“Huh?”
“Which book?”
I try to think. “I can’t remember, I… I can’t remember why I got the tat. Or when.”
“You serious, dude?”
A sense of dread fills me, presses on my chest like a slab of granite. All I can see is blood. Then the unblinking eye staring at me, an ax. Golden afternoon light, a silver swan, and a body.
Whoa. The room rocks and tilts, the chair sliding from under me, and I’m falling.
“Merc, shit.” I’m vaguely aware of hands grabbing me under the armpits, lifting me back up until I’m safely seated once more at the table.
“The hell?” I mutter, clenching my shaking hands in my lap.
“Exactly my thoughts,” JC drawls, pulling up a chair beside me. “What was that? You okay?”
“Oh peachy,” I drawl right back at him. “I’m fine.”
“Fine, my ass.” He grabs the sugar and drops two cubes into my cup. After some thought, he adds one more and stirs, then pushes the mug into my hands. “Drink.”
“This is sugar with some caffeine added as an afterthought.”
“Drink it, goddammit.”
Fine, no point fighting about it. I’m too dizzy to punch JC right now anyway, so I might as well.
The amount of sugar makes my teeth ache and my heart thump harder.
On the plus side, the room steadies a little.
“Now.” He pries the mug from my chilled hands, puts it back on the table. “I asked what that was about.”
“I dunno, man.”
“We were talking about your tattoo.”
Irritated, I fold my arms over my chest. “And I told you, I don’t remember why I got it.”
“Merc.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, as if in pain. “Were you drunk when you got it?”
“Maybe I was.”
“Who were you with?”
I push my chair back, prepare to get up and get the hell out. “What’s with the interrogation? It’s just a goddamn tattoo.”
“Yeah? That why you went white as a sheet and almost toppled to the floor?”
Fuck. I rub my hands over my face. “Just sleeping badly.”
“What’s the tat about, Merc?”
“I don’t know, okay? I don’t fucking know.”
Blood, blood, and more blood.
The hell’s wrong with me?