Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last

After two pots of coffee and a lot of checking his watch, Trez knew that if he wanted to make peace, he had to head across town.
    Cool. The combination hadn’t been changed.
    Yet.
    Inside, the place was old-school Rat Pack done right, a modern interpretation of the era that had spawned the likes of Peter Lawford and the Chairman of the Board: An entryway with black-and-redflocked wallpaper took you to the receiving area, where the coat check, retro hostess stand and cashier’s desk were. To the left, and to the right, there were two main dining rooms, both done in black and red velvet and leather, but they weren’t where the local made guys, politicians, and wealthy types hung out. The sweet spot was the bar up ahead, a wood-paneled room that had red leather banquettes set against the walls and, during regular hours, a tuxedoed bartender behind a thirty-foot oak stretch serving nothing but the best.
    Striding into the bar’s dim expanse, Trez headed around the far end of the five-tiered display of bottles and hit the flap door. As he pushed his way into the kitchen, the scent of basil and onion, oregano and red wine, told him just how stressed iAm was.
    Sure enough, the guy was facing off at the sixteen-burner stove on the far wall, five huge pots simmering in front of him—and what do you want to bet there were things in the stoves, too. Meanwhile, wooden cutting boards were lined up on the stainless-steel counters, the dead heads of various kinds of peppers lolling around next to the very sharp knives that had been used.
    Ten bucks to guess who the guy had been thinking of when he’d been chopping stuff.
    “You going to talk to me at all?” Trez said to his brother’s back.
    iAm moved to the next pot, lifting its lid with a white dishcloth, a big slotted spoon going in and stirring slowly.
    Trez leaned to the side and pulled over a stainless-steel stool. Taking a seat, he rubbed his thighs up and down.
    “Hello?”
    iAm went to the next pot. And then the next. Each had a separate spoon for flavor flagellation, and his brother was careful not to cross-contaminate.
    “Look, I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you came by the club tonight.” Every evening, iAm headed over to the Iron Mask for a check-in after Sal’s closed. “I had some business to take care of.”
    Shit, yeah, he did. Baby girl with the bouncer BF had taken forever to get out of his car when he’d gotten her to her house—eventually he’d walked her to the door, opened the way in, and all but toastered her through the jambs. Back at his Beamer, he’d hit the gas like he’d planted a bomb in the walk-up, and as he’d steamed over to the Iron Mask, all he’d heard in his head was iAm’s voice.
    You can’t keep doing this.
    iAm turned around at that point, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the stove. His biceps were big to begin with, but cranked like that, they strained the bounds of the black T-shirt he was wearing.
    His almond-shaped eyes were half-lidded. “You actually think I’m pissed off that you weren’t around when I got to the club? Really. It’s not because you left me to deal with AnsLai or some shit.”
    Annnnnnnnd they were off to the races.
    “I can’t see any of them face-to-face, you know that.” Trez lifted his hands, all what-am-I-gonna-do? “They would try to force me to go back with them, and then what are my options? Fight? I’d end up killing the son of a bitch, and then where would I be?”
    iAm rubbed his eyes like he had a headache. “Right now, it appears as if they’re taking a diplomatic approach. At least with me.”
    “When are they coming back?”
    “I don’t know—and that’s what makes me nervous.”
    Trez stiffened. The idea that his cool-as-a-cucumber brother was anxious made him feel like he had a knife to his throat.
    Then again, he was well aware of exactly how dangerous his people could be. The s’Hisbe was largely a peaceable nation, content to stay out of the battles with the Lessening Society and away from pesky humans. Scholarly, highly intelligent, and spiritual, they were, on the whole, a pretty nice group of people. Provided you weren’t on their shit list.
    Trez looked at those pots and wondered what the meat in the sauces was. “I’m still working off the debt to Rehv,” he pointed out. “So that obligation has to come first.”
    “Not to the s’Hisbe anymore. AnsLai said, and I’m quoting, ‘It’s time.’”
    “I’m not going