“I ain’t gonna ask if you don’t wanna share,” Doc said, rubbing the scar on his neck, as if seeing Ned’s wound reminded him of old pain.
Ned sat down on a stool he was pointed to. “Not much to speak of,” he grumbled. When he pulled away the blood-soaked handkerchief, Doc’s scowl told him things were worse than he’d thought. “At least I’ve got all my teeth, eh?” he tried to joke.
“I wouldn’t laugh about that if I were you,” Doc said, cleaning his hands in a washbasin. “Zeb had them knocked out with a hammer when a crooked sheriff tried to make him talk. He didn’t make a peep about our whereabouts, and that earned us enough time to move camp and get him out.”
Ned hated the fucker’s guts, but he fell silent. He wasn’t making himself any favors by disrespecting one of the original three Gotham Boys, especially when talking to a long-time friend of his. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “That why Cole holds him in such high esteem?”
Doc rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. T cleaver tattoo was barely visible on his dark skin, but Ned still spotted it now that he knew what to look for. Doc put on a clean apron to protect his clothes, then took a fresh piece of cloth and dunked it in a pot of water before sitting on another stool in front of Ned. He dabbed it on the hurting flesh and leaned in to examine the fresh injury.
“He’d been eleven when Tom took him in. Even I hadn’t been with the Gotham Boys that long. Zeb taught Cole all he knows about hunting, so don’t be surprised Cole takes his side.”
Made sense. Ned felt as though he’d always known Cole, but it’s only been two weeks. What didn’t make sense was that it hurt. Maybe Ned was just being possessive of the one friend he’d made when Cole had so many to choose from.
He licked his bloodstained lips, not looking forward to the sting that was about to scorch his face courtesy of Doc soaking a cloth in alcohol strong enough to wake up that old drunk, Scotch. He couldn’t believe he was being helped by one of the men he intended to betray, but that was the path he’d chosen, and he couldn’t let himself forget why.
He grinded his teeth at the sting, and Doc smiled, his full lips stretching. “I used to be an angry young man too, you know. You’ll outgrow this stage and become smarter. If you don’t get yourself killed first, that is. Listen to Cole. He’s had more than enough time to act on his youthful anger, and he still stands. Means he knows what he’s doing.”
Doc nudged his head up by the chin, so Ned kept his face as still as possible even as he spoke. “You? Angry? You seem to be about the sanest man here.”
Doc chuckled, pulling thread through the eye of a curved needle that would soon go into the meat of Ned’s cheek. “There’s something we have in common, young Ned. Neither of us were treated right by our families. To your uncle you were not much more than a ranch hand and another mouth to feed, to my father I was a secret. Never acknowledged while all my white siblings got to carry his name. They got to go to the schools, dined with refined guests while I hid away with the servants. Such injustice… it makes you mad,” he said, turning Ned’s head toward the open entrance of the tent. The needle pushed into skin.
“Did you kill ‘im?” Ned asked in a level tone, focusing on breathing while Doc applied the stitches.
Tension passed through the man’s features, but his dark eyes were focused. “He died of a heart attack. My brother, the one who got to inherit everything even though I was older… I did kill him almost two years later. It was a chance meeting in the city. He recognized me. Said words I did not appreciate, and I couldn’t help myself. That was that. He wasn’t the only one I sent to his maker, but I’ve lived enough to know that killing isn’t worth the consequences unless it improves your circumstances.
“What did my brother’s death change in my life? Nothing. A few days of relief. Forgot to take the money he had on him that night, so I didn’t even get to buy myself a drink for the trouble. Same with the others. It feels good to shut a man’s mouth sometimes, but vengeance is like sugar. It'll eventually be the death of you, no matter how sweet it tastes.”
Ned considered that in silence, yet every time he thought back to the way Butcher Tom’s face had radiated satisfaction after he’d violated Ned’s mother, his blood boiled, and he couldn’t see past it.