Ward, J.R. - Black Dagger Brotherhood 09 - Lover Unleashed by Ward J.R

Author:Ward, J.R. [Ward, J.R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Paranormal, General
Publisher: Signet
Published: 2011-03-29T07:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-EIGHT

Vishous’s fangs elongated as a ring of slayers formed around the opening of the alley. These were old-school numbers, he thought. Half a dozen at least—and they’d clearly been given coordinates by their fellow slayers. Otherwise the mhis would have hidden the carnage from them.

Given his mood, all the hi-how’re-ya should have been a great thing.

Problem: The alley’s construction meant there was only one way out—apart from rushing the enemy’s ranks—and that was pulling a disappearing act. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t have been an issue, as experienced fighters could, even in the heat of battle, calm themselves enough to focus and dematerialize—but you had to be relatively uninjured, and you couldn’t take any fallen-comrade types with you when you went.

So Butch was screwed if shit got out of hand. As a half-breed, that guy was grounded, literally incapable of scattering his molecules to safety.

V muttered under his breath, “Don’t be a hero, cop. Let us handle this.”

“You’re kidding me, right.” The glare was immediate and steady. “You worry about yourself.”

Not possible. He wasn’t losing the only two compass points he had on the same night.

“Hey, boys,” Hollywood called out to the enemy. “You just going to stand there or are we gonna do this?”

Annnnnnnnnnnd that was the ringside bell. The lessers streamed forward and met the Brotherhood face-to-face, fist-to-fist. To ensure they had the privacy they needed, V doubled up on his visual barrier, the buffering creating a mirage of nothing-doing in the event humans trolled on by.

As he started working out one of the enemy, he kept his eye on Butch. The fucker naturally got right in there, taking on a tall, lanky inductee with his bare hands. He loved to brawl, and heads were his favorite punching bags—but Vishous really wished the bastard would take up fencing or, even better, get into rocket launchers. From the rooftop. So he wasn’t anywhere near the fighting. He just hated that the cop got so close, because who the fuck knew what would come out of a pocket or how much damage could be done to the guy with a gun or a length of—

The kick came out of nowhere, sailing through the air like an anvil, catching V right in the side of the torso. As he flew back and slammed into the alley’s brick flank, he was reminded of what they’d taught their trainees when they’d had them: Rule number one of fighting? Pay the fuck attention to your damn opponent.

After all, you could have the best knife in the world, but if you were clueless? You ended up making like a Ping-Pong ball. Or worse.

V reinflated his lungs with a huge inhale and he used the oxygen rush to leap forward and catch the Rockette’s second kick at the ankle with his hands. The lesser had spectacular skills, however, and spun a Matrix move, using V’s hold as an anchor to twist around in midair. The combat boot nailed V right in the ear, his head snapping to the side as all kinds of tendons and muscles were yanked to hell and gone.

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