“I’m so glad you are okay.” My arm dropped, relief spilling out of me. “Where’s Opie?” I glanced around for him.
She cocked her head, a cooing sound escaping her.
No middle finger, no chirping profanity at me.
“Aw, fuck... you’re high again.”
Chirrrrrp. She continued to chew on something.
“What’s in your mouth?” My hands went to my hips. “Spit it out.”
She shook her head.
“Spit it out.” I lowered in a squat to hold out my hand, but she already opened her mouth, letting the black substance splat onto the floor.
That wasn’t mushrooms.
“What the hell is that?”
“Looks like someone found a box of snuff.” Warwick snorted, pulling on a pair of pants he had in the dresser.
“Bit-zy.” I pinched my nose. Snuff was straight tobacco, launching a straight shot of nicotine through your veins. A nice buzz, dimming the sharpness of reality a little. For the rich and poor, it had returned to fashion in the last ten-plus years. It was a cheap, easy high. And for something as tiny as her? The high must have been triple.
She plunked down on her butt, starting to pick the snuff back up again.
“Eww. No.” I wiggled my finger at her.
Her forehead wrinkled. Ignoring me, she shoved it back in her mouth again.
“Gross.” I sighed. “Where’s Opie?”
She blinked at me a few times before her arm raised, pointing over my shoulder. Twisting, I glanced back at the nightstand.
Standing, I moved over to it, pulling out the drawer.
Choked laughter sputtered from my mouth.
Passed out, lying on his back, Opie wore a small blue bandana around his neck like Bitzy. He was bare-chested, and he wore a cut-up piece of leather out of which he made chaps that, thankfully, covered his front area. Penned dog tattoos were on his arm and chest.
Snoring, he absently munched on something in his sleep, no doubt snuff.
“By their outfits, it looks like your pets have been initiated into the Hounds.” Warwick chuckled next to me, tugging on a T-shirt.
My body breathed with relief. At least they were okay. Buzzed out of their minds, but all right.
“Come on, we need to get downstairs.” Warwick went back to the dresser, tossing me one of his extra shirts, heading for the door.
Hurriedly, I got dressed, following him out.
“No more snuff, Bitz,” I ordered her as I closed the door.
Chiirrp! Fingers flew in the air.
I was pretty sure it wasn’t an “Of course! Have a nice morning” chirp, which made me smile.
There was my girl.
The bandit sat high on the pillow, staring blankly at the ceiling, his skin grayish and sweaty. If it wasn’t for the fact his chest was moving up and down, I would have thought he was a corpse.
Dr. Laski stood the moment we entered. “He survived the night, which was a shock.” The doctor eyed his patient. “Tougher than he looks.” He turned back to us. “He’s lucid... though I can’t say for how long or that he will be very forthcoming. He hasn’t uttered a word to me or answered any of my questions.”
“I’ll handle it from here.” Warwick’s deep voice rumbled low. The bandit’s eyes darted from the ceiling to Warwick for a beat, his throat bobbing.
Yeah, he knew exactly who Warwick was.
“His dressings need to be changed soon.”
“Let Kitty know. She’ll get someone to do it. You need to rest.” Warwick patted the doctor’s arm.
Laski dipped his head, slipping out of the room, leaving us alone with the thief.
He didn’t look at us, but he was aware of every move we made, his muscles tightening as Warwick got closer, casually sitting on the chair like he was visiting a friend. I felt Warwick strategically let the silence fill the room, building it until it was palpable. A threat in the air. A warning his casualness was as deadly as the legend.
“Go ahead, princess. This is your thing. I’m just the sexy arm candy here.” Warwick’s shadow stood next to me, flicking his chin toward the man.
“Let’s not play games. I’m way too tired for bullshit, and I haven’t had my coffee yet.” My boots scuffed the floor, stepping forward. The man’s glance darted to me then back up, a flutter of annoyance in his eyes, as if I was nothing to waste his time on. I had little doubt all he saw was a human woman. Two things in this society people didn’t seem to put a lot of worth on. Little did he know, I was like water hemlock—I appeared fragile and beautiful but was violently lethal.
“Your friends stole something from me. Something I need back.” I folded my arms, looming over him. “Tell me where your hideout is or where to find your gang.”
No response.
“I don’t give a shit about you or the Hounds. I need my bag back. It has no value to you.”
Still nothing, not that I expected him to talk so easily.
Lurching forward with a snarl, I reached for his injury, pushing down on the bloody bandage in his stomach, digging into the bullet wound.
A guttural noise grunted from him, his jaw slamming together, his nose huffing with agony.
“Tell me!” I got right in his face.
Spitting and snorting, his eyes watering, sweat coating his skin, he slammed his teeth together harder in defiance.
I prodded more, fresh blood soaking his badges. He looked ready to pass out from the pain.
“Fuck. You. Bitch,” he seethed, saliva spewing down his chin. I heard a very slight accent in his voice but couldn’t place it.
Warwick moved, cutting in front of me, his hand choking the man, yanking him to his face.
“She is the only reason you are alive. I wanted to watch the hyenas tear into you—strip the flesh from your bones while you were still breathing.” His teeth bared, the man of death came alive. “You are going to tell her whatever she needs to know, or I will be using your veins to floss your teeth. You know who I am, and the rumors... they’re all true.”
A flicker of fear danced in his eyes before he hid it, his own lip curling. “I’m not telling you shit, asshole. Kill me.”
Fury pumped through Warwick, his shoulders swelling. He would.
My mouth opened to stop him as the door swung open. Rosie stepped in with a bowl of water and bandages.
“Kitty asked me to rebandage—” She stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes landing on the man in the bed. The bowl in her hands crashed to the floor, splintering in pieces, her alabaster skin blanching. Her face was a mask of terror and shock, her blue eyes swimming with fear.
My stomach sank, my gaze going back to him. His attention was no longer on Warwick, but entirely on her, disbelief widening looking as if he’d seen a ghost.
“Vincent...” she whispered so quietly I almost missed it.
“Ni-Nina?” His voice stumbled and croaked.
As if the name had slapped her across the face, she jerked back, her chest heaving, her head shaking.
“Nina, what are you doing here? I-I can’t believe this... They told me you were dead.” His arm lifted, reaching out for her.
His gaze was full of adoration and confusion.
Hers was full of fear and hate.
“Rosie?” I touched her arm, jolting her focus to me. “What’s going on?”