way with words, cousin. I would say... trucker meets sailor crossed with a twelve-year-old.”
Saxton. It was Saxton, son of Tyhm. Blay could remember meeting him once or twice before.
Qhuinn pulled back. “
“They were more concerned with contract law. Property. Torts—which covers actionable wrongs against others, by the way. I’m surprised you weren’t on the final exam.”
Qhuinn’s fangs flashed bright and white as he truly smiled. “That’s human law. They can’t handle me.”
“Who can.”
“So what are you doing here?”
“Property transactions for the Shadow brothers. Lest you think I just learned all that human jurisprudence for my health.” Saxton’s eyes shifted over and met Blay’s. Instantly, the guy’s expression changed to something serious and speculative. “Well, hello.”
Saxton turned his back on Qhuinn and came over with a focus that made Blay check behind himself.
“Blaylock, is it not?” The male extended his elegant arm across the bar. “I haven’t seen you in years.”
Blay had always felt a little tongue-tied in Saxton’s presence because the “slick bastard” always had a comeback. And a vibe like he not only knew the right answers to everything but might not choose to let you in on the secrets if you weren’t up to his standards.
“How do you do?” Blay said as their palms met.
Saxton smelled really good and had a handshake that was firm. “You’ve grown up a lot.”
Blay found himself flushing as he took his hand back. “You’re just the same.”
“Am I?” Those pearl eyes flashed. “Is that good or bad?”
“Oh... good. I didn’t mean—”
“So tell me how you’ve been. Are you mated to some nice female your parents set you up with?”
Blay’s laugh was sharp and hard. “God, no. There’s no one for me.”
Qhuinn inserted himself in the conversation, all but putting his body between them. “So, how
“Rather well.” Saxton didn’t even glance over at Qhuinn as he answered, his attention staying on Blay. “Although my parents want me out of Caldwell. I am not inclined to leave, however.”
Needing somewhere else to look, Blay got busy drinking his soda and counting the ice cubes that floated in it.
“And what are you doing here?” Saxton asked.
There was a long pause and eventually, Blay swung his eyes back up as he wondered why Qhuinn hadn’t replied.
Oh. Right. Saxton wasn’t addressing his cousin.
“You going to speak up there, Blay,” Qhuinn prompted with a frown.
For the first time in... God, forever, it seemed... he went to fully meet his best friend’s stare. Although it wasn’t like he needed to brace himself. As always, those mismatched eyes were trained on someone else: Saxton was getting a once-over that would have rendered lesser males several inches shorter. But Qhuinn’s cousin was either unaware of it or possibly didn’t care.
“Do answer me, Blaylock,” the male murmured.
Blay cleared his throat. “We’re here to help a friend.”
“Admirable.” Saxton smiled, flashing a set of fangs that gleamed. “You know, I think we should go out sometime.”
Qhuinn’s voice was mostly edge. “Sure. Sounds great. Here’s my number.”
Just as he recited his digits, John, Trez, and iAm came back in. There were some introductions and conversating, but Blay stayed out of it, polishing off the Coke and putting his glass in the washer.
As he came around the bar and passed the guy, Saxton reached out. “Good to see you again.”
On reflex, Blay clasped the palm that was offered... and after the shake, he realized there was a business card in his hand. As he covered his surprise, Saxton just smiled.
While Blay tucked the card into his pocket, Saxton turned his head and glanced at Qhuinn. “I’ll be giving you a call, cousin.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
The good-bye-ing was considerably less friendly on Qhuinn’s side, but again Saxton didn’t seem to give a damn or didn’t notice—the latter being hard to believe.
“Will you excuse me,” Blay said, to no one in particular.
He left the restaurant by himself, and when he stepped out under the porte cochere, he lit up a cigarette and leaned back against the cool brick, bracing the sole of one boot on the building.
He took the card out as he smoked. Thick, creamy stock. Engraved, not embossed—naturally. Black, old- school font. As he lifted the thing to his nose, he could smell that cologne.
Nice. Very nice. Qhuinn didn’t believe in the stuff... so he just smelled like leather and sex most of the time.
As he tucked the card inside his jacket, he took another drag and exhaled long and slow. He wasn’t used to being looked at. Or approached. He was always the one doing the focusing and Qhuinn had been the target for as long as he could remember.
The doors burst open and his boys walked out.
“Man, I hate cigarette smoke,” Qhuinn muttered, waving away the cloud that had just been exhaled.
Blay extinguished his Dunhill on his boot heel and tucked the half-finished length into his pocket. “Where we off to?”
“Isn’t that park in gang territory?” Blay asked. “Aren’t there a lot of police around?”
“Why worry about the cops?” Qhuinn laughed in a hard burst. “If we get into trouble with the CPD, Saxton can always come bail us out. Right?”
Blay glanced over, and this time, he should have braced himself. Qhuinn’s blue-and-green stare was boring into him and, as it registered, that old, familiar thrill licked into his chest.
God... this was who he loved, he thought. And always would.
It was the thrust of that stubborn jaw, and the dark, slashing eyebrows, and those piercings up his ear and in his full lower lip. It was that thick, glossy black hair and the golden skin and that heavily muscled body. It was the way he laughed and the fact that he never, ever cried. It was the scars on his inside no one knew about and the conviction that he would always be the first to run into a burning building or a bloody fight or a car wreck.
It was all the things Qhuinn had been and was ever going to be.
But things were never going to change.
“What’s not going to change?” Qhuinn said with a frown.
Oh, shit. He’d spoken aloud. “Nothing. Are we going, John?”
John glanced back and forth between them. Then nodded.
SIX
“I love the way you look at me.”
From over in the opposite corner of the bedroom, Xhex made no reply to the words Lash spoke. From the way he was collapsed in front of the bureau, with one of his shoulders higher than the other, she thought it was entirely possible she had dislocated his upper arm. And that wasn’t his only injury. Black blood dripped off his chin from the split lip she’d given him and he was going to walk with a limp after she’d bitten him in the thigh.
His eyes roamed over her and she didn’t bother to cover herself with her hands. If he was up for round two, she needed every ounce of strength she had left. And besides, modesty mattered only if you gave a shit about your body and she’d long ago lost that connection.
