Page 8 of Lover Forbidden
A lingering nostalgia registered as pain in the center of his chest. There had been problems back then for all of them, issues in life that ranged from the little annoyances to the big worries to the outright terrors. And the war, always the fucking war.
But things seemed simpler—
He went to rub his pounding head, then remembered he had a loaded gun in each hand with the safety off—and now was so not the time to shoot himself in the dome for a dumb reason.
And not just because it’d ruin all this pretentious gold-leafed wallpaper.
On that note, he thought of another table, a totally different one—and this time, it really was from memory, not some post-traumatic mental spasm that he couldn’t seem to move past: A cozy family table now, in an open, casual kitchen that was ringed with windows overlooking a meadow and a pond. No butler and waitstaff. No sterling or crystal. No swooping drapes or heavy chandeliers.
No brothers, either.
Just his immediate family: Blay, and the male’s parents, Lyric and Rocke, with the twins, Lyric and Rhamp, in high chairs. The Last Meal spread was served in mismatched dishes and steaming with warmth, but the plates were as yet empty because there was one more dish being brought over. Meanwhile, snow was falling outside, and the decor was red and green for Christmas, even though there were no humans in the house…
Rocke saying something about hisshellanand looking her way. And Qhuinn also glanced over to the stove.
The elder Lyric was there, with her apron on and her hair pulled back sensibly. She was cutting up the lasagna she’d made just for Qhuinn,the light fixtures over the island catching the planes of her lovely face.
Healthy. Whole. With life still in front of her—
“One minute out.”
Qhuinn jerked around to the archway. Rhage was standing there, filling the double doorjambs, and there were no more lollipops in sight. It was game time, so he had a gun in each hand.
Still, the guy asked, “You okay?”
No, he wasn’t. But Hollywood—just like everybody else—knew that already, and knew the reason. Some things you just didn’t want to say out loud, though.
My belovedmahmen-in-law is dyingwas still not a statement he was prepared to make. And the same was true about the inevitable add-on:And it’s killing everybody.
So he pivoted on his reply. Even though now was also not the time for him to get a hair across his ass because someone who lived off Fluffernutter sandwiches, chips, and ice cream suggested that maybe he was halfway following rules.
“Just so we’re clear.” He touched the silver hoop in his lower lip, even though his Beretta nearly poked him in the eyeball. “I’m still who I’ve always been.”
Rhage chuckled. “You mean a badass?”
“Yeah, exactly.” He cleared his throat. “But enough about me. How is this happening?”
“It wasnotmy idea,” Hollywood muttered. Then he called out, “Basement and garage, clear.”
Qhuinn put volume into his voice as well: “First floor, clear.”
From out in the foyer, Z answered with, “Second floor, clear.”
And Phury chimed in, “Attic, clear.”
A vibration went off inside Qhuinn’s leather jacket, and when the text was answered—the countdown started. Exactly thirty Mississippi’s later, headlights washed across the front of the mansion, the hard beams penetrating a seam in the heavy, closed curtains like an adversary that’d found a weakness.
“Let’s get this over with,” he gritted as he headed for the foyer.
Joining the other brothers who were milling around beneath a crystal chandelier, he rolled his shoulders and then cracked his neck by cranking his head from side to side. Everybody was double-dipping into their holsters, but no daggers. Those vicious black blades had all stayed put.
A gun was better in this situation.
Two forties were even better.
Tohr was the one who opened things up, and the cold air came in before him, the dark night on the other side like a void he’d somehow managed to step out of. Vishous was next, the goateed brother looking like he was ready to fight, his hands up at chest level, the pair of Glocks in them the perfect accessory to all his black leather and fuck-off.
And behind him, the male of the hour.
