No, that was a lie.
She had fallen in love with him. Sometime, over the last twenty-four hours, she had gone from teetering on the edge to free-falling into thin air.
And her gut told her it was going to mess everything up.
Assuming they made it off the mountain alive.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Down in Caldwell, a good twenty feet under the earth in the training center, Vishous was standing outside the treatment room his sister had been delivered into. He wanted to light up, but she had an oxygen feed, and although the chances of things going fireball with the door closed between them was low, he really didn’t feel like adding to the fun and games that were already rolling out tonight.
So instead, he just held on to the hand-rolled—his last that was prepared—like it was a blankie and he was fucking two years old.
Maybe three.
On the far side of that closed door, he could hear Doc Jane and Manny talking in low voices, and he took that to mean that things were going downhill.
“Hey, you want some?”
He looked over. Butch was coming out of the cafeteria, an open can of Coke in his dagger hand, a bag of chips in the other. Hard to know which one he was offering, but it went without saying he would give either away.
Once Butch was in range, he planted his firm ass on the concrete corridor’s floor and put the can to the side.
“Sour cream and onion,” V murmured as he went over and sat with his buddy.
“Yup.”
When the open bag was offered, V shook his head and decided to hell with it and lit up. As he exhaled, he realized he hadn’t really been worried about combustion. He just hadn’t felt right about enjoying anything while his sister was in rough shape.
And hey, if his roommate could dive into a Lay’s bag, he might as well bust out his Bic.
“How’s she doing?” Butch asked as he munched.
“Not so hot.” V stared at his lit tip. “She needs to go to the Sanctuary.”
“Have you called Lassiter.”
“I keep hoping he’ll just show up. But I’m working through my feelings about that.”
“Deep breathing?”
“Convincing myself I don’t need to punch something.” God, he was such an ass. “But you’re right.”
Rolling onto one butt cheek, he took out his cell phone and locked his hand-rolled between his teeth. As he texted, he tried not to sound as desperate as he was getting—and then he wondered what the fuck was wrong with him. Like his sister’s life was worth less than his precious ego when it came to that angel?
Hitting send, he set the phone faceup on his thigh. “He’ll get back to me.”
As he and Butch both stared at the closed door, he wondered whether he could take her up there himself, and then remembered that his mate and Payne’s wouldn’t let her leave before they had done a thorough assessment of her physical condition.
“Who’d she heal?” Butch asked.
“Old guy. Who worked at the pharmacy.”
As he recalled the way the father and son had embraced, he wondered why life seemed determined to show him clips of family wholesomeness when he had no interest in it. He so wasn’t looking for Tim the Tool Man Taylor to come and make his little Jonathan Taylor Thomas feel better about things.
Aware that he had mixed up the reference, he quit it with the trying to find metaphors.
“I was right, you know,” he said. Because sometimes, when you were feeling shitty, getting superior about something even when no one was competing with you for top dog made you feel better. “Whoever broke into that pharmacy went there with a purpose.”