She always showered around three in the morning while everyone slept, but never when she was hammered. Her clumsy movements and foggy head made her paranoid and jumpy.
As she rounded the corner to the stairwell, the sound of a pained cry hit her ears.
A child’s cry.
Her heartbeat banged in her head, and she staggered sideways, catching herself against the wall.
She gulped down the next breath and held it in her lungs, listening, shivering, waiting.
Nothing.
Sometimes, she woke in her cell, convinced she heard a weeping child. The nightmare felt so real she often ran into the corridor, searching for an actual kid, only to realize she was chasing the haunting remnants of memory, the echoes of the little sister she once had.
She heard it again and froze. The cry sounded so small, so scared and sad. She spun, overshooting her steps and crashing to her knees.
Vera, Vera, Vera.
Goddammit, she missed her sister so fucking much.
A sob crawled up, and she pushed herself into the stairwell, teetering, lurching, unable to escape the crushing pain.
Tears spilled free as she wobbled on the top step. The stairs rippled beneath her blurred eyes. Maybe she would fall and break her neck.
Awwwwesome.
Would the eternal darkness welcome her? She was already in hell. What could be worse than this?
Shouldn’t she have a legit reason to die, though? She needed a valiant cause with a colorful flag that she could wave as she rode off to face her death.
She had no flags, no causes, no reason.
But hey, if there was nothing worth dying for, there was nothing worth living for, either.
She should just take that final step into the bowels of yonder stairwell and find out what came next. Maybe Vera would stop crying.
A hand gripped her shoulder, and she jumped, releasing a yelp as she whirled.
“Tula.” Ricky yanked her away from the stairs and clutched her shoulders, steadying her. “What are you doing?”
“Shhh.” She tried to press a finger against his lips. Her hand knew roughly where to aim, but it landed on his jaw. “Do you hear her?”
“Who?”
“My little sister.”
Her balance felt off because seriously, two legs weren’t sufficient in keeping a person upright in a wave. The thought made her thirsty. Could she get dehydrated while swimming? Why was she swimming?
She wriggled her lips into the shape of a grin. “I’m drunk.”
“No shit. You were about to take those stairs face first and…” He gripped her jaw, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Were you crying?”
She touched her cheek, and her fingers poked through a soggy cloud. “I can’t feel my face. But…” She leaned in, and her nose collided with his concrete chest. “You should know that if I had a grilled cheese sandwich, I would most definitely, positively, accurately hit my mouth with it.”
Laughter shook the warm wall that held up her head. “That so?”
“Mm-hmm. A Ricky Martin sandwich would work, too, but I call the middle.” She gasped. “Oh, no. We lost Martin.”
His hand guided her face to the hallway. She blinked, focusing hard until three blond Viking gods merged into one.
Oh, dear lord, Martin was magical.
He reclined against the wall a few feet away, fingertips resting in the front pockets of his jeans, looking for all the world like he could strip away her panties with only the intensity of his eyes.
“Don’t do it.” She pointed at him. “Don’t you dare. My panties are mine.”
“All right, querida. Here we go.” Ricky hooked his arms under her and cradled her against his chest.
She floated down the stairs in a haze.
“This is nice.” She hugged his neck and breathed in his intoxicating male scent. “Except whoa… My brain is moving slower, I think. By a half-second or so.”
Ricky chuckled softly at her ear. “Slow down a little more, and you’ll be thinking at Martin’s speed.”
A glance behind him gave her a direct view of Martin. He trailed at a distance, his gaze sweeping the perimeter.
“Am I the only one who drank too much?” She dropped her hundred-pound head on Ricky’s shoulder.
“We all drank the same amount, but Martin and I are a lot bigger.” He touched his lips to her brow. “You’re going to hurt tomorrow. I’m sorry.”
He lowered her onto a bed, and she looked around, recognizing her room.
Martin sat beside her feet and removed her shoes.
“Don’t forget the toes.” She stared at the rotating ceiling and gagged on the toxins gurgling from her stomach.
“What about the toes?”
“They need polish. It’s been too long. I’m a girl, dontcha know?”
“Yes, I’m fully aware you’re a girl.”
Was that Martin talking?
“The strong, silent type.” She waved a heavy hand at the silhouette beside her feet. “You just sit there and look pretty.”
She lost Ricky in her periphery, but after a few long blinks, he was there again.
“Drink.” He pushed her potable water jug into her hands, forcing her to suck it down.