“Okay.”
As soon as the door closes and I’m all alone in the tiny apartment with a man lying on his back, I hurriedly reset the pots and pans, then sprint into the bathroom for supplies. I find a clean glass and fill it with water, and sitting it on the counter, I find a towel and run it under the tap. Setting the gun beside the water glass, I yank my jeans down and sit on the toilet, because I’ve needed to pee for over an hour.
At Kane’s coughing and groaning, I jump up and toss my jeans and sneakers aside, running around in panties and top to grab the things I need. Sprinting back to the room, expecting to find blue lips and a vomit caked face, I find him only coughing, and my heart leaves my throat long enough for me to draw a breath and set the water glass on the bedside table.
Putting the towel on the corner of his bed, I turn a full circle in search of something that will do for a spew bucket.
Why am I here? Why has this become my life?
Not only am I touching guns, I’m pointing them at people.
Not only am I near a cocaine user, I’m preparing to sleep in his bed.
Again.
I find a small garbage can near the TV, and when I turn it up, two single scrunched notes fall to the floor. I set it down beside the towel, then moving between his legs where they dangle over the end of his bed, I begin working on his belt.
He needs to get out of his jeans. He needs to get comfortable and rest.
And maybe I need to call an emergency line and ask an anonymous question.
Finding divots in the leather, I stop and run my thumb over the marks my teeth left behind only days ago.
Feels like a lifetime ago.
He helped me when I was out of it – I hardly remember a thing from that night. I was attacked, I went to work, then I was bleeding and found myself here.
This stranger took care of me, and now, I’ll take care of him.
Pulling the belt from around his waist, I toss it near the pillow and get started on the button of his jeans. I had planned on making him more comfortable, but as I lower the zipper and fist the waistline of his jeans, I realize I won’t get anywhere unless he wakes and lifts his hips.
“Kane?” I place my knee on the bed between his legs and climb up until we’re face-to-face. “Kane? I need you to wake up for a sec. I need to get your jeans off.”
Grumbling, he turns his face away and ignores me.
“Kane?” I tap his cheek. “Just two seconds, then you can go back to sleep.”
“Sick. I’m gonna kill Abel.”
“Okay. We’ll do that tomorrow. But for tonight, I need your jeans off.”
Grinning, even in his state, he gives a weak shake of his head and goes back to snoring.
Crap.
Sliding back to my feet, I stand at the end of his bed with my hands on my hips and my eyes on his crotch. “Kane? Handsome? Lift your hips and I’ll suck your cock.”
My eyes narrow when his hips instantly spring up. If I didn’t see him vomiting all night, if I didn’t see the way his eyes rolled around in his head, I’d believe he was tricking me. But I did see those things. And now I see his hips bridged high and his dick pushing against his jeans.
“Jesus, are you nearly thirty, or are you sixteen? Even in your sleep, your dick stands when I mention it.” I work hard to yank his jeans down broad thighs, and as soon as I clear his knees, he drops back to the bed with a pain-filled groan and turns to his side.
I move fast to pull his jeans all the way down before he tangles them around his ankles. Tossing the smelly denim aside, I turn back to the mess I have laid out in front of me.
A criminal.
A gun.
Cocaine.