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By Root 1464 0

and Rehvenge, aristocratic, overbearing brother of Bella, were the same person, but I didn’t want the reader to know it until the end, when Z and Bella go to her mother’s house. The way I managed the sleight of hand was that I showed Rehv mostly through other people’s points of view, and if there was anything in his POV, I was careful there were no revelations on his part that left the reader making the connection. It was, as Butch would say, wicked tricky. I literally went through every single word in the Rehv sections to make sure that there were no tip-offs and that the presentations made him believable in both roles.

Okay, I guess I’ve gone on long enough about Zsadist and his book. Butch is, as always, wanting some attention, and then there’re still Vishous and Phury to go through.

I think I’ll close with the fact that I’m still in love with Z and always will be.

And that just about says it all.

Dhestroyer, Descended of Wrath, Son of Wrath

a.k.a. Butch O’Neal

“You’ve got some of me in you, cop.” Wrath’s smile stuck around as he slid his glasses back on. “Course, I always knew you were a royal. Just didn’t think it went past the pain-in-the-ass part, is all.”

—LOVER REVEALED, p. 321

My Interview with Butch

After Zsadist and I get home from Target, I help carry the bags into the mansion. We are just finishing the fetch-and-carry routine when Butch comes out of the door under the stairs. He’s dressed in a black Izod sweater with a white shirt underneath and a pair of superbly cut black trousers. His shoes are Tod’s. Black with no socks. He’s got a duffel bag on his shoulder and a monster grin on his face.

Butch:

My turn!

Z:

(bending over a bag and taking out one of the Miami Ink hats) For you.

Butch:

Okay, that’s hot. (Takes it and puts it on.) Thanks, man.

Z:

Got one for your boy, too.

Butch:

Which is actually another gift to me, because we won’t have to fight over this one. (Turning to me.) You ready?

J.R.:

Absolutely. Where are—

Butch:

Out the back. (Sweeps arm toward library.) This way.

I smile a good-bye to Z and he returns my expression, his ruined lip twitching up briefly and his eyes flashing yellow. I think for a moment how lucky Bella and Nalla are; then I follow Butch out of the foyer and into one of my favorite rooms in the house. The library is walled with books, the only breaks coming for the windows and the bank of doors and the fireplace. Oil paintings of landscapes are hung over the tomes here and there, giving an English-manor-house feel to the space.

Butch:

(over his shoulder) Betcha can’t guess where we’re going.

J.R.:

It’s not just the library.

Butch:

(goes to one of the French doors and opens it) Right you are. And out you go!

J.R.:

What’s in the duffel?

Butch:

(shooting me his trademark smile, the one that totally eclipses his busted nose and the chip in his front tooth, the one that turns him into the most attractive man on the planet) It’s not a potato launcher.

J.R.:

Why does that not reassure me? (stepping out and stopping short)

Butch:

(with pride) I’d like you to meet Edna.

J.R.:

I . . . didn’t know you could do that to a golf cart.

Edna is your standard-issue links transport—except she’s had a makeover right out of the Robb Report. She’s got a Cadillac hood ornament and a grille modeled after the Escalade’s. Painted black, her rims are twenty-fours, her bumpers are chromed, her seating leather, and it wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest to discover that she’s turbo-charged. Hell, if you could nitro an electric engine, I’d be looking for the injector button on the console.

Butch:

Isn’t she spank? (puts duffel in the back and gets behind the chrome wheel) I was going for an updated Elvis vibe.

J.R.:

Mission accomplished. (Gets in beside him. Am surprised when my butt tingles.) Seat warmers, too?

Butch:

Shit, yeah. Wait’ll you hear the sound system.

Kanye West blares out over the gardens and we take off across the rolling lawn, passing by flower beds that