She’d have to deal with him today. He wasn’t about to leave her any choice. Recognizing she wasn’t equipped with the brain cells necessary for planning a countermove, she put the matter aside and focused on the pressing issue at hand.
Her upchuck reflexes kicking into overdrive, she rolled out of bed, burst into the bathroom, and vomited violently in the sink.
Chase peeked out from behind the frayed shower curtain. “That’s sexy, Gray.”
“Shut up, dickhead.”
He disappeared behind the curtain and started singing the chorus to “You and Tequila” in an off-key voice.
Gripping the sink like it was the only thing between her and the ripped linoleum, which in this case, it abso-fucking-lutely was, she vomited again. With her whole body getting into the groove, her entrails made a concerted effort to become her extrails.
Chase poked his head back out. “That sounds painful. I hear there’s a twelve-step program to assist you with that problem.”
She didn’t bother taking her head out of the sink. “AA’s for quitters, asshole. Right now, you should be more worried if I give up drinking, I’ll take up murdering. Seriously, Chase. You don’t want to inspire my inner serial killer because I’m not equipped to deal with her at the moment and can’t be held accountable for her actions.”
Oh God.This was going to suck. Sweat breaking out on her forehead, the remaining contents of Gray’s stomach revealed themselves to the porcelain, and her knees just about gave out with the effort of trying to vomit quietly.
When her senses returned, she realized Chase was singing a new tune “…and I drink to myself…what a wonderful world.” Positive he planned to continue with his particularly unpleasant brand of post-alcohol pain-in-the-ass disorder, Gray turned the water on full blast to rinse her mouth—and the sink.
A startled string of yelps resulted as he tangled himself in the shower curtain. Happily, there was no way for him to avoid the spray as the water went from lukewarm to hypothermia-inducing in the span of half a second.
She left the tap running and returned to bed, covering her head. She woke hours later, feeling equally as bad as she had hours before. But for the time being, she was alone. Swearing off hard liquor—again—she downed the two Tylenol Chase had left beside a bottle of red Gatorade on the bedside table.
Before her brain could convince her a shower wasn’t a requirement after an evening of power drinking and a morning of power puking, Gray stumbled to the bathroom. With shaking fingers, she stripped in the tub and cranked the hot water.
No need to check the temperature. She already knew the water never made it above lukewarm. The sink, however. Another problem altogether. It didn’t matter which tap was used. The water always came on hot enough to scald. It made brushing teeth tricky, which explained why the tub sported a selection of toothbrushes, along with a tube of Minty Fresh Crest.
While she scraped the fuzz off her teeth with her own toothbrush, Gray contemplated revenge. If she’d known which brush belonged to Chase, she would’ve used it to clean her toenails. Since she didn’t, she let the urge pass without acting on it.
A wave of nausea came over her, and she had to spit the toothpaste out fast. Dry heaving until her stomach muscles had twisted into a mass of knots, she watched the Tylenol circle the drain before disappearing.
Goddamned tequila.
After the production of showering and dressing, Gray remained alone with her thoughts. Most of them were self-loathing and vicious to the core. But once in a while, an odd helpful kernel popped in. One of those popcorn thoughts had her realizing there might be a cure for what ailed her in Doc’s office.
Relief in sight, she put on Chase’s aviators, and throwing the door open, Gray came to a sudden stop. Her brain slammed against her skull, the collision causing her to see stars that glittered in the bright sunlight.
She gripped the doorframe to keep from tipping over.
Unmoved, the soldier watched her performance, his expression unreadable. Sitting about ten feet away from where she emerged, the man’s bulk filled the plastic chair he sat in. With fingers linked together, hands resting on his stomach, and legs stretched out with ankles crossed, he looked like he had nothing better to do than work on perfecting his poker face.
Unnecessary, in her opinion.
“Ah, hi?”
He dipped his head at her in acknowledgment but otherwise remained seated, his dark eyes fixed on her, his expression impassive. His face carved from black marble, his skin was smooth and shiny from the top of his dome to the burn scar running down his neck on his right side.
He wore a black T-shirt, the fabric stretched to maximum capacity over biceps that could do damage just by flexing. Black tactical pants, belt loaded with standard-issue sidearm, and scuffed combat boots completed his look.
Chase was right. The man they referred to as Z looked like one scary-ass mother. And not because he was Black, or scarred, or built like a brick shithouse. His intimidation factor came from the fact it was impossible to tell what he might be thinking.
By his expression, he could be contemplating bunny rabbits and rainbows. Or, and this was the more probable of the two, he was deliberating on the best method to disappear your ass, so no one ever found the body.
“I was, ah, going to see Doc.” She pointed lamely at the main camp, popping a finger gun like she was a badass and not the victim he’d been looking for. Wordlessly, Z separated himself from his chair.
Assuming his being vertical indicated acceptance of her final destination, she managed to put one foot in front of the other. He fell into step, shoulder to shoulder beside her. The journey across the yard was a quiet one. Fine by her. Gray wasn’t much in the mood for, or even capable of, conversations about murder and mayhem.
They found Doc in the kitchen, along with everyone else. A stack of pizza boxes and the aroma of melted cheese made her mouth turn sour, and her stomach threatened to flip inside out. Not yet past the door, she backed out fast and leaned her back against the wall for support, sweating like she’d run a mile to get there.
