Rule number four for me as a writer? Plotlines are like sharks: They either keep moving or they die. ~J.R. Ward

V rolled the Aquafina bottle between his palms. "How long have you wanted to ask me the question? About the gay thing." "For a while." "Afraid of what I'd say?" "Nope, because it doesn't matter to me one way or the other. I'm tight with you whether you like males or females or both." V looked into his best friend's eyes and realized… yeah, Butch wasn't going to judge him. They were cool no matter what. With a curse, V rubbed the center of his chest and blinked. He never cried but he felt as if he could at this moment.

The Reverend grinned, his fangs flashing. "You know, I've heard this rumor… about a member of the Brotherhood who's celibate. Yeah, go figure, a warrior who abstains. And I've heard a few other things about this male. He's down to one leg. Has a scarred sociopath for a twin. You wouldn't by any chance know of such a Brother?" Phury shook his head. "Nope.

When she didn't say anything more, he frowned, thinking this was the pair of them in a nutshell: Standing three feet away from each other and being separated by miles.

Sometimes your whole life could hinge on a fraction of an inch. Or the beat of a nanosecond. Or the knock on a door.

And Vishous. . . V was the worst of them. He stood by the door, staring into space. Icy before, he was glacial now, a sinkhole in the room. -Phury's thoughts

If you eliminate all possible explanations, then the impossible is the answer.