“Qhuinn, I am not playing—”
Noise exploded in the cabin, filling the air.
He was completely unaware that it was a shout coming from his own mouth.
At first, Blay thought that whatever was in the drum had grabbed onto Qhuinn and pulled him in—and that was why Qhuinn screamed. On instinct, he jumped forward and grabbed onto Qhuinn’s waist, throwing out his anchor and yanking back.
What came out of that drum would haunt Blay’s nightmares for years…decades afterward.
In fact, what was inside hadn’t latched onto Qhuinn; it was the other way around. And as Blay hauled back, a male form was extracted from the tight squeeze, the Omega’s blood pouring out in rivers, splashing onto the cold wooden planks of the cabin’s floor, hitting Blay’s shitkickers and leathers, drenching Qhuinn.
Qhuinn had to scramble to keep his grip from slipping off, his gun and flashlight long forgotten, his gloved hands slapping and scratching to keep from losing contact….
As they hoisted…
The oil drum fell over onto its side as the male sprawled out flat at their feet.
No one moved. It was as if they had all stepped in and assumed their positions in a tableau.
Blay recognized who it was immediately.
He couldn’t believe it.
The dead had returned to the living…in a manner of speaking.
Qhuinn squatted down and touched the male’s shoulders. Then he spoke his brother’s name roughly: “Luchas?”
The response was immediate. His brother’s hands began to slowly pinwheel, his mangled legs shifting, his naked body trying to move. His skin was bruised all over, the harsh illumination from the flashlights showing every contusion and cut and black-and-blue, the stain of the Omega’s blood gradually receding from the pale skin.
Dear God, what had they done to him? One of his eyes was swollen shut, and his mouth was lopsided, as if he’d been punched there. As he grimaced, it appeared that his teeth had all been spared, but that was about the only mercy he seemed to have been given.
“Luchas?” Qhuinn said again. “Can you talk to me?”
From off to the side, Rhage was on his phone again. “V? We’ve really got a situation. What’s your ETA…what? No, abso no—I need you now….No, you. And Payne.” Hollywood glanced over and mouthed, Do you guys know who he is?
Blay had to clear his throat, his reply tripping and stumbling out. “It’s his…brother.”
Rhage blinked. Shook his head. Leaned in. “I’m sorry, what did you—”
“His brother,” Blay repeated loudly and clearly.
“Jesus…” Rhage whispered. And then he snapped back into action. “Now, V. Now.”
“Luchas, can you hear me?” Qhuinn spoke.
Vishous burst into the cabin a split second later. The Brother was covered in lesser blood and bleeding red thanks to a gash across his face—he was also breathing like a freight train and had a dripping black dagger in his hand.
The instant he saw what they were all clustered around, he stopped. “What the fuck is that?”
Rhage quickly made slashing motions across his throat, shutting up any further commentary. Then he grabbed V’s arm and dragged him out of earshot. When the pair came back, V was showing no emotion at all.
“Let me take a look at him,” V said.
Qhuinn just kept talking at his brother, the words coming out in a steady stream that didn’t make much sense. Then again, as far as anyone had known, the male had been killed in the raids, along with Qhuinn’s mother, father, and sister. So, yeah, this was enough to make even Shakespeare sport a case of the babbles.
Except…this wasn’t possible, Blay thought. There had been four bodies at the house—and Luchas had been among them.
Blay should know. He’d been the one to go in and do the identifying.
He put a hand on Qhuinn’s shoulder. “Hey.”
Qhuinn’s words drifted off. Then he looked up into Blay’s eyes. “He’s not answering me.”
“Can you let V take a quick look? We need a medic’s opinion.” And maybe a helluva lot more to answer what the hell was going on here. “Come on, stand over here with me.”
Qhuinn straightened and pulled back, but he didn’t go far, and his eyes never left his brother. “Have they turned him?” He crossed his arms and curled himself forward. “Do you think they turned him?”
Blay shook his head, and wished he could lie. “I don’t know.”
SIXTY-ONE
As Qhuinn stared down at the cabin floor, his brain was firing in a series of disconnected flashes, the concrete notion that his whole family had been wiped out colliding into what appeared to be a very different reality.
He kept coming back to a night long, long ago, when he’d walked through the front door of his parents’ to find his family sitting together at that dining room table…and his brother getting that ring that was on his now mangled hand.
You’d think the sight of the guy tortured but alive would be all he’d concentrate on.
“What’s going on, V?” he demanded. “How is he?”
“He’s alive.” The Brother shifted his black dagger around and wiped the blade off on his leather-clad thigh. “Son? Son, can you look at me?”
Luchas just kept staring up at Qhuinn, his perfectly matched pair of beautiful gray eyes bloodshot and crazy wide. His mouth was moving, but no sound was coming out.
“Son, I’m going to have to cut you, okay? Son?”
Qhuinn knew exactly what V was going for. “Do it.”
Qhuinn’s heart banged like a fist against his sternum as the Brother took that black blade and streaked the point down the outside of Luchas’s arm. The guy didn’t even flinch; then again, with what was going on for him? Drop in the bucket.
Please be red, please be red, please be—
Red blood welled and seeped out, a brilliant contrast to the staining black oil that he was covered with.
Everyone let out the breath they’d been holding.
“Okay, son, that’s good, that’s good….”
They hadn’t turned him.
V got up from the floor and tipped his head to the side, motioning for a private convo. As Qhuinn went over, he took Blay’s arm and brought him along. It was just the most natural thing to do. This was serious shit, and he knew he wasn’t tracking—and there was no one else he’d rather have with him.
“I don’t have a blood pressure cuff or a stethoscope, but I’ll tell you right now—his pulse is weak and erratic, and I’m pretty damn sure he’s in shock. I don’t know how long he’s been in there or what they did to him, but he is alive in the conventional sense. The problem is, Payne’s out of commission.” V’s eyes glowed. “And you two know why.”
Ah, so he’d spoken with his sister.
“She’s not going to be able to work her magic,” the Brother continued, “and we’re a million miles from everywhere.”
“Bottom line,” Qhuinn said grimly.
V stared him right in the eye. “He’s going to die in the next couple of—”
“V!” Rhage barked. “Get over here!”
Down on the floor, Luchas’s battered body was drawing up into itself, his broken hands curling into his palms, his knees cranking in tight, his spine curling toward the cabin’s ceiling.
Qhuinn jacked over and fell to his knees by his brother’s head. “Stay with me, Luchas. Come on, fight it—”
Those gray eyes relocked on Qhuinn’s, and the agony in them was so shattering, Qhuinn was barely aware of V rushing over and taking the glove off of his glowing hand.
“Qhuinn!” the Brother shouted, like maybe he’d said Qhuinn’s name a couple of times.
He didn’t look away from his brother. “What?”
“This could kill him, but maybe it’ll get his heart beating right. It’s a bad shot—but it’s the only one he’s got.”