Page 39 of Blade
I catch a glimpse of Sunday, one of the whores, and guess my brother won’t be far away. I check and, of course, he’s propping up the bar, his head buried in a bottle, shoulders hunched, radiating fuck-off vibes. It draws a smile from me and I head his way, acknowledging the greetings of my brothers along the way.
Sunday sees me coming and smiles. She’s a pretty girl who spends most of her time with my brother, Razor. She calls herself a whore, but to my knowledge he is the only man she wants to be with, and he will never admit he has feelings for her, but he never looks at anyone else.
“Blade.”
She beckons me across and, as expected, Razor doesn’t even glance my way.
A sense of home hits me hard because I would never admit it, but I fucking hate being separated from my twin, and he would never admit it, but it’s the same for him.
I slap him on the back and wink at Sunday. “Good to see you, darlin’. I don’t suppose there’s a cold beer with my name on it.”
“Coming right up.”
Her sweet smile is most welcome, and as I grab the stool next to my brother, he says gruffly, “You took your time.”
“Good to see you too, Razor.”
I toss my eyes as he drains the bottle and then slides his gaze my way.
“What took you so long?”
“It’s been one fucking day.”
“As I said. What took you so long?”
Sunday returns with the beer and raises her eyes.
“He hates it when you’re not here.”
Razor says nothing; he doesn’t speak much, but for some reason she is the only one he entertains. Sunday is cute, a terrible gossip and chatters almost non-stop, which is the complete opposite of my brother, who for some reason can’t stay away from her.
“How’s Delilah?”
Sunday leans on the bar counter and peers at me with concern.
“Struggling to remember who she is.”
“Word is she lost her memory.”
Sunday appears concerned as she wipes the bar with a cloth. “That must suck.”
Another Reaper calls for her attention, and she heads off to serve him, and I notice how Razor’s eyes follow her. Checking on her, making sure she’s not hit on, I guess, and then he says sullenly, “Shit’s going down. Ryder’s pissed that Cassie was involved, and that spells trouble for everyone involved.”
“Have you heard anything?”
Knowing Razor, he’s heard a lot because he’s always listening, calculating, and plotting.
“They’re focusing their efforts on the creep running that twisted society we smashed apart. It’s apparent there’s more of them and Ryder won’t rest until every one of those fuckers is dead.”
“I share his concern.”
I toss the beer back, and he turns, his identical gaze to mine powering through my soul.
“Tell me about Delilah.”
“Nothing to tell.”
“Are you sure about that, brother?”
