As he did the duty himself, he was aware of the doggen standing on the periphery, worry on their kind, gentle faces.
They were part of the reason this needed to happen.
One by one, the warriors proceeded through the hidden door under the stairs and down into the underground tunnel. As they walked to the training center, they were in formation, breaking up only to pass through the supply closet and the office. Out in the corridor, Doc Jane and Manny were waiting with a stretcher and life-support equipment, and neither of the medical people said a word as everyone went to the target range.
Lassiter had been on guard the whole day, and even though the fallen angel needed sunlight to thrive, he showed no sign of exhaustion or loss of focus as he stood over Xcor’s unmoving body.
Certainly made last week’s Punky-fucking-Brewster marathon more forgivable.
“Who’s helping me with the transfer,” Manny said as he pulled the gurney up to V’s worktable.
Rhage, V, and Butch stepped in and released the steel shanks, momentarily freeing Xcor from all tethers—but there were two reasons not to worry: One, the rest of the Brotherhood was standing around with guns up and itchy trigger fingers; and two, the fucker was out cold, not so much deadweight as dead, period.
Only the slight warmth of his bare ankles and the fact that he wasn’t completely gray in the face led a male to believe the bastard didn’t need a grave and a headstone.
Onto the gurney. Then strapped down with leather this time at the throat, wrists, ankles, thighs, and around the waist. Then the machines were switched, wires being traded from the less portable monitors to ones that were smaller and lighter. The process took a good twenty minutes or so, and the whole time, Rhage stayed right next to their prisoner, searching for signs that Xcor was playing possum—and after eagle-eyeing every inch of exposed skin and all those harsh features? He decided that the bastard had either stroked out completely or had things to teach De Niro.
When it was go time, John Matthew and Qhuinn held open the gun range’s door, and Rhage took the feet with V and Butch at the head leading the way.
“Wait!” Manny said.
With a quick shake, he unfurled a white sheet and draped it over Xcor’s body and face. “We don’t need anyone seeing this.”
“Good job,” someone muttered. “No reason to scare the young.”
The trip down the corridor was fast, and then they were at the steel door that led out to the parking area, with John Matthew and Blay this time holding things open and standing guard. There was an ambulance with human markings all over it parked at the curb, and Rhage released a grunt of relief as Xcor’s gurney was rolled into the ass of the vehicle and locked in with them. As he, V, and Butch took seats where they could among all the cupboards and equipment, Z got behind the wheel, and Manny hit the passenger seat in case of medical emergency.
The trip out through the gating system took forever, but then again, it wasn’t like they were in a built-for-speed situation. And, because of the way the compound was set up, they had to proceed allll the way out to the main road, hang a right, and go allllll the way around the base of the mountain to the road that led up to the mansion.
The incline was yet another slow go, but halfway to the house, they took a left onto a goat path offshoot. Things got bumpier at that point, and it was a good job the gurney was locked in place on the floor. From time to time, when there was a big hump, or a hard knock that had the three of them going starship Enterprise with a lurch to one side, Rhage checked out the machines. Xcor’s heart rate, which seemed slow as molasses and as uneven as the dirt lane they were on, never changed. And neither did the low oxygen stats or the blood pressure.
The bastard certainly didn’t move. Not independently of the rough ride, at least.
After a forever of travel, which was actually only ten minutes or so, Rhage couldn’t stand it anymore and leaned forward to look through the front windshield. Lots of pines in the headlights. More of the rough road ahead. Nothing else.
“You had a wicked good idea,” Butch said.
“Doesn’t feel right.” Rhage shrugged. “But needs must and all that bullshit.”
“He’ll never get out of there,” V sneered, his icy eyes flaring with pure violence. “Not alive, at any rate.”
“Good thing you have more than one table.” Butch clapped his bestie on the shoulder. “You sick fuck.”
“Don’t knock it till you tried it.”
“Nah, I’m a good Catholic boy. I go that route and my body would incinerate on the spot—and not from hot wax.”
“Pansy.”
“Pervert.”
The pair of them chuckled at their inside joke and then got serious again—because with a squeak of the brakes, the ambulance stopped.
“Let’s do this,” Rhage announced as the double doors were opened from the outside and the scent of pine trees flooded the sterile interior. “Let’s move him into the Tomb.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
As soon as Mary walked into Safe Place, Rhym came up to her. “Hey, Bitty has been asking for you.”
“Really?” Mary shrugged out of her coat. “She has?”
The other social worker nodded. “Right when she woke up. She didn’t want to come down for First Meal, so I took her a tray and told her that I’d send you to the attic when you got here.”
“Okay. I’ll head up right now, thanks.”
“I’m going to take off, if it’s okay?” The female covered her mouth as she yawned. “She actually slept—or shall I say, after a bath, she got into a nightgown and headed to bed. I checked on her every hour or so and she seemed to be out like a light.”