“Yep, my grandpa was diabetic. Me and Vince used to watch him shoot up his insulin all the time. He even let us a do it a few times. No big deal. I’ll do it until you let everyone in on this. Then someone else can take over like your mom or Grace, not some dude.”
“Just like that?” she lifted her shoulder letting it drop just as fast. “I’m just supposed to let you inject me.”
“Why not? You let him!” He pointed at Ben’s car.
Rose reached out and tapped his arm so he’d drop it and stop pointing. “He is pre-med.”
“Pre-med my ass. My grandpa didn’t even make it through grade school, and he shot up like nobody’s business. Crack heads do it all the time. I take it you’re not even aiming for any veins with this right? I’m telling you I can do this.”
Knowing Ben had already sat there waiting for her for a while and seeing Lorenzo’s unrelenting attitude about this whole thing, Rose could see she had no choice but to agree.
Exhaling exaggeratingly loud she gave in. “Okay, I’ll tell him.”
She started toward Ben’s car until she realized Lorenzo was coming with her, so she stopped. “Alone.”
Lorenzo frowned but finally let up taking a few steps back toward the restaurant’s front door. She didn’t look back to see if he was watching her. She didn’t have to. She had no doubt he was watching and making note of even the smallest details.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Vince
Coughing up what felt like sand in his raw throat, Vince sat up, the searing pain in his arm a rude reminder of where he was. “Mother Fu—”
“Shhh!”
Vincent flinched as he turned to the glimmer of light that came from his side through a tiny hole. It was quickly covered as something or someone covered it.
“Keep it down.” The voice whispered again.
Vince flinched again when he felt something hard pushed against his ribs. The pain in his arm again so incredibly unbearable, he squeezed his eyes shut so hard, he literally saw stars.
“Take it,” the whispering voice insisted.
Vince didn’t bother opening his eyes. He couldn’t see a damn thing anyway. Feeling his hand out toward the direction of the voice with his good arm until he felt something hard and flat, he immediately recognized it as a canteen. Instantly his mouth ached for water.
Bringing it to his mouth, careful not to knock any teeth out, he took the first glorious sip into his liquid-starved mouth. Even though it felt like lava going down his dry throat, he’d needed it so bad he gulped down some more again loudly.
“Slow, down, Private Moreno.” The voice pressed a little louder. “You’ll make yourself sick.”
Catching his breath after the last sip, Vince finally asked what he wanted to know. “Who are you? And how do you know my name?”
“Small sips,” the voice said again. “We’ve got plenty. I’ve been gathering them, but you’ll be sick if you drink too fast. I’m Sergeant Fetherman, and your name is right there on your tags.”
Vince reached down and traced his tags with his fingers. “How’d you read it in the dark?”
He couldn’t see him, but he could hear the sergeant move away from him. In the next instant the small hole in the wall opened up. A ray of light so strong it made Vince squint lightened up the entire hole they were in. “Light comes in when I let it in.”
Vince straightened up again, careful not to injure his arm further. “Where are we?”
“From my calculations we’re about ten miles from where we’re supposed to be.” The sergeant covered the hole again, and once again they were in the dark. Only now at least Vince’s eyes had a chance to focus enough to make out shapes.
“What is this place?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say someone’s family bunker. This whole area was a thriving city once upon a time.” Fetherman looked out the hole again. “Damn shame. It’s nothing but rubble now.”
“Are we the only ones in here?” Vince looked around the dimly lit bunker and thought he saw bundles in corners that could be bodies.
“Nope. But we’re the only two still breathing.”
Vince pulled his arm back from whatever it was he was touching, igniting the pain again. “Augh!” He clenched his teeth. It hurt like a sonofabitch.
“You have to stop moving that arm around, Private. It’s busted up pretty bad. I did what I could to cover up the wound, but I’m not sure if it’s infected.”
Vince sat still, breathing in slowly, willing the pain to subside, but the entire length from his elbow to his shoulder throbbed mercilessly. “Is it broken?”
The sergeant laughed. “Only thing more broken than that arm is your sleep-talkin’ heart.”
Vince’s head shot up. “What?”
Fetherman turned back to Vince, covering up the hole halfway, so they still had some light. “Anybody ever tell you, you talk in your sleep, boy? Now, I don’t know if it’s because you were delirious with pain or if that’s how you normally sound, but it was irritating as shit trying to get the story straight. But you did answer questions. Like who the hell is Hose? Took me a while, but I finally got that you were trying to say Rose.”
Vince stared at him, not wanting the sergeant to see how much this pissed him off. “You listened to me talk in my sleep then asked me questions about it?”
There’d been no masking the annoyance in his voice, but at this point Vince didn’t care. Much like when he replayed that night in Anita’s room, the adrenaline coursing through him now was actually helping drown out the pain in his arm.