pros.'
A croaking sound came out of Beth's mouth.
'I'm going to take her downstairs,' Wrath said.
'Oh, yes, please,' she murmured. 'I'd really like to go down… stairs.'
He put his arm around her, and he knew how affected she was by the way she melted into his body. It felt so good to have her relying on him for strength.
Too good, actually.
'You cool?' Wrath said to his brother.
'Damn straight. I'm leaving as soon as this is done. Got three jars to collect.'
'Nice tally.'
'Would have been more if this little gift hadn't come by air mail. No wonder you like those stars so much.' Rhage moved his hand around, as if he were tying a knot. 'You should know Tohr and the twins are'-he grabbed a pair of scissors off the counter and snipped the thread-'continuing our work from last night. They should be back in a couple hours to report in, just as you asked.'
'Tell them to knock first.'
Rhage nodded and had the sense not to follow up with any commentary.
As Wrath led Beth down the hall, he found himself stroking her shoulder. Her back. Then he curled his hand around her waist, his fingers sinking into her soft flesh. She fit well against him, her head coming up to his chest, resting on his pectoral as they moved together.
Too comfortable. Too familiar, he thought. Way too good.
He held on to her anyway.
And even as he did, he wished he could take back what he'd said to her on that sidewalk. About her being his.
Because that wasn't true. He didn't want to take her as his
It was a connection he wanted to avoid.
After all, fits of insanity were Rhage's specialty.
And the brothers didn't need another hair-trigger loose cannon in the group.
Beth closed her eyes and leaned against Wrath, trying to shut out the picture of that gaping wound. The effort was like blocking sunlight with her hands: Parts of the image kept seeping through. All that bright red, shiny blood, the raw, dark pink muscle, the shocking white of bone. And that needle. Puncturing the skin, pulling the flesh out to a point, breaking through with the black thread-
She opened her eyes.
Open was better.
No matter what the man said, that was no little scrape he was dealing with. He needed to go to the hospital. And she would have argued the point more strenuously, except she'd been a little busy trying to convince her pad thai to stay put.
Besides, that guy seemed pretty darned competent at fixing himself up.
He was also one hell of a looker. Even though the gore was distracting, she couldn't help but notice his dazzling face and body. Short blond hair, iridescent blue eyes, a face that belonged on the big screen. He'd been dressed as Wrath was, in black leather pants and shitkickers, but his shirt had been cast aside. The muscles of his upper torso had stood out in sharp relief beneath the overhead light, an impressive display of strength. And the multicolored tattoo of a dragon that covered his whole back was a total stunner.
But then, it wasn't as if Wrath were going to hang out with some scrawny tax accountant-looking nancy.
Drug dealers. They were clearly drug dealers. Guns, weapons, huge amounts of cash. And who else got into a knife fight and played doctor on themselves?
She recalled that the man had borne the same circular-shaped scar on his chest that Wrath did.
They must be in a gang, she thought. Or the mob.
She suddenly needed some space, and Wrath let her go as they walked into a lemon-colored room. Her feet slowed. The place looked like a museum or something she'd expect to see in
Maybe they didn't just deal in crack, X, and heroin, she thought. Maybe they worked the antiques black market as well.
Now there was a combo you didn't run across very often.
'This is nice,' she murmured, fingering an antique box. 'Very nice.'
She eyed Wrath when she got no response. He was standing just inside the room, arms folded across his pecs, at the ready even though he was home.
But then, when did he ever relax? she thought.
'Have you always been a collector?' she asked, trying to buy some time so her nerves could settle. She walked over to a Hudson River School painting. Good lord, it was a Thomas Cole. Probably worth hundreds of thousands. 'This is beautiful.'
She glanced over her shoulder. He was focused on her, paying no attention to the painting. And there was no expression of pride or ownership on his face.
Which was not the way someone looked when their things were admired.
'This is not your house,' she said.
'Your father lived here.'
But what the hell. She'd come this far. She might as well play along.
'Then he obviously had plenty of money. What did he do for a living?'
Wrath walked across the room, toward an exquisite, full-length portrait of what looked like a king.
'Come with me.'
'What? You want me to walk through that wall-'
He pushed one side of the painting, and it swiveled outward to reveal a dark corridor.
'Oh,' she said.
He gestured with his arm. 'After you.'
Beth approached carefully. The glow of gas lanterns flickered over black stone. She leaned in, seeing a set of stairs that disappeared around a turn far below.
'What's down there?'
'A place where we can talk.'
'Why don't we stay up here?'
'Because you're going to want to do this privately. And my brothers are likely to show up soon.'
'Your brothers?'
'Yes.'
'How many of them are there?'
'Five, now. And you're stalling. Go on. Nothing will hurt you down there, I promise.'
But she put her foot over the gilded edge of the frame. And stepped into the darkness.
Chapter Eighteen
Beth took a deep breath and hesitantly put her hands out to the stone walls. The air wasn't musty; there was
