“The kind where you walk into a knife,” Roach had the audacity to laugh. “It’s all good now, eh, Zane?”
“Is it?” Zane grumbled, catching Gale’s eyes. If this kid had caught an STD serving truckers for his daily dope and passed it on to Roach, would Zane get it too? This was insanity.
Gale shot Zane a weary glance but was already putting on rubber gloves. Something Zane hadn’t thought about.
“It’s gonna hurt. You need a drink?” Gale asked, reaching for the needle, but Roach shook his head.
Zane could sure have used one.
Needles were obviously a crackhead’s friend, because Gale had no issues whatsoever with the process of mending the torn flesh.
Zane removed his boots and sat in the worn chair in the corner, watching the process at a distance. He tried not to react too much at the little stabs, the horrible pulling that Roach seemed to tolerate just fine—as if he were used to dealing with pain on a regular basis. Fucker.
Gale mostly ignored Zane and chattered about some common acquaintances of theirs as his thin fingers moved against bare flesh. No matter which way Zane turned the topic in his head, there was no other explanation. Someone had cursed him. Some kind of black magic shit was happening, and no matter how much he hated Roach, he couldn’t execute his revenge.
Nor could he leave, because this shithead was bound to die in some Darwin Award-worthy stunt and Zane would end up losing his life because of it.
“There, all done. It’s shallow,” Gale said with a smile and washed the blood off the freshly sewn wound.
Roach nodded. “Thanks, Zane’s scared of blood.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet, Roach,” Zane said, making sure to repeat the nickname, so the nimble-fingered creature might stop it with the Reed thing. Roach didn’t deserve a nice name like that.
Gale leaned down and whispered something, but Roach waved him off.
“But call me if you need anything, okay?” Gale asked, eying Zane as he put his boots back on.
Roach sat up and grabbed a pack of cigarettes. “Sure, thanks.”
“I’m not gonna kill him, Bambi,” Zane said, walking toward Gale and willing him back to the door. His stomach still ached, but it felt different now, and he needed this guy out so he could see if their suspicions were true.
Gale pursed his lips and poked at Zane’s chest. “You better.” But then, as if afraid of his own audacity, he backed off and left the room.
Behind him, Roach snapped open a lighter and inhaled smoke that made Zane’s throat tingle. He locked the door before spinning around, eyes focused on the little flame that disappeared all too fast.
“It’s your fault. My voice has gotten raspier because of you!” Zane growled, approaching the bed in fast strides.
Roach gave him a level stare. “You sure it’s not all the cock-sucking?”
“You wish,” Zane hissed and grabbed the cigarette. He blinked when Roach didn’t immediately let go of it, and then something stung the flesh of his palm as if he’d clasped a hornet.
Zane cried out and dropped the cigarette to the carpet, frantically tapping on it with his boot while waving his hand in the air as the room filled with the odor of burned flesh. Roach sneered and sucked on the spot where he must have felt the burn.
What a fucking nightmare.
To make things worse, Zane was so focused on the sting, that he only noticed Roach pulling up Zane’s hoodie when the cold air made him shiver.
“Look, it’s… pulled together. So weird,” Roach mumbled.
Zane sucked in his stomach to avoid touch, but it was no use. He ignored the heat radiating off Roach’s hands because otherwise he'd have considered enjoying it.
“Huh.”
“So I guess… this has been a different night. You sure you don’t wanna fuck?” Roach asked and got up, walking off before he got his answer.
“Why, you’re too cheap to pay Gale to give you head?” Zane asked and grabbed one of the two pillows, then tossed it on the floor. No way in hell was he letting this bastard lie anywhere close to him!
Roach shook his head and poured himself a glass of bourbon from a bottle standing on the small table by the wall. “Just trying my luck. Gale’s gonna be here tomorrow. I’m guessing you won’t. And stop wrecking my shit just because you can’t kill me.”
“I’m just preparing you a place to sleep, mutt,” Zane said and placed a blanket, the bloodstained one, on top of the pillow before resting on the edge of the mattress. “And that’s your only drink tonight.”
Finally. Something gave Roach pause. “Say what?” He frowned, and Zane hated that the expression made the bastard look sexy.
Zane tried to even out his breathing. Stay calm. Roach’s hands were as tied as his after all. “You heard me. You’re incapable of taking care of yourself, so I’ll stay here until we figure out what happened to us.”