Torrent of Tears (Scourge Survivor Series Book 3)(46)

A soft snore rose from the oversized sofa facing the fireplace. Terran had obviously been waiting up for me too. Sound asleep, he sprawled on the couch, a bottle of what looked like Scotch and a long/tall sitting on the teak coffee table in front of him.

“Guard 11, turn in for the night. All is well.” I squeezed his arm and smiled when his unfocused gaze met mine.

“What timess-it?” he asked, palm-scrubbing his face.

“Almost five-thirty.”

I helped sit and spotted a small sewing box at the bottom of the bookshelf. After a quick look inside, I hooked my arm through the handle and got Terran to his feet. As an afterthought, I leaned back and grabbed the neck of the liquor bottle and we headed upstairs.

“You crash in my room with Coal, okay? I’m messy and I don’t want him seeing me like this and freaking out.”

We climbed the stairs, slow and steady, headed past the naked statue and continued to my room. When I cracked the door open, the light revealed Coal on the bed. Curled up in a little ball like a puppy in a basket, he was out cold. I rubbed my chest as my heart fluttered. Could you fall hopelessly in love in just a few days? Yes. Yes, you could.

“Terran, I’m probably going to sleep late but, with what went down tonight, I don’t want either one of you to step out of this house tomorrow, got it?” I watched him shuffling toward the bed, stomping his downed pants with his boots, trying to pull them off.

Terran mumbled some garbled gibberish and I laughed. Setting my contraband in the hall, I steered him to the bed and sat him back. After undoing his boots and setting them on the floor I pulled his legs free from his pants and settled him under the duvet.

“Terran tell me what I said.”

“You’re sleeping in.”

“And?”

He yawned wide as he whispered. “Coal and I are inside until you say otherwise.”

“Sweet dreams, boys.” I eased out the door and stepped across the hall.

Terran’s room was smaller than mine, but it had an ensuite bathroom and that was all that mattered. I lifted the bottle of amber liquid I’d commandeered from downstairs and brought it to my lips. I coughed after the first swig but didn’t let that slow me down. Not Scotch, but it would do the trick.

The slow burn that worked its way down to my belly was hollow and unsatisfying. Gods, what a night. Tracking those men down for Tham went a long way in restoring my sense of self, but it hadn’t changed anything.

Tham was still dead.

I sucked back another long swallow and cleared my throat. Tomorrow would be better. I had big plans for Constable Tasso. Big. Big plans.

When I’d banked a large deposit in my alcohol-buzz account, I decided that looking in the mirror could no longer be avoided. With my free hand, I snagged the sewing box on the way to the loo and sucked back some more liquid relief. I’d seen Cowboy and my other Talon brothers Martha Stewart themselves, but this was a first for me. No Jade to patch me up tonight.

I washed my hands and arms and reached for one of the two hand towels sitting on the counter. Jonash had taken the time to fold and sculpt the towels into little terry dolphins and for some reason, I hated to kill the poor buggers.

Ironic after all the slaughter I’d just finished.

After drying my hands on my shirt, I peeled my bloody leathers down my thighs and tossed them and my shirt into a heap in the corner. Then I set up shop on the wide marble counter. Flipping open the padded lid of the box, I poked around: needles of various sizes, thread of various colors and tiny scissors.

Cooleroo.

Another hit of anesthetic and a few sloshes over my pointy little tools and I started the grueling process of trying to thread the eye of the needle. I bit my lip and snorted. I should have taken care of this before I numbed up. I made another pass at the cock-sucking little hole and laughed out loud. Who the hell thought this was a good idea?

“Having problems?”

Oh shit. I swallowed hard and took a breath, whipping my inner vixen back into her cage. I was nearly naked, rather drunk and completely jazzed . . . a trifecta of bad decision-making, waiting to happen. I cast the most casual glance I could manage into the mirror and snorted when I met his penetrating gaze. “Nice shiner.”

He raised his fingers and probed his eye where I clocked him earlier.

I sighed as the hot pink thread avoided that stupid little hole for the eleventeenth time. “Shit, this looks so easy when Iadon does it.”

Rowan set his medical bag down. “Let me help.”

I pulled my hands back. “Are you going to be a dick?”

He raised a beautiful brow. “I’m not planning on it, but I make no promises.”

After considering my options, I offered him my needle and thread. He waved them away, grabbing a dolphin hand towel sculpture and shaking the life outta the poor thing.

Murderer.

When Flipper had been thoroughly doused and squeezed out, Rowan took a knee beside me and twisted my hips so he was getting an up-close-and-personal with my ass cheeks.

“I, uh . . . bastard number three got a lucky stick when I was dancing with his friend.”

“I see that.” He stroked the warm cloth down the indent of my hip and butt. “Got you pretty good. Were you really going to sew this up with pink quilting thread?”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time. Besides, Gutterman’s good shit, right?”