“But it could kill me?” Shit, the fact that Jane was shaking her head so did not inspire confidence.
“It’s the only way to be sure. If you’re a half-breed, it’s not like we can go into the lab and look at your blood. Half-breeds are different.”
Manny glanced around at all of them: the king, Vishous, Jane . . . and the guy who might be a half brother. Christ, maybe this was why he felt so differently about Payne—from the second he saw her, it was like . . . a part of him woke up.
Maybe it explained his hot-blooded temper, too.
And after a lifetime of wondering about his father and his roots, he thought . . . he could find out the truth now.
Except as they stared back at him, he remembered heading into the hospital the week before and thinking it was morning only to find out it was night. And then the shit with Payne and his body changing came to mind.
“You know what?” he said. “I think I’m good.”
When Jane nodded as if she agreed with him, he was sure he was on the right train.
Besides, they were getting distracted from the real issue.
“Payne is going to come back, someway, somehow,” he said. “And I’m not sucking on a loaded gun right before I see her again—even if it means the difference between belonging in this world or not. I know who my father is—and I’m fucking looking at his reflection right now standing across from me. That’s as far as I need to go—unless Payne feels differently.”
God . . . his mother, he thought abruptly. Had she known?
As Vishous crossed his arms over his chest, Manny braced himself for an arguement.
“I like your white ass,” the guy said instead. “I really do.”
Considering what the bastard had walked in on not so long ago, this was a surprise. But he’d take it. “Okay, we agree. My woman wants it—I’ll do it. But otherwise, I’m good with who I am.”
“Fair enough,” Wrath pronounced.
At that point, there was nothing but silence. Although what was there to say? The reality of where Payne was—and was not—hung around everyone’s neck.
Manny had never felt so powerless in his life.
“’Scuse me,” his semi-brother said, “I need another drink.”
As Butch peeled off and went into the other room, Manny watched him disappear through an elaborate archway. “You know, I’ll second that on the hooch.”
“My house is yours,” the king said darkly. “Bar’s that way.”
Fighting back an odd urge to bow, Manny nodded instead. “Thanks, man.” When knuckles were presented, he tapped them and then gave Jane and her husband a nod.
The room he walked into was like the best horse racing hospitality suite anyone had ever seen. Hell, they even had a popcorn machine.
“More Lag?” the guy muttered from across the way.
Manny pivoted and found himself measuring one fuck of a bar. “Yeah. Please.”
He brought his glass over, and gave it to the man. And when the sound of Scotch splashing seemed loud as a scream, he wandered up to a sound system that could probably be used to play Madison Square Garden.
Pushing the buttons, he called up a mix of . . . gangsta rap.
Quick shift and he was into the high-def radio, on a search for the metal station. As Slipknot’s “Dead Memories” started banging, he took a deep breath.
Nightfall. He was just waiting for nightfall.
“Here,” the cop said, delivering the liquor. With a grimace, he nodded to one of the speakers. “You like that shit?”
“Yeah.”