Wiping her eyes, she shook her head once more. “You give me way too much credit.”

“Not even close,” he said as he brushed her cheek with his gloved hand. Staring down at her, his diamond eyes and harsh face with its tattoos were as close to tender as she’d ever seen them. “You knew what to do—”

“But I didn’t, V. I really don’t have a clue where that idea came from.”

For a moment, he frowned. Then he shrugged. “Well, whatever. You gave us our brother back. And even though he’s a pain in the ass, life wouldn’t be the same without him.”

“Or you,” Zsadist tacked on.

Z was the last to come over, and as he opened his arms wide, for some reason, the slave bands that had been tattooed around his throat and wrists stood out to her.

His embrace was stiff. Awkward. Obviously hard for him as he kept his hips far away from her body. But his eyes were yellow, not black, and as he stepped back, he put his hand on her shoulder.

The scar that ran down the bridge of his nose and around to his cheek moved out of place as he gave her a small smile. “You’re really good at saving lives.”

She knew exactly what he was referring to—all those sessions the two of them had had by the boiler in the mansion’s basement, him talking about the horrific abuse he’d suffered at the hands of his Mistress, her listening and offering comments only when he paused for a very long time or looked to her for some sort of life raft as he struggled in a sea of overwhelming shame and pain and sadness.

“Sometimes I wish I were better,” she said as she thought of Bitty.

“Not possible.”

When Z fell back in line with his brothers, Mary smoothed her hair. Swiped under her eyes. Took a deep breath. Even though there were a lot of different emotions going through her, it was really good to be around people who loved Rhage as much as she did.

That much she knew to be true and without question.

“Well.” She cleared her throat. “Thank you all. But honestly . . .”

As every single one of them glared at her, it was the kind of thing that made you grateful they liked you.

She had to laugh. “Okay, okay, I’ll keep it, I’ll keep it.”

Conversation sprang up among the Brothers, and there was some back slapping, like they were proud of themselves for doing right by her.

With a final wave, she forced herself to continue onward toward the entrance to the underground tunnel. . . with her new sword.

Boy, it was heavy, she thought as she hiked it up further on her shoulder.

Almost as heavy as the weight she felt on her heart.

While Mary walked down the corridor in the direction of the office, Vishous took out a hand-rolled and put it between his front teeth. As he lit the thing, he frowned, thinking about what she’d said to him.

“So Xcor’s not conscious,” Wrath murmured.

Turning to the King, V exhaled and switched gears in his head. “Not yet. And I checked on him about a half hour ago.”

“Where did you put him?”

“Gun range.” V glanced at Tohr, who was out of earshot. “And we have an alternating guard schedule. He’s tied up to my satisfaction—”

“Do you really use that shit for sex?”

On a oner, the entire Brotherhood looked over at the interruption. Lassiter, the fallen angel, had appeared from out of nowhere, and he was looking somewhat less offensive than usual, his blond-and-black hair pulled back in a braid that went to his ass, his black leathers covering his naughty bits, the gold hoops at his ears, bracelets on his wrists and piercings in his nipples glowing under the fluorescent ceiling lights. Or maybe that was just on account of his heavenly frickin’ disposition.

Not.

“What the hell happened to your goddamn shirt?” V shot back. “And why the shits are you off post?”

Goddamn it, he should have known not to put that idiot on guard duty. But at least Payne hadn’t left the gun range—and that was something V didn’t need to check for himself. His sister was the kind of fighter he’d trust not only with his own life and the lives of his brothers and mate, but with making sure their prisoner didn’t so much as sneeze without permission.

“I spilled on it.”

“What? You’re eating in there?”

“No. Of course not.” Lassiter sauntered on by to where the scrubs were kept. “Okay, yes. Fine. It was a strawberry milk shake—and I’m just getting a fresh shirt and going back in. Relax.”

V took a hard drag. It was either that or put the fucker in a choke hold. “Strawberry? Really?”

“Fuck you, Vishous.”

As the angel smiled and blew a kiss over his shoulder, at least the bitch didn’t pump his junk.

“Can I kill him,” V muttered to Wrath. “Please. Just once. Or maybe twice.”

“Get in line.”

V refocused. “As I was saying, Xcor is going nowhere.”

“I want to find out where the Bastards are staying,” Wrath ordered, “and bring the rest of them in. But they’ve got to be assuming he’s been captured. That’s what I would do. No body? No witnesses to a death? Safest course is to assume their leader’s become a prisoner of war and get the fuck out of wherever they’ve been staying.”

“Agreed. But you never know what you can learn when you push the right levers.”

“Keep Tohr away from him.”

“Roger that.”

V glanced at Tohr again. The brother was standing in the back of the group and looking down the hallway where the gun range was. It felt weird to think in terms of reining the guy in or keeping tabs on him, but it was what it was.

Sometimes emotions were too much for even the most logical of fighters.

Except for him, of course.

He was fucking tight as shit.

“So Assail’s two rooms down,” V said. “If you’re ready to talk to him.”

“Take me there, V.”

Again, usually it would have been Tohr doing the duty, but V stepped in close and nudged the King forward, leaving the Brothers to reassume various poses and sit-downs as they waited for Rhage to wake up.

After they had gone some distance, the King said softly, “So what do you know about Rhage and his little premature shooting contest.” When V cursed, Wrath shook his head. “Tell me. And don’t pretend you don’t fucking know something. You were the last one to speak with him.”

Vishous considered keeping shit under wraps, but in the end, lying to Wrath wasn’t in anybody’s best interest. “I foresaw his death and tried to get him to leave the field. He wouldn’t and . . . there you go.”

“He went out there. Knowing he was going to die.”

“Yeah.”

“Goddamn it.” After Wrath dropped a couple of f-bombs, he switched gears to another happy subject. “I also heard you had a visitor. When you went back to the campus.”

“The Omega.” Man, he didn’t like to even say that name. But like he’d enjoyed talking about Rhage’s death wish? “Yeah, my mother’s brother took care of clean-up. If his day job as being the source of all evil in the world doesn’t work out, he has a second career as a janitor waiting for him.”

“Any problems?”

“He didn’t even know we were there.”

“Thank fuck.” Wrath glanced over even though he couldn’t see. “Have you talked to your mother lately?”

“No. Nope. Not at all.”

“I asked her for an audience. She hasn’t acknowledged me.”

“Can’t help you there. Sorry.”

“I’ll go up there uninvited if I have to.”

V stopped at the door to Assail’s recovery room, but didn’t open it. “What exactly are you looking for from her?”

“I want to know if she’s still up there.” Wrath’s cruel, aristocratic face got tight. “Going up against slayers is one thing, but we’re going to need a wingman with serious power to face the Omega head-on—and I’m not kidding myself. We just knocked out ninety percent of what he has on the earth. He will respond, and we’re not going to like whatever it is.”

“Fuck me,” V muttered.

“More like ‘us,’ my brother.”