Phury looked out the window, the angry words he and Z had just exchanged echoing like gunshots in an alley.
Do them all a favor and walk away, the wizard said. Just walk away, mate.
You want to be a hero? Make it so they don’t have to deal with you ever again.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Qhuinn was absolutely sure his nuts were on Wrath’s menu tonight, but even so, he was amazed at the sight of the Brotherhood’s training center. The thing was the size of a small city, made up of blocks of stone that were big as a male’s torso, with windows that looked like they were reinforced with titanium or some shit. The gargoyles around the roof and all the shadows were perfect. Exactly what you’d expect.
“Sire?” the butler said as he indicated the cathedral-worthy front door. “Shall we go in? I must needs get to my cooking.”
“Cooking?”
The doggen slowed his speech down as if he were addressing a moron. “I cook for the Brotherhood as well as tend to this, their home.”
Holy shit…This wasn’t the training center; this was the Brotherhood’s digs.
Well, duh. Check out the security. There were cameras mounted over the doors and under the roof, and the retaining wall of the courtyard was like something out of a movie about Alcatraz. Hell, he expected a fleet of Dobermans to come trucking around the corner with their chompers showing.
Then again, the dogs were probably still gnawing on the bones of the last guest they’d turned into pulled pork.
“Sire?” the butler repeated. “Shall we?”
“Yeah… yeah, sure.” Qhuinn swallowed hard and walked forward, prepared to face the music with the king. “Ah, listen, I’m just going to leave my stuff in the car.”
“As you wish, sire.”
Man, thank God Blay didn’t have to see what was about to go down-
One side of the mammoth double doors opened and a familiar friend lifted a hand.
Oh. Great. Blay would miss the show, but John was having a front-row seat, evidently.
The guy was dressed in the blue jeans and one of the deconstructed button-downs they’d gotten at Abercrombie. His bare feet were pale on the black stone stairs, and he seemed relatively calm, which was kind of irritating. The bastard could at least have had the grace to sport a cold sweat or a case of the sympathy shits.
Hey, John signed.
“Hey.”
John stepped back, clearing the way. How are you doing?
“I wish I were a smoker.” Because then he could put this off for the duration of a cig.
No, you don’t. You hate smoking.
“When I face the firing squad, I may rethink that hard line.”
Shut up.
Qhuinn walked through a vestibule that made him feel totally underdressed, what with its black-and-white marble floor and its chandelier-was that made of real gold? Probably-
Holy fuck, he thought as he stopped dead.
The foyer in front of him was palatial. Total Russian royalty, with its brilliant colors and its incredible gold-leafed everything and its mosaic floor and its painted ceiling… or, shit, maybe it was more like something out of a Danielle Steel novel, with all its romantic marble columns and arching expanse.
Not that he’d read any of her books.
Well, okay, there had been that one, but he’d been twelve and sick and had focused just on the sex parts.
“Up here,” a deep, echoing voice said.
Qhuinn looked to the top of an ornate staircase. Standing with shitkickers planted like he owned the world, dressed in black leathers and a black T-shirt, was the king.
“Come on, let’s do this,” Wrath commanded.
Swallowing hard, Qhuinn followed John to the second floor.
As they got to the top, Wrath said, “I just want Qhuinn. John, you stay here.”
John started to sign, I want to be his witness-
Wrath turned away. “Nope. There’s going to be none of that.”
Shit, Qhuinn thought. He wasn’t going to be allowed any defense testimony?
I’ll be waiting, John signed.
“Thanks, man.”
Qhuinn stared beyond the open doors the king had gone through. The room before him was… well, it looked like the kind of place his mother would have liked: pale blue, with spindly, girly furniture and drippy crystal light fixtures that looked like earrings.
Not exactly what you’d expect Wrath to hang out in.
As the king went in and planted it behind a delicate desk, Qhuinn stepped inside, shut the doors, and linked his hands in front of himself. As he waited, the whole thing struck him as surreal. He could not possibly fathom how his life had come down to this.
“Did you mean to kill Lash?” Wrath asked.
So much for opening statements. “Ah…”
“Did you or didn’t you?”
In quick succession Qhuinn reviewed his answers: No, of course not, the knife was acting of its own volition, I was actually trying to stop it… No, I only meant to give him a shave… No, I didn’t realize that slicing open someone’s jugular was going to lead to death…
Qhuinn cleared his throat once. Twice. “Yeah. I did.”
The king crossed his arms over his chest. “If Lash hadn’t gone for John’s pants, would you have done the same thing?”
Qhuinn’s lungs stopped working for a moment. He shouldn’t have been surprised the king knew exactly what had gone down, but shit, hearing the words was kind of shocking. Plus, talking about the whole thing was hard, given what Lash had said and done. It was, after all, John.
“Well?” came the demand over the desk. “If Lash hadn’t gone for his pants, would you have throated him?”
Qhuinn gathered his thoughts. “Look, John told me and Blay to stay out of it, and as long as it was a fair fight I was prepared to let it ride. But…” He shook his head. “Nah. That shit Lash pulled wasn’t fair. It was like using a concealed weapon.”
“But you didn’t have to kill him, did you. You could have peeled him off John. Clocked him a couple of times. Rolled him out.”
“True.”
Wrath stretched his arm to the side as if to loosen it, and his shoulder let out a crack. “You’re going to be totally fucking honest with me now. If you lie, I’ll know it, because I’ll smell it.” Wrath’s eyes burned behind his wraparounds. “I’m well aware you hated your cousin. Are you sure you didn’t use deadly force for your own agenda?”
Qhuinn dragged his hand through his hair and remembered all that he could about what had gone down. There were holes in his memory, blanks spaces carved by the tangle of emotions that had had him palming the knife and lunging forward, but he remembered enough.
“To be honest… shit, I couldn’t let John get hurt and humiliated like that. See, he froze. When Lash went for his pants, he froze. The two of them were in the shower and John was up against the tile and all of a sudden he went dead still. I don’t know whether Lash would have followed through with… well, you know… because I wasn’t in his head, but he was just the type who would try it.” Qhuinn swallowed hard. “I saw it happen, saw that John couldn’t do anything and… it was like everything went blank… I just-fuck-the knife was in my hand and then I was on Lash and the slice was quick. For real? Sure, I hated Lash, but I don’t give a fuck who pulled that shit on John. I would have gone gunning for them. And before you ask it, I know what your next question is going to be.”
“And your answer is.”
“Yeah, I would do it again.”
“Would you now.”
“Yes.” Qhuinn looked around at the pale blue walls and thought it didn’t seem right to be talking about such ugliness in a room that was so fricking lovely. “Guess that makes me an unrepentant murderer, huh… so what are you going to do to me? Oh, and you probably know this already, but my family has disowned me.”