The Man Who Hated Ned O'Leary (Dig Two Graves 2)

Nothing changed in his opinion of Ned O’Leary, but he couldn’t bring himself to watch this wreck of a man suffer needlessly. Ned would have to atone for what he’d done, but only once he was sober and understood why he was being put through the wringer. Right now, the cruelty was for nothing.

“Are you sure it’s safe to come out?” Ned asked, glancing somewhere over Cole’s shoulder, but crawled out of the cupboard when Cole encouraged him with a gesture. “I don’t feel so well,” he mumbled, and as he came closer to light, it revealed the gray shade of his complexion.

Back in the room, Lars poured more water into the tub. “He’ll just stink up the place.”

Cole swallowed when Ned tried to pull apart his tied wrists, reminding him that his past lover was now their captive. Still, Ned pushed into Cole’s arms with trust that had no place in their current relationship, cold and defenseless like an animal who was bleeding out its body heat.

“I should wash him anyway. We can heat more water tomorrow,” Cole said, more confident about this decision with every breath he took.

Lars stared at Cole in stunned silence. “Wash him? Use up our water?”

Cole sighed, squeezing his arms around Ned when his body shook with a violent tremor. While Cole’s intuition had deceived him in the past so badly, he couldn’t bring himself to ignore the human impulse to take care of this pathetic drunk who used to mean so much to him.

“We’ll just melt more snow. It’s no big deal,” Cole said, and put his hand over Ned’s eyes when he tried to retreat to the cupboard, scared of something that didn't exist—maybe the real Wolfman, maybe some other terror. What mattered was that the threat wasn’t real.

The deep scowl didn’t do Lars’s handsome face any favors. Ideally, Cole would have had him leave for a week or two and not deal with his tantrums and never-ending demands for attention. Too bad they were stuck together in this godforsaken wilderness.

Lars dropped the empty pot to the floor. “I’m going to sleep, don’t want to witness this bull—”

Ned howled from the depths of his guts, trying to retreat into the pantry. “Please… no more, let me rest,” he whined, shaking his head.

Cole exhaled and guided Ned toward the tub, which stood close to the fire so the person inside wouldn’t have to freeze in places that stuck out from under the water. “I’ll draw a bath for you first thing in the morning. Goodnight, Lars,” he said, deciding he’d just act as if this was no big deal.

Because it wasn’t. One ought to have compassion for those on the brink of losing their minds, even for Ned O’Leary.

“Don’t wake me up when you come in!” Lars slammed the bedroom door behind him, leaving Cole with the uneven tune of Ned’s clattering teeth.

Cole exhaled and shut his eyes, trying to focus on the scent of burning wood and the pleasant crackle of the fire, but he couldn’t escape his reality for long and looked at Ned. His face hadn’t been cleaned of blood since Cole had punched him yesterday, but that was the least of Ned’s problems once Lars stopped keeping him on small yet steady trickle of booze.

“Will you be good if I unfasten your hands for this? You know I’m faster than you. And stronger too,” Cole said when he realized he’d have to cut Ned’s clothes off him otherwise. They were rags, but still wearable.

Ned stared down at the bindings on his wrists, but nodded eventually, blinking while his mouth went slack behind the overgrown beard.

The warm glow of the fireplace couldn’t make his sweaty skin appear any healthier. So pale its shade bordered on green, puffy around red eyes, it betrayed the terrible shape he’d gotten himself into. The man might be a liar, but there was no way for him to fake this.

Cole pulled out his knife and cut through the rope, revealing pale lines left on the wrists from being bound for so long, and guilt squeezed around his stomach, but he knew better than to express it and spoke in the same, even tone. “Now undress.”

Ned peeked at the steaming water filling the wooden tub as if it contained testicle-eating fish, but then took off the buckskin jacket to reveal the red union suit underneath. His fingers remained cold as ice, and almost as stiff, shivering as he attempted to open the front of his underwear, though Cole suspected the sudden change in his drinking habits didn’t help the steadiness of Ned’s hands either.

Cole hesitated, but the longer he watched those thick fingers fumble with just one button, the clearer it was that this would not do, and he ended up pushing Ned’s hands away.

“Tell me if you feel sick, because I don’t want any vomit in the water. Is that clear?” he asked, masking his unease with a harsh tone, because while Ned now smelled of sweat rather than rosemary, the act of undressing him felt achingly familiar.