Riot

“I trust you. You gave that back to me, took away my fear, and whatever happened back then, I’m sure it’s not your fault.”

He looks stricken, shaken. “How can you be sure?”

“Because you’re a good guy.”

And if I doubted it for a second there, now that doubt is gone.

Chapter Eighteen

Riot

Why isn’t she demanding to know everything? Why isn’t she pissed, yelling at me or stomping out the door?

She knew. She knew about the fight club and didn’t run. Does that mean she’s staying?

Bullshit, Riot. Think.

She still doesn’t know about my part in all that happened—my mistake. Markus’s death. Kyle. The debts I’ve been trying to pay.

The guilt I’ve been carrying around these past two years.

I lean back on the couch, my head spinning. Partly due to all the booze I drank on an empty stomach—but hey, after I took Batman out to shit and crawled back up the steps moaning like a dying man, and after my search for painkillers in the apartment came up empty and the pain got really bad, whisky was my only solution.

It did dull the pain a little. Also cut up time into chunks, so that my memories of the past day—two days?—are disjointed and splintered. I remember taking Batman out. I remember feeding the boys...when? Not sure. I remember looking for my phone, not finding it and giving up.

I remember drinking. A lot. And then…

Pax.

I blink. I look around.

Oh right. She’s left to check out the kitchen. I wonder if there’s anything edible left in the cupboards and the fridge, but I hear noises and soon enough a smell of something cooking hits my nose.

My mouth waters and my stomach growls like a lion on heat.

My head hurts. My ribs burn like white-hot blades stuck in my flesh. My back aches, where they kicked me when I was already down.

And what they said to me...

Dexter meows and jumps onto the sofa, climbing on my lap. He hid the moment the first knock came on the door, same as Batman. Poor dog still hasn’t come out of the bathroom.

“Hey, buddy.” His sharp claws sink through my pants and into my flesh, the tiny pain lost in the bigger aches. I pat his furry head. “Smelled food and came out of hiding, huh?”

He starts sharpening his claws on my pants. I let him. Why should only humans abuse me? Let cats have their time of day, too.

And what do you know, pain lulls me to sleep, apparently. What does that tell you about me? Next thing I know, Pax is sitting beside me, stroking hair out of my face and Dex is gone.

Was he even here?

“Kitty’s in the kitchen, eating,” Pax tells me with a grin, and I frown as the words sink in.

“Traitor,” I mutter, my voice rusty. “He was bought with food.”

“I think he likes me.”

“Then he has good taste.” I smile back at her, my head a little clearer now.

“Speaking of food…” She nods toward the kitchen. “Would you like to eat something?”