J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8 - J. R. Ward [912]
She landed in front of him, and as he cringed and put his hands up to shield his face and neck, she didn’t move: Her backup dagger stayed by her side and her third-stringer remained holstered on her thigh.
Other plans for this boy.
Using her symphath side, she burrowed into the slayer’s brain and popped the tops on his memories so that all at once, he felt the impact of every horrible thing he’d ever done and every terrible act that had been perpetrated against him.
Lot of shit. Looooot of shit. He’d apparently had a thing for underage girls.
Well, wasn’t this going to be satisfying on so many levels.
As he went down to the floor, he screamed and clutched his temples—like he had a chance in hell of stopping the deluge—and she let him suffer and wallow in his sins, his emotional grid lighting up in all the sectors that indicated fear and loathing and regret and hatred.
When he started to bang his skull against the dirty wallpaper, leaving a black stain where his ear was, she planted one and only one thought in his mind.
Planted it like an ivy streamer . . . a poison ivy streamer that would take hold and infiltrate and own his mental real estate.
“You know what you have to do,” she said in a deep, warping voice. “You know the way out.”
The slayer dropped his arms and revealed his wild eyes. Under the weight of what she’d released, and as a slave to the dictate she gave him, he grabbed the hilt of her dagger and ripped it out of his flesh.
Turning the point back toward himself, he double-gripped the weapon, his shoulders tensing as he prepared to send the blade on a rocking descent.
Xhex halted him, freezing him so she could kneel down right beside him. Going face-to-face, she looked into his eyes and hissed. “You don’t go after what’s mine. Now be a good boy and gut yourself.”
A splatter of black blood hit her leather pants as the guy nailed himself right in the stomach and dragged the blade crosswise, making a nice messy hole of things.
And then on her mental command, even as his eyes were rolling back in his head, he withdrew the weapon and handed it to her hilt first.
“You’re welcome,” she muttered. Then she stabbed him in the heart and in a flash, he was gone.
As she pivoted around, the sole of her boot squeaked on the wet floor.
John was looking up at her with eyes that were not dissimilar to the slayer’s, his stare peeled so wide he was showing no lid at all on the top or the bottom.
Xhex wiped her first blade on her leathers. “How bad are you?”
As John gave her a thumbs-up, A-OK, she realized the house was quiet and looked around. Everyone was still standing: Qhuinn was just straightening from a decapitation, and wheeling around to see if John was okay. And Rhage was coming in at a run from the kitchen with Vishous on his heels.
“Who’s hit—” Rhage skidded to a halt and stared at the hole in John’s leathers. “Man, three inches up and to the left and you’da been a soprano, buddy.”
V went over and helped John to his feet. “Yeah, but at least he could have taken up knitting with you. You could’ve taught him how to crochet socks. Brings a tear to the eye.”
“If I recall, I’m not the one with the wool fixation—”
As a wheezing boiled up from the living room, Vishous cursed and rushed to Butch’s side as the guy all but fell into the hallway.
Oh . . . man. Maybe she needed to revise the “everyone standing” thing. The former cop looked like he had food poisoning, malaria, and H1N1 all at the same time.
She focused on Qhuinn and Rhage. “We need a car. He and John need transport back to the mansion—”
“I’ll take care of my boy,” Vishous said gruffly as he became a crutch for Butch and escorted him back over to the living room couch.
“And I’ll go get the Hummer,” Qhuinn said.
Just as he turned away, John slammed a fist into the wall to get everyone’s attention and signed, I’m fine to fight—
“You need to get seen by the doctor,” she said.
John