"I think the vodka had a lot to do with it," Joey told me as I reached out to touch Sera's forehead, feeling for a fever, before pulling off the blankets to check the wound.
No redness or puffiness.
If we kept it clean, it should be fine.
"You alright?" I asked, head cocked to the side, watching the twist of her lips, the lowered brows, the small eyes. I wasn't sure she was going to be in good shape in an hour, if she could wait for Sera to wake up, so we could talk about what was in Joey's future since she clearly needed a plan.
"I'll be fine."
"Joe," Roux's voice cut in. "Let me give you some before we get rid of it. Not a lot. Just something to keep the withdrawals away for a couple hours."
To that, Joey's eyes lit up while her shoulders slumped.
"No needles," she demanded, head lowered, not wanting to talk about it, but knowing she had to.
"Okay," Roux agreed, looking to me for approval. And, really, as much as I hated the shit, I also understood that this was not a detox facility; we were not equipped to handle it if shit went south for her. I had no idea how much she was using, how bad it could get for her.
"Go ahead," I agreed, watching as he turned off for a minute, coming back with a small bump of powder on a little tray along with a credit card.
"This will get you through the rest of the night," Roux told her, then came up to me, jerking his head toward the door, knowing she didn't want us to witness her at her low point.
"You know her well?" I asked, walking back out into the main room.
"She's been here for a long time. Doug tends to keep her locked down tight. But he hauls her out of the room to cook or parade her around in next to nothing. She didn't have a lot of friends in here. I tried to be nice to her when Doug wasn't around to see it. She's had it rough. She's not the same girl he brought in here."
"I heard," I agreed, reaching for the drink Calloway was passing toward me.
"The sister has your head fucked, doesn't she?" Roux asked. The way my head jerked over to him was all the proof he thought he needed. "First time I clocked her, I thought you would like her."
"It's nothing. It's over," I added, draining my glass.
"Yeah, I always lovingly stroke the hair of chicks I am over too," Roux teased, lips curved up slightly.
"I didn't lovingly do anything."
"Yeah, okay," Roux said, shaking his head. "We'll see about that, won't we?"
It almost seemed like his words were a prophecy.
Though that was batshit, clearly.
EIGHT
Sera
While a large part of me would have loved to blame the splitting in my head on falling when the bullet hit me, on hitting it off the edge of the closet molding, I knew there was only one explanation for it.
Vodka.
That delicious, pain-dulling, tricky bastard.
The tricky part was, it numbed the pain temporarily.
Then made you pay for it with a vengeance a few hours later.
I was starting to think I would prefer the throbbing pain of the bullet wound over the piercing pain of the hangover that was assaulting my brain.
Joey was to blame for it as well. Her good intentions mixed with her insistence that I Stop being so brave had her heavy-handed with the pours that eventually knocked me into oblivion for what seemed like a year due to the sandpaper of my eyelids, the cotton of my tongue.
I was so busy wallowing in my misery that it took me almost twenty minutes to realize I wasn't where I was supposed to be, that I wasn't in my own bed with my own sheets, with my own TV blasting.
These sheets were softer, likely costing more than what I paid for mine on clearance at Walmart. I swear mine could peel my skin they were so rough. There was also no TV on, though there were a bunch of noises, ones I sat there trying to place while I slung my forearm over my eyes, willing my brain to stop screaming.
The low hum of a vacuum cleaner.
The deep baritone of male voices in another room.
A lawn mower running.
"You want one of the pain pills they gave Cal after his knee surgery?"
My arm flew off my eyes as my head whipped to my side, the motion making the pain surge, whiting out my vision for a second.
"Yes," I told him as my eyes cleared, finding Thayer sitting up in the bed beside me, clothes clean, unrumpled, his eyes a little small, tired, but lacking the weight of stress that had been there since I'd first seen him.
He reached to the nightstand, fiddling with a pill bottle, turning back to hand me two pills and a bottle of water.
"Is everything okay?" I asked. "Where's Joey?"
"She's vacuuming."
"You're making her vacuum!" It was an accusation more than a question, but it rolled right off of Thayer.
"She wanted to vacuum. She's antsy. She watched you all night, but when I came in to tell her to go grab some breakfast, she said she'd rather help clean up. She's not feeling so hot, babe. I think we should just let her do what she needs to do to get through."
"She's going to need to go to detox," I murmured before taking the pill, chugging down the entire bottle of water.
"Yeah, she is."
"And then rehab."
"Probably the best bet."
It was going to cost a fortune, putting her through rehab. Sure, there were state-funded options. But they weren't the best. When I'd done some research on them, there was nothing positive ever said about them. I wanted more than that for Joey. She'd been through enough rough and ugly. I would have to figure it out. Get a second job. Start selling furniture if I had to, beg someone to give me a loan.
"What are you stressing about?" Thayer asked, making me wonder if I was always easier to read than I realized, or if maybe Thayer was just better at seeing me than others.
"Money," I admitted because it felt good to. "It's always money."
"How much pride you got?" he asked, head cocked toward his shoulder, considering me.
"What?"
"How much pride do you have?"
"Probably more than my fair share," I admitted with a small smile.
"So much that you won't accept a loan because it's coming from me?"
"You're offering me a loan?" I asked, not comprehending that. No one ever offered to help. In my experience, people just didn't work that way.
"Don't send your sister to the shitholes. Get her somewhere nice."
"And you'll give me the money to do that?"
"I got more than I need right now. You can put it to use. And you're good for it. You're too fucking stubborn not to pay back a loan."
That was true.
Again, it was strange to me that he saw that so clearly.
Saw me so clearly.
It was incredibly refreshing to actually feel understood.
Outside of Joey, I wasn't sure I had ever known that before.
"I will pay it back as quickly as I can," I assured him.
"Don't sweat it. Whenever. I got my business back. Fifteen or twenty grand won't hurt my bottom line anymore."
"Did it all go like you planned?" I asked.
"Aside from your stubborn fucking ass charging in here trying to play hero, and getting yourself shot, you mean?"
"I won't apologize for that. You had people to protect. So did I."
"I get that," he agreed, shrugging it off like he hadn't been negatively affected by the whole thing, like he hadn't needed to take precious time out of his night to fish a bullet out of my abdomen. "But to answer your question, yes and no."
"How no?"
"The douchebag never showed up."
"Doug? You didn't get Doug?" I asked, stomach sinking.
"He was a chickenshit. Knew he would lose. Cut his losses and ran off, it seems."
"You're okay with that?" Again, it was more than an accusation than a question. But this time, he bristled.
"No, I'm not o-fucking-kay with it. It's not over. Not until his ass is dead. But a lot went dow
n last night. Some shit got cleared up. We got our sisters back. I'm going to live with this for now, get our lives back on track, then I can worry about tracking down Doug."
"You got your sister back? Is she okay?"
"Thanks to Roux."
"The one who was always guarding the door?" I asked, remembering only because his name was so unusual.
"Yeah. He was protecting Bea who he kept locked in the basement."
"For three years?"
"For three years. And while I'm sure she knew it was done for her own safety..."
"She's young and stubborn and resentful about it?" I supplied.
"Something like that, yeah. She's locked herself in her old room since she got back from getting food with Cal last night."
"Maybe, as much as she was bitter about it, being locked away is somewhat comforting for her now. Three years is a long time to be locked up."
"Yeah, tell me about it," he agreed, sending me a smirk.
"What time is it?" I asked, feeling my stomach twist in hunger.
"About ten in the morning."
The last thing I remembered was somewhere around two.
"I'm late for work," I gasped, trying to shoot upward only to feel Thayer's hand slam into my shoulder, push me flat.
"Easy. You can't go jumping around like that with the stitches. I called your work, told them you were in an accident, had to get some stitches, needed some time off."
"I can't take a time off. I'm not a fucking millionaire. I need to work if I want to eat."
"So, I'll toss another five grand on the loan. But your ass isn't going back to work until you can move without wincing or pulling stitches."
"I know you're used to being in charge, bud, but you're not my boss. You can't tell me what to do."
"Way I see it, you don't let anyone tell you what to do," he said, but he was smiling when he said it. "And... bud?" he asked, eyes rolling.
"You call me babe," I reminded him.
"Yeah, but babe is hot. Bud is what a little league coach calls one of the kids."
"I never said I found you calling me babe hot."
To that, his smile went downright devilish.
"Shut up."
"I didn't say anything."
"That smirk of yours is speaking for you."
"Not my fault you get wet anytime I call you a pet name, babe."
"Oh, get over yourself."
"What? Are you denying it? Want me to check?"
God, yes. Yes, I did.
But it was a bad idea.
Besides, my side and head hurt.
"Be serious."
"Babe, when it comes to your pussy, I am always serious."
"Thayer..."
"I know, I know. You got shot and shit," he said, only sounding halfway disappointed. "You know, I'm not being a baby about my gunshot wound..."
"You got shot?" I asked, pushing up carefully, pretending to ignore the searing pain in my side, wondering how much longer it would take before the pain meds kicked in. "Are you okay?" I asked, scanning him, not seeing any bumpy bits under his clothes where bandages might have been.
"Here," he told me, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt, showing off a long gash that he hadn't bothered to stitch.
"It needs stitches."
"It's nothing," he insisted. "Cleaned it, put some glue on it. It will heal fine. You gonna lie back and let me check out your side? Need to make sure it's not getting infected. You'd think with all the drugs we found around this place, we'd find one bottle of antibiotics, but no luck," he said as I lowered down, keeping my arms down at my sides, forcing him to lift the shirt that Joey had helped me change at some point before I passed out, so I wasn't wearing something bloodstained. "Looks good. We will do a salt rinse later. Honestly, you might want to salt rinse a few times a day. Salt cures just about anything. Well, salt and tea tree oil. But that would burn like a motherfucker, so salt it is." I knew about that bit about tee tree thanks to infected piercings in the past.
"You're very talkative this morning. Sleep well last night now that you have your club back?"
"I haven't slept," he told me, shrugging a shoulder as he slid off the bed, coming around to my side, holding out his hand. "Come on. Sent Roux out for bagels. Heard your stomach growling," he added. "Gotta get something in you, or those pain meds are gonna tear your stomach up."
Seeing the logic in that, I ignored the reluctance to move around with my aching stomach, I took his hand, pretending I didn't feel a bit of a tingling at the contact, not yanking my hand away when I got to my feet.
In fact, neither of us dropped our joined hands until we were in the doorway to the main room.
I'd seen the common room many times over the course of Joey's relationship with Doug. But I had never seen it actually clean. You'd think that when there was a dozen people around, that delegating cleaning tasks would be easy, and therefore, the common space would be immaculate. Then again, those were a group of guys who often smelled like they hadn't showered in days.
This, however, was the kind of clean where the scent of bleach and Pledge and Windex lingered in the air. It was actually oddly comforting, knowing all the traces of those men who had helped imprison and supply drugs to my sister were gone completely. Thayer had even rearranged some of the furniture.
"Looks good," I told him as he moved outward, leading me toward the kitchen. Joey was gone, but had left the vacuum in a corner, cord wrapped haphazardly around the handle.
It wasn't much to write home about. There were faux brown marble counter tops, white tile floors, white appliances, and white cabinets.
"The place was a fucking wreck. Cal and Hatch are outside dealing with the overgrown shit all over, and fixing the lights and cameras. What?" he asked as he glanced up from the brown bag of bagels he was opening.
"It's just funny. Outlaw bikers. Doing yard work."
"Sometimes it's easy to forget that everyone has to do boring life shit. Even incredibly hot guys like me..."
"So humble. Ew, no," I grumbled when he tried to hand me an everything bagel. "Garlic does not belong in breakfast foods."
"You want some plain shit?"
"What do you mean by plain shit?"
"Plain? Egg? Sesame?"
"Sesame," I decided, opening the cabinet over the coffee maker, seeing the cups, and knowing there was simply no way I was going to be able to raise my arm over my head. I had underestimated - likely due to pain, drunkenness, then my epic hangover - how serious an injury I had sustained. I wouldn't be able to wash my hair or lift anything or get my own damn mugs out of the cupboard.
"Here," Thayer said from directly behind me, making me suddenly aware of his whole front pressing into my back, warm against my cool skin. As he reached upward, arm cradling me in, I couldn't seem to resist the urge to lean back. Just a little. Just to feel his strength.
He didn't stop at lowering the mug. He reached across me, forearm brushing across my breasts, reaching to pour the coffee, putting in some sugar, mixing it. All the while saying nothing about how I was leaning into him, sharing his warmth, sharing his strength, taking a breath to draw in his fresh scent.
"You want milk, babe?" he asked, voice low, breath on my ear, the combination shivering through me.
"I... ah..." I needed to get a grip, get a hold of myself. It wasn't like me to be so gooey. There was not denying it, though. I was melting. I took as deep a breath as my ribs would allow, moving away, reaching for my mug with both hands, taking a sick sort of satisfaction in how it burned into my palms. "This is fine. But do you have butter for the bagel?"
"Not cream cheese?" he asked, tsking. "Yeah. I'll handle the bagel. You go get a seat in the living room."
"He's waiting on you hand and foot, huh?" another voice joined in, making me turn to find the dark-haired, bearded, bright-blue-eyed basement guard standing there, shirt stuck to his front with sweat, face a bit flushed. Roux. "I wonder why that could possibly be."
"Because I got her fu
cking shot, Roux," Thayer snapped. A little too quickly. A bit... defensively.
Roux seemed to think the same thing judging by the dancing in his eyes, but he said nothing to his president. "We haven't officially met. I'm Roux," he told me, holding out a hand.
"Sera," I told him, noticing he had moved close, had barely shaken my hand, like he was trying to be careful about my wound. "Um... where is Joey?" I asked the room at large, feeling guilty that I hadn't noticed her absence until right that second. In my defense, I was starting to feel a little woozy from the pain medicine.
To that, though, both the men shared a heavy look, something that made me stiffen.
"We need to talk about that," Thayer said, pulling my bagel out of the toaster, pausing.
"Talk about that?" There was no denying the sharpness in my voice.
"Look, babe," Thayer said, tone careful, like he was trying to keep me calm. "Last night, your sister was detoxing pretty hard. And I knew it would be a long while before you got up to start making plans for her recovery. So..."
Both Thayer and Roux awkwardly avoided eye contact, Roux putting his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels.
"You guys gave her drugs," I guessed, only feeling a bit of discomfort at the idea. I'd known my sister had been using. For a long time. This was not new information. Oddly, I much preferred the idea of them being the ones giving her some compared to Doug. At least they seemed to have her best interest at heart. "And that's where she is now?" I added.
"We're just giving her enough to keep her from getting sick," Roux assured me. "As soon as you two figure out where to go from here, we will flush the rest of the shit. I don't like having any of it around."
"Okay, well, thank you guys for taking care of her when I couldn't," I told them, meaning it. And, surprisingly, it didn't even bruise my pride to admit that, sometimes, I just couldn't do it all. "Joey and I are going to have a talk over breakfast."
Even if she didn't want to eat.
I would force her if I had to.
The idea of her going through detox as emaciated as she was looking filled me with dread. I knew it was hell even for reasonably healthy people. But Joey was too skinny, her skin was ghostly, she clearly wasn't well.
Revenge - Reckless Renegades 1 Page 12