Page 149 of Hurt

To see both Weaver brothers like this didn’t bode well. The Weavers succeeded where others failed because they used logic. It was why Grant assumed the mantle of control rather than Roland.

Elijah was afraid to find out what would happen if Grant lost control.

And if they got into the Catacombs and found Kurt and Willow dead, what then?

He couldn’t even begin to picture the bloodshed.

What would Noah do?

Elijah stood suddenly and cursed himself. He had been pointedly trying not to think about Noah. Elijah had spent the last forty-eight hours desperately trying to erase that hurt look from his memories.

As if hearing his thoughts, Jamie appeared beside him with a dopey look on his face. “Can you get pregnant from just a look? Because Jackson just scowled at me, and I swear I could hear ovaries growing.” He poked at his flat stomach.

Elijah didn’t respond.

He caught the last vestiges of sunlight as they receded in the west. Against the flat expanse of desert, it was easy to see the sunset. To him, it looked like the molten ball was pushed off a cliff and the final tendrils of its rays were scurrying across the land to follow it. Their departure would take the final bit of light. The desert would fade from gray to a deep inky blackness only illuminated by the small sliver of moon.

With his eyes on the horizon, he almost missed the string of headlights. Taking two steps forward he squinted and tried to make out who they were. The line of vehicles were not making their way to the Catacombs, but were coming straight for them.

“I swear, when he looks at me it’s like boom. Panties. Floor.”

“Jamie, shut up.”

Everyone else had noticed the newcomers and they all went on alert. Roland, Jackson, and Grant stepped up to intercept them. Hands on their weapons they were the world’s most intimidating welcome party.

Jamie and Elijah took their places behind them. A blade slid into Elijah’s hand. His fingers wrapped around the cold steel, and he bent his knees, ready to take off at a sprint if needed.

He didn’t see the bike, but he heard the whine of its engine. It cut through the still desert as the rider accelerated it right up to the group before skidding to a stop, back tire wavering in the thick sand before it caught and came to a halt.

The headlights from the cars behind the bike obscured their vision. Elijah winced and held a hand up to shield his eyes from the harsh lights.

Abruptly the engine cut off and the bike rocked as the driver rested it on its kickstand. A slender leg swung up and behind as he dismounted and stalked toward them.

His shadow grew in front of him as he walked toward them. Shifting in and out of the headlights, every time Elijah caught a glimpse of his face it was obscured and faded back to the black opaqueness.

The silhouette stopped and finally he could see his face.

Noah was still wearing Elijah’s old light blue hoodie and skinny jeans. He looked just like he had two days ago—except he was covered in blood. Dark brown splotches of gore stained almost every inch of him. Even matted in his bangs.

He gazed at the older men coolly.

Grant looked past Noah to see the grouping of Mesa retainers park their cars. Two larger men appeared behind Noah, standing with arms crossed.

“Luther…?” he asked hesitantly.

“Allied himself with the Vega Cabal in order to start this war,” Noah answered after a moment. His voice sounded different. Deeper. “He was hoping you would take each other out.”

Elijah’s eyes widened. Of course. The reason why the Vegas’ tactics had changed, the reason why they suddenly grew so emboldened, and their Cyanide pills. All of it had made no sense. But if Luther was helping pull the strings…

He had been hoping the Vega Cabal and the Weaver Syndicate would take each other out. In the vacuum of power, he could sweep in and become the largest gang in the Western hemisphere. His authority would be unlimited and he would be untouchable.

Jackson swore and withdrew his massive blade, swinging it through the air. “Traitor!” he hissed.

Noah watched him with a look of disinterest. There was nothing in those beautiful eyes. A coldness that Elijah could feel in his bones.

“He paid for his crimes.”

Grant was still. He had a good relationship with Luther. The muscles in his jaw worked as he clenched his teeth. After a moment he inhaled sharply.