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Time to get back to basics.

And the core of himself.

That time with Wellsie and Tohr…and the Brothers…was like a failed experiment—something that had seemed to have potential, but that, ultimately, was a failure.

THIRTY-TWO

Night or day, it didn’t bother Lash.

As he and Mr. D pulled into the parking lot of an abandoned mill and the Mercedes’ headlights swung around in a fat arc, it didn’t matter to him whether he met the king of the symphaths at noon or midnight, as he somehow wasn’t intimidated by the motherfucker anymore.

He locked up the 550 and walked with Mr. D across a decaying asphalt stretch to a door that was very sturdy, considering the shape the mill was in. Thanks to the light snow that was falling, the setting seemed like something out of an ad for quaint Vermont vacations, as long as you didn’t look too closely at the sagging roofline or the ragged siding.

The symphath was already inside. Lash knew it sure as he felt the flurries on his cheeks and heard loose stones crunch under his combat boots.

Mr. D opened the door and Lash stepped inside first to show he didn’t need a subordinate to clear the way. The interior of the mill was nothing but a lot of cold air, the rectangular building having long ago been stripped of anything useful.

The symphath was waiting down at the far end, near the massive wheel that still sat in the river like an old fat woman in a cooling bath.

“My friend, how nice to see you once more,” the king said, that snake voice rippling along the rafters.

Lash walked over to the guy nice and slow, taking his time, checking and double-checking the shadows thrown by the glass windows. Nothing but the king. This was good.

“Have you considered my proposal?” the king said.

Lash was not in a fucking-around mood. After the shit with the Domino’s delivery guy the night before and the fact that there was another drug dealer to pick off in about an hour, now wasn’t the time to play.

“Yeah. And you know what? I’m not sure I need to do you any favors. I’m thinking either you give me what I want, or…maybe I just send my men north to slaughter you and all the other freaks up there.”

That flat, pale face broke into a serene smile. “But how would that work for you? It would be destroying the very tools with which you wish to best your enemy. Not a logical step for any ruler to take.”

Lash’s cock tingled at the tip, respect turning him on, though he refused to acknowledge the fact. “You know, I wouldn’t think the king would need help. Why can’t you just do the killing yourself?”

“There are extenuating circumstances, and benefits to making it appear as if the demise occurred outside of my influence. You will learn, over time, that machinations in the background are at times far more effective than those you conduct in full view of your population.”

Point taken, though again, Lash wasn’t going to give props.

“I’m not as young as you think,” he said instead. Fuck it, he’d aged about a billion years in the last four months.

“And you are not as old as you believe. But that is another conversation for a different time.”

“I’m not looking for a therapist.”

“Which is a shame. I’m rather good at getting into the heads of others.”

Yeah, Lash could see that. “This target of yours. Is it a male or a female.”

“Would it matter?”

“Not in the slightest.”

The symphath positively beamed. “It is a male. And as I said, there are unusual circumstances.”

“How so?”

“He will be difficult to get to. His private guard is rather fierce.” The king floated over to a window and looked out. After a moment, his head turned as an owl’s would, rotating on the spine until it was nearly facing backward, and then his white eyes flared red for a moment. “Do you think you can handle such a penetration?”

“Are you a homo?” Lash blurted.

The king laughed. “You mean, do I prefer lovers of my same sex?”

“Yeah.”

“Would that make you uncomfortable?”

“No.” Yes, because it would mean that he kinda sorta had the hots for a guy who swung that way.

“You don’t lie very well,” the king