Chapter 2
I jerked awake with a gasp. Next to me, a body jolted, and on the other side, somebody swore.
My heart pounded, and it took me a few seconds to remember where the hell I was.
The sun had sunk below the horizon, bathing the sky in orange streaks.
The rover had stopped, but I still couldn’t see anything but forest. The wide-open space of the desert often made me feel exposed, but here, engulfed by trees, I felt trapped.
“Jumpy little thing,” Griz muttered, and I flushed.
Mac and Jax hopped out as the second rover parked beside us.
Griz pulled me out, gripping tighter as I swayed a little.
Gods, I hoped this dizziness would pass soon.
The second rover’s crew unloaded beside us, two women and one other man.
The driver—a woman with long black hair pulled into a ponytail—stared me down, a look of pure hatred in her bloodshot eyes.
I took an involuntary step backward, treading on Griz’s foot.
“Bring her over here,” Trey called, pulling a battered first aid kit from the back of the rover. The woman turned away and began unloading supplies. Unease swirled in my stomach. Had I seen her before?
Trey set the kit on the hood, standing in the headlight. Griz led me over, then remained next to me with his massive arms crossed.
“Come sit down and unbutton your shirt so I can take a look at that wound on your shoulder,” Trey said, gesturing toward a large rock.
All thoughts of the woman went straight out of my head.
“It’s a scratch.” I gripped the collar of my shirt, pulling it tighter across my chest and trying to suppress my grimace of pain from doing so.
“Look, Bones, I’m not trying to make a move on you,” Trey said patiently, “but that’s not just a scratch. Your shirt is wet, which means it’s still fuckin’ bleeding. That wound needs to be cleaned and maybe stitched. You know that.”
I glared at him, heat rising in my face. “I can do it myself.”
“You can’t even see it. C’mon. You want Griz to sit on you?” A smile quirked at the corner of Trey’s mouth. “Because we can do this the hard way.”
He rolled up his sleeves, and in the bright light of the headlights, I caught a glimpse of the bite I’d given him. It had healed along with his bullet wound, leaving an imprint of my teeth marks as a new scar.
Griz stepped forward, and I tensed. I didn’t understand why they were making such a big deal out of a stupid wound.
If they were trying to intimidate me, they were succeeding.
When he took a second step, I panicked and took off like a terrified rabbit, but apparently Griz had anticipated that and caught me swiftly.
The rest of the group went quiet, and I could feel everyone’s eyes on us.
My heart pounded and my stomach churned with a swell of fear. I kept my eyes on the ground.
Trey must’ve signaled to everyone somehow because they went back to their tasks, ignoring the three of us.
I flinched when Trey reached toward me, and he withdrew his hand. I hated that I couldn’t control the way my body reacted. My face burned.
“We’re not gonna hurt you,” Griz murmured, still holding my arm.
“I can do it myself. Let me do it,” I tried again, hating the desperation leaking into my tone.
“Hey.” Trey’s voice gentled in a way that made my throat tighten. “Bones, look at me.”
“I swear it’s nothin’. Give me a bandage, and I can take care of it.”
“Bones, c’mon, look at me.”
I stared at his hands. He stood a step away, keeping his gestures slow and non-threatening.
He had workers’ hands, calloused and rough, and he kept his nails neatly trimmed.
The sun had browned his skin and highlighted the small white scars peppered across his hands.
He tucked his wavy brown hair back behind his ear to keep it out of his face.
I finally met his stare and hated the gentleness shining through.
His brown eyes, framed with long eyelashes, gazed into mine.
“I know you’ve got little cause to trust us,” Trey said, low enough for only me to hear. “But I owe you my life, and I swear on that debt, you’re safe with me. That wound is bleeding a lot, and I want to stitch it up. Will you let me do that?”
“What’ll you do if I don’t?” I tried to sound defiant, but I sounded scared.
“Keep pestering you until you change your mind.” He smiled.
I didn’t return it and his face grew serious again.
“We aren’t gonna force you, Bones. I was kidding about Griz sitting on you.”
“I wouldn’t sit on you even if he told me to,” Griz added. “I’d probably break you in half.”
“I’m not the best healer and I sure as hell can’t do what you can do. But I can stitch a wound.” Trey paused, then added, “I can’t just do nothin’ when somebody’s hurt. You seem like you feel the same way.”
The silence stretched as I stared at him. I knew he meant that moment on the roof when I’d looked into his eyes and decided to heal him instead of running. I didn’t like that he’d somehow seen those thoughts on my face. I could usually better hide what I felt.
“Please, Bones,” Trey added softly. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
Maybe he wouldn’t, but a life debt only carried so far, and I wasn’t just afraid of being hurt.
Choose your battles, Wolf snarled.
Everything went flat and distant like the world around me dimmed.
My fingers fumbled at the buttons, shaking, but I obediently unbuttoned the plaid shirt and pulled the fabric off my left shoulder to expose my upper chest and the bloodied tank underneath.
I braced myself, but Trey’s low exclamation still made me wince.
“What the fuck?” Anger snapped in his voice, but his hands were gentle as he shifted my flannel over more.
Griz went still beside me, and my face burned.
In the center of my chest, a large, crude J had been branded into my flesh.
It started at my collarbone and ended above my breasts, the rough skin raised and colored an angry red, clearly a semi-recent wound.
It was impossible to miss, but then that had been the point.
“Juck did this to you?” Trey’s voice dropped to something quiet and dark.
I didn’t answer him, figuring that was pretty fucking obvious. My throat tightened. I wished I could sink into the ground and disappear.
“Does that burn need some kind of treatment?” Griz asked.
His gruff voice sounded gentle, and it startled me enough that I flicked my eyes up.
His gaze remained calm and steady, but it looked like actual concern shone there instead of the sharp, prying eagerness I’d learned to expect.
I glanced at Trey, but he’d turned toward the woods, a muscle in his jaw flexing. I shook my head.
“Does it hurt?” Griz asked.
“Not really,” I lied. It ached all the time, but admitting pain was handing over leverage. I kept my face blank and shoulders loose, willing him to believe me.
“How long ago did this happen?” Trey asked roughly.
The words took a second to reach my mouth, like my voice was running behind the moment. “Couple weeks.”
A brief silence hung around us.
“Uh.” Trey cleared his throat. “Okay. This gash in your shoulder is gonna need some stitches. Looks like a piece of that shitty roof stabbed you. You want a swig?”
I numbly took the bottle from him. He unrolled a leather satchel full of basic healer tools, and the relief made me lightheaded.
Maybe he wasn’t going to pry. Maybe this could stay clinical—needle, thread, blood, and nothing else.
I tipped the bottle back and swallowed until the burn began to blur. Eyes watering, I handed it back.
“I’m gonna pour this over the wound, alright?” Trey waited until I nodded before pouring the amber liquid over my shoulder, catching the excess with a clean rag.
My body jerked in pain, sharp enough that the world flashed white at the edges.
For a second I wasn’t fully in my own skin, just floating in a braced awareness of hurt.
Griz uttered a sympathetic noise. Trey passed me the bottle again, and I took it with hands that didn’t quite feel like mine, gulping as he started stitching me up.
He worked confidently like he’d done this a few times before.
The alcohol took the edge off, but it still hurt like hell.
Griz took the bottle from me as Trey worked, taking a swig himself.
After Trey tied the stitches off, I shrugged my flannel back on as quickly as I could, buttoning it up to my chin. Relief swept over me, thin and shaky, but my skin still felt exposed. Then Griz handed Trey a clean rag and a fresh bottle of water.
“I’m gonna clean this up.” Trey gestured toward the gash in my head as he poured the water on the rag.
I tensed the moment Trey’s hand came to my temple, my body bracing. I breathed shallow and careful, my eyes fixed on a spot over his shoulder as he cleaned the dried blood off.
“Looks like it’s scabbed over pretty good. Shouldn’t need stitches,” Trey murmured.
“What happened there?” Griz asked, taking another drink of alcohol.
When I didn’t answer, Trey’s eyes flicked to mine again. “Bones?”
“The mercs,” I muttered.
“This is a deep gash, and it bled a lot.” Trey gently wiped the rag down the side of my face, where I could feel dried blood coating my skin. “You’re fuckin’ covered in blood. They didn’t even try to patch you up?”
Bitter, defensive words crowded the back of my throat, and I fought the urge to snap something about how most people didn’t give a shit.
“Did they hit you with something?” Griz pressed.
“Obviously.”
Griz stared for a beat, then let out a quiet huff.
“The fuck were they gonna do if you bled to death?” Trey asked.
“Well, I didn’t,” I said, hoping they got the message that I did not want to talk about this.
“How long were you in that safe?” Griz asked.
“I dunno.”
“Fuckin’ mercs,” Trey grumbled.
Well, we could agree on that at least.
“Alright. Let me see your hands.” Trey tucked the bottle under his arm and reached out, palms up.