How was it possible that he’d left his Bic behind? Oh, right. Up until about five minutes ago, he’d been so relaxed and loose, he hadn’t assumed he’d be smoking anything. Then this bright idea had been floated out at what was supposed to have been a brief, nothing-new-on-theprison-camp-but-we’re-going-back-out-on-the-streets meeting.
No wonder yoga had to be done three or four times a week to work for most people. Calm had a shelf life only as long as your next crisis.
“I think the Jackal’s earned the right to choose.” Butch shrugged, those hazel eyes focusing on the middle ground in front of his face, as if he were gathering his thoughts. “Like Rhage reported, the poor sonofabitch didn’t want to leave the other prisoners behind and hasn’t gotten over it. If that’s the crucible he wants to fall on, who are we to stop him? It matters how you leave things—and who you leave behind.”
So V’s roommate was thinking about his partner again.
Great.
V started patting pockets on his chest that he didn’t have.
On the far side of the coffee table, Hollywood jostled the M&M’s bag again, a soft rustling rising up from the candy.
Fuck off, V mouthed.
Why? Rhage lip-sync’d back. You know you’ll feel better—
“I don’t feel bad now!”
“What?” Wrath demanded.
V burst to his feet, and went over to try to be casual by the marble fireplace. “Nothing. I’m fine—I’m perfect.” He glared at Rhage. “Look, the Jackal has a mate now. A son, too, from what I’ve heard. He’s got a shot at living his life. He needs to count his fucking blessings and sit on the sidelines, true? This isn’t his business.”
Over at the desk, Wrath shook his head. “I think maybe you’re a little off today, V. Are you hungry or something?”
“Maybe too sober?” Rhage added helpfully.
“I’m fucking fantastic. You want me to drop and give you ten to prove it?”
One of Wrath’s black brows lifted over his wraparounds. “You don’t usually worry about other people’s family lives. Especially ones you don’t know.”
“Fine, a hundred. We’ll do a hundred. Just to prove I’m great.”
V dropped down to the antique carpet, punched his palms into the delicate, swirly rug, and assumed a plank position. Then he pumped it out.
“One, two, three—”
“It’s the Jackal’s choice,” Butch said over the counting. “That’s my point. If it were me, I’d be eaten alive by the fact that I didn’t get others out.”
“—eleven, twelve—”
“Is he really doing push-ups,” Wrath muttered. “Jesus, V, give it a rest.”
“—eighteen, nineteen, twenty—”
“No one is paying attention to your pneumatic display.” The King cursed. “Can one of you get him back on track? And I’m going to let the Jackal—”
V upped the ante on his volume. “—twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty—”
“—MAKE HIS OWN DECISION.” Wrath spoke up loudly. “If the motherfucker wants to be involved in finding the place, and then go in with you when you do, it’s up to him. But you bunch of maladjusted meatheads have to let him know the score. He gets left behind if things go tits up, and his life will not be prioritized above any of yours. If he’s fine with that playing field, I’m not going to get in his way.”
“That’s fair,” Butch hollered.
“Good,” Rhage barked over the counting. “Glad we got that settled.”
“—thirty-one, thirty-two—”
“Will you stop him,” Wrath ordered, “before I throw a dagger at him.”
From out of the corner of his eye, V notice Rhage bursting up—which kind of made sense. Wrath was capable of a lot of things, and could handle himself in a fight even without his eyesight—but you didn’t necessarily want to be in range of him pitching a blade across a room.
“—thirty-three, thirty-four—OW!”
A tremendous weight landed on V’s back, like someone had dropped a car on his spine from three stories up. And as his elbows gave out under Rhage’s cop-a-squat, the rug rose up to slap him in the pie-hole.
“Get off me,” V growled.
The bag of M&M’s appeared next to his eyeballs.
With a roar, he snatched the candy and pitched Rhage off, the brother flying backwards across the room, antiques no doubt cringing everywhere.