of feet and the door shut.
“I asked you a question.”
“Supposed to come with,” the patient said.
“Supposed to? Supposed to? Are you out of your goddamned mind?”
“Yes…but not ’bout her.”
Jane cracked an eye open and watched through her lashes as the mammoth guy glanced at the one with all the fabulous hair. “I want everyone in my study in a half hour. We need to decide what the hell to do with her.”
“Not…without me…” the patient said, his tone getting stronger.
“You don’t get a vote.”
The patient shoved his palms into the mattress and sat up, even though it made his arms shake. “I get all the votes when it comes to her.”
The towering man pointed a finger at the patient. “Fuck you.”
From out of nowhere, Jane’s adrenaline kicked in. Dream or no dream, she should be counted in this happy conversation. Straightening in the chair, she cleared her throat.
All eyes snapped to her.
“I want out of here,” she said in a voice she wished were less breathy and more ass-kicking. “Now.”
The big man put a hand to the bridge of his nose, popped up the wraparounds, and rubbed his eyes. “Thanks to him, that’s not an immediate option. Phury, take care of her again, would you?”
“Are you going to kill me?” she asked in a rush.
“No,” the patient said. “You’re going to be fine. You have my word.”
For a split second she believed him. Which was nuts. She didn’t know where she was, and these men were clearly thugs—
The one with the beautiful hair stepped in front of her. “You’re just going to rest for a little bit more.”
Yellow eyes met hers and suddenly she was a TV unplugged, her cord yanked out of the wall, her screen blank.
Vishous stared at his surgeon as she slumped down once more in the armchair across the bedroom.
“She all right?” he said to Phury. “You haven’t fried her, true?”
“No, but she’s got a strong mind. We want to get her out of here ASAP.”
Wrath’s voice cracked through the air. “She should never have been brought here.”
Vishous eased gingerly back onto his bed, feeling like he’d been punched in the chest with a cinder block. He wasn’t particularly concerned that Wrath had his leathers in a knot. His surgeon had to be here, and that was that. But at least he could tray-up a rationale.
“She can help me recover. Havers is complicated because of the Butch sitch.”
Wrath’s stare was level behind his shades. “You think she’ll want to help you after you had her kidnapped? The Hippocratic oath only goes so far.”
“I’m hers.” V frowned. “I mean, she’ll take care of me because she operated on me.”
“You’re grasping at straws to justify—”
“Am I? I just had open-heart surgery because I was shot in the chest. Doesn’t feel like straws to me. You want to risk complications?”
Wrath glanced at the surgeon, then rubbed his eyes some more. “Shit. How long?”
“Till I’m better.”
The king’s sunglasses dropped back onto his nose. “Heal fast, brother. I want her scrubbed and out.”
Wrath left the room, shutting the door with a clap.
“That went well,” V said to Phury.
Phury, in his peacekeeping kind of way, murmured something about how everyone was under a lot of stress, blah, blah, blah, then went over to the bureau to change the subject. He came back to the bedside with a couple of handrolls, one of V’s lighters, and an ashtray.
“Know you’ll want these. What kind of supplies is she going to need to treat you?”
V whipped a list up off the top of his head. With Marissa’s blood in him, he was going to be back on his feet fast, as her lineage was nearly pure: He’d just put high-test gas in his tank.
Thing was, though, he found himself not wanting to heal all that fast.
“She’ll also need some clothes,” he said. “And food.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Phury headed for the door. “You want something