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Instead of talking, he reached into his pocket, took out his Dunhills, and fingered one up. Popping it into his mouth, he lit the thing while staring into those mismatched eyes.

“I hate that you smoke,” Qhuinn muttered.

“Get over it,” Blay said, turning away and heading downward.

ELEVEN

“Where you going, John?”

Down in the mudroom at the back of the mansion, John froze with his hand on one of the doors that led into the garage. Goddamn it . . . a house this big, you’d think you could leave without an audience. But no . . . eyes everywhere. Opinions . . . everywhere.

It was like the orphanage in that respect.

He turned and faced Zsadist. The Brother had a napkin in one hand and a baby bottle in the other, having obviously just gotten up from the dining room table and come in through the kitchen. And gee, guess what . . . next person through the door was Qhuinn, and he had a half-eaten turkey leg with him as if it were his last hope of food for, like, the next ten hours.

Blay’s arrival turned it into a fucking convention.

Z nodded at the grip John’s hand had on the knob, somehow managing to look like a serial killer in spite of the baby paraphernalia. Probably the facial scar. More likely the eyes that were flashing black.

“I asked you a question, boy.”

I’m taking the frickin’ garbage out.

“So where’s your Rubbermaid.”

Qhuinn polished off his dinner and then deliberately walked over to the trash bins to toss the cleaned-off bone. “Yeah, John. You wanna answer that.”

No, he fucking didn’t.

I’m out of here, he signed.

Z leaned forward and planted a palm on the door panels, the napkin hanging loose like a flag. “You’ve been taking off a little earlier and a little earlier every night, but you’ve reached the cutoff. I’m not letting you go this early. You’ll be burned to a crisp. And P.S., if you ever think of leaving without your private guard again, Wrath’s going use your face as a hammer, feel me?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, John.” Qhuinn’s voice was a growl of disgust and he had an expression on his puss like someone had cleaned a bathroom with his bedsheets. “I’ve never stopped you. Ever. But you fuck me like this?”

John stared at a place somewhere over Z’s left ear. There was a temptation to sign that he’d heard when the Brother had been looking for Bella, he’d gone shit wild and done all kinds of crazy things. Except bringing up that shellan’s abduction was a red cape in front of a bull and John was already doing the cloven-hoof thing about a female. Two would be overkill.

Z’s voice dropped. “What’s doing, John?”

He stayed quiet.

“John.” Z leaned in further. “I will beat an answer out of you if I have to.”

Just got the time wrong. The lie sucked ass, because if that were true, he’d have made a move to go out the front door and not covered his tracks with the trash story. But he honestly didn’t care whether the bucket that carried his bullshit had a hole in the bottom.

“I’m not buying it.” Z straightened and checked his watch. “And you’re not leaving for another ten minutes.”

John crossed his arms over his chest to keep from commenting on the lockdown, and as the Jeopardy! theme played in his head, he felt like he was going to explode.

Z’s hard stare sure as hell didn’t help.

Ten minutes later, the sound of those shutters lifting all around the mansion broke up the standoff and Z nodded at the door. “Okay, go now if you want. At least you won’t fry out.” John turned away. “I catch you without your ahstrux nohtrum again, I’m turning you in.”

Qhuinn cursed. “Yeah, and then I’ll get fired. Which means V’ll Donald Trump my ass with a dagger. You’re welcome.”

John gripped the knob and yanked his way out of the house, his skin feeling too tight. He didn’t want trouble with Z because he respected the guy, but he was pretty damned volatile and the trend suggested that was only going to get more true.

In the garage, he hung a louie and headed for the outside door that was on the back wall. As he went along, he refused to look at the coffins that were stacked across the way.