• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“You know, I can’t believe you’re not watching this.”

Lassiter’s voice made him pick up the glass and take a draw on the straw so he didn’t lob another pipe-down-sonny at the fucker. The angel loved TV, but suffered from ADD big-time. He was always changing channels. God only knew what he was watching now.

“I mean, she’s a woman, going it alone in the world. She’s cool, and the clothes are tight. It’s a really good show.”

Tohr looked over his shoulder. The angel was sprawled on the couch, remote in his hand, head propped up by a needlepoint pillow Marissa had done that said, Fangs For The Memories. And beyond him on the flat-screen was…

Tohr nearly choked on his shake. “What the hell are you doing? That’s Mary Tyler Moore, motherfucker.”

“Is that who she is?”

“Yeah. And no offense, you should not be getting off on that show.”

“Why?”

“It’s, like, one step up from a Lifetime movie. You might as well be painting your toenails.”

“Whatever. I like it.”

The angel didn’t seem to tweak to the fact that MTM on Nick at Nite was not like MMA on Spike. Any of the Brothers saw this and Lassiter’s ass was going to get spanked.

“Yo, Rhage,” Tohr called out to the dining room. “Come see what this Lava lamp is into on the tube.”

Hollywood came in palming a plate piled high with mashed potatoes and roast beef. For the most part, he didn’t believe in vegetables, considering them “a caloric waste of space,” so the green beans that had come with First Meal were noticeably absent from his reheat.

“What’s he watching—Oh, hey! Mary Tyler Moore. I love her.” Rhage parked it in one of the club chairs next to the angel. “Great clothes.”

Lassiter shot a see-I-told-ya in Tohr’s direction. “And Rhoda’s kind of hot.”

The two pounded knuckles. “Feel you.”

Tohr went back to his milk shake. “You are both an embarrassment to the male sex.”

“Why, because we’re not all about Godzilla?” Rhage shot back.

“At least I can hold my head up in public. The two of you should be watching that shit in a closet.”

“I don’t feel the need to hide my preferences.” Rhage arched his brows, crossed his legs, and extended his pinkie from his fork. “I am who I am.”

“Please don’t tempt with that kind of opening,” Tohr muttered, hiding a smile by hitting his straw again.

When there was only silence, he glanced over, ready to keep up the—

Rhage and Lassiter were both staring at him, cautious approval on their faces.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t look at me like that.”

Rhage recovered first. “I can’t help it. You’re just so sexy in those baggy-ass pants. I got to get me a pair, ’cause nothing says hotness like wearing what looks like two Heftys stitched together at your racket and balls.”

Lassiter nodded. “Totally craptastic. Sign my sac up for some of that.”

“You get that shit from Home Depot?” Rhage tilted his head to one side. “In the trash removal section?”

Before Tohr could hit back, Lassister jumped in. “Man, I only hope that I can pull off lookin’ like I got a load in my shorts as well as you do. Did you get training? Or is it just a case of lack of ass?”

Tohr had to laugh. “I’m surrounded by asses. Trust me.”

“Which would explain why you’re so confident going without one.”

Rhage tacked on, “Come to think of it, you’re actually built like Mary Tyler Moore. So I’m surprised you don’t like her more.”

Tohr took a deliberate draw on the milk shake. “I’ma put on some weight just to throw you down for that.”

Rhage’s smile stayed in place, but his eyes went grave. “Looking forward to it. I’m so looking forward to that.”

Tohr went back to focusing on the vestibule’s door, closing himself up, ending the banter because abruptly it didn’t feel right.

Lassiter and Rhage didn’t follow the lead. The pair were a Chatty Cathy combo from hell, riffing off each other and whatever was on the TV and what Rhage was eating and where the angel was pierced and…

Tohr would have moved if he could have watched the front door from any other—

The security system let out a beep as the mansion