Griggs hesitated.
J.?J. swallowed, waiting for the explosion. It never came. He smiled instead, and with a quick twist, inserted the key into the lock. The handcuffs fell away, clanging against metal. Half-relieved, half-sick with dread, she curled her bandaged arm into her chest, moving in slow increments, afraid Griggs would retaliate and reach for her again.
“Excellent. Thank you, Officer Griggs,” the nurse said, shooing him out of the room with her free hand. “Now, off you go. There’s a coffee machine just down the hall. I’ll give you a shout when I’ve finished with my patient.”
Griggs’s gaze cut back in her direction. J.?J. felt the sting. Not that it mattered. His threats meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. She was accustomed to abuse. Would handle the weasel—and all forms of retribution—to keep her sister safe. Now all she needed to do was figure out how.
The second he cleared the threshold, Ashford stepped alongside her. Setting the mug on the table, she pivoted toward the bank of cabinets running along the wall to her right. Quick hands flipped cupboard doors open, then closed them again. As plastic-wrapped packages, gauze, and tape landed inside a sturdy plastic bin, J.?J. shifted on the mattress, trying to get comfortable. Why she bothered, she didn’t know. It wasn’t as though she had a chance in hell of avoiding the pain. Or outrunning the odds. Comfort wasn’t in the cards. Griggs had dealt her a crappy hand, elevating the game to a contact sport.
The best she could do now was ensure no one else got hurt.
Ashford glanced toward the open door. And Griggs. Boots planted and shoulders set, he stood in the hallway with his back to them. He looked one way, then the other, studying the corridor as though he expected a military invasion. J.?J. shook her head. Terrific. Just what she didn’t need… a Neanderthal-in-waiting.
Vigilance piled on top of vigilance.
Moving into her line of sight, Ashford set the mishmash of supplies down on the end of the bed. “Is he always like that?”
“Pretty much.”
“Calls you
“Big racist… little brain.”
The nurse snorted. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Please do,” she whispered, worry tightening her chest. “Please don’t cross him. You get in his way, he’ll hurt you.”
“Don’t you worry about me.” Sidestepping, Ashford grabbed the edge of the floor-to-ceiling curtain. She pulled. A zing split the silence as tiny wheels whipped around a metal track. Griggs looked over his shoulder. J.?J. looked away, avoiding eye contact. A coward’s way out? Maybe, but she couldn’t take anymore. Not right now. Probably not for a while either. With another tug, the drape zipped full circle, cocooning the area around her bed. “I’ve dealt with his kind all my life.”
“Nobody’s like him.”
“Nonsense. A bully is a bully. Doesn’t matter what kind of uniform he wears. But enough about that.” Done checking her IV, Ashford palmed a pair of surgical scissors. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
J.?J. blinked.
“You know your lawyer’s number by heart?”
A crease between her brows, J.?J. opened her mouth, then closed it again. No sense trying to figure it out. She sucked at guessing games. “I don’t—”
Seeing her confusion, the nurse smiled. “’Cause if you did? You might need one of these.”
Slipping her hand into the back pocket of her scrubs, Ashford pulled out a…
Oh, Jesus be merciful. A cell phone. The high-tech kind with a wide, flat screen.
Gratefulness hit her chest level. Her heart paused mid-beat, then picked up the pace, hammering so hard it echoed inside her head. Not knowing what to say, J.?J. went into crybaby mode, tearing up so fast the nurse’s face went blurry.
“Make it quick.” Her head tilted to one side, the nurse listened for the sound of approaching footsteps. When none came, she murmured, “Don’t call. Text him instead.”
“I don’t know how.” Hands trembling, J.?J. gripped the phone, staring at the thing like an alien object. The second she’d been charged and denied bail, she lost her privileges. All her belongings too… pay-as-you-go cell phone included. “I’ve never texted anyone.”
“Hold on. Here, just…”
Quick as a music note, Ashford pressed a button. A picture of a dog dressed in a pink sweater flashed on the viewer. Another stroke across the screen. One more finger tap, and the image morphed, prompting J.?J. Insert phone number there. Write a message below. Simple. Effective. Heaven to a girl who had never used it before.
“Clear enough?”
“Got it.” Another round of tears flooded her vision. J.?J. wiped them away. “Thank you.”
Ashford said “uh-huh” and raised her voice, talking loud enough for Griggs to hear her. As she pretended to talk her through the changing of bandages, explaining her injuries and what needed to happen for her to heal, J.?J. got busy: heart thumping, mind whirling, hope rising like a hot air balloon inside her head.
Salvation in each stroke, her finger found the right keys.
Stress parked on her like a ten-ton truck, she reread the message. One second slid into the next and…
She hit the send button.
The praying started next. Along with all the
Biting down on a snarl, Wick crossed the threshold and stepped into Gridiron. His body rebelled, tensing up hard as the cloying stench of eau de nightclub closed in around him. The unconscious reaction ramped him into the danger zone, making his night vision spark. Trace energy flared, coming at him from all directions. He smothered a grimace. Jesus, he hated this place. Despised the strobe lights and Gothed-out decor. Couldn’t stand the spine- bending beat of death metal pumping through hidden speakers. Or the shuffle and press of too many bodies in too small a space.
Not that any of the humans ever came near him.
None of them were that stupid. Good thing too. In his current frame of mind, he might snap a few in half just to take the edge off. Most males would’ve made a beeline for the bar. Downed a drink to combat the distaste. Maybe even an entire bottle to soothe the aversion and set sail into oblivion. Not him. He never touched the stuff. Never would either.
Alcohol wasn’t his friend. And tonight? Neither was time.
Rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension, Wick turned left. Upscale VIP section, here he came. Humans scattered like bowling pins, doing what they did best… getting out of his way. The stairs took him up five treads onto a raised section that overlooked the dance floor. He didn’t bother to look. He knew what lay in that direction. Nothing but the sea of drug-fueled humans pretending they knew how to dance.
Strobe lights flashed overhead, scoring the black walls with bright color.
Wick squinted against the glare and slowed, scoping out the lounge, getting a lay of the land, counting the number of humans struggling to talk over the noise pollution. Wick huffed. Surprise, surprise. A full house again tonight… along with more females than he could count. Good pickings for Venom and the other warriors.
Not so hot for him.
