She drags the twelve-year-old back in, and he puts about a million Steri-Strips on my forehead. Just as I’m about to complain about how stupid it must look, he cleans the shoulder, adding a few stitches, and suddenly, the Steri-Strips don’t seem so bad.
Getting the overly large scrub top in place after all of that was also not a pain-free experience. Gotta say, not feeling particularly guilty about putting a hole in that asshole’s head.
By the time I make my way to the surgical waiting room, the rest of our crew have shown up. DB is on the phone, Thane, Jake, and Omar are playing cards, and Parker’s in the corner, wearing the same too-big scrubs and showing Odd how to finger knit. Given what I know about Jake, I’m guessing the laptop bag by his feet isn’t just about keeping up with his art business. In fact, if I were a betting man, I’d bet he’s waiting to erase Everett’s records from the hospital database.
I make him my first stop. “Do we know why this happened?”
He thins his lips, shaking his head. “Not all of it. We did find a tracking device in Parker’s purse.”
“The guy who grabbed her at the bar had his hands all over her.”
I’m not sorry Everett killed him.
Jake nods. “Wouldn’t be surprised if we found another in your stuff. They probably used social media to get close, and tracking once they had you.”
I have a lot of questions, but I don’t have it in my heart to ask them, so I thank him and find a chair to sit in silence, a combination of scared, sad, and hungry.
As if summoned, Roly walks into the waiting room with a stack of pizza boxes in his hands, making a joke about charging extra for delivery out in the hinterlands.
He’s followed by Jean-Pierre Sehene, basketball god and snazzy dresser. Jean-Pierre walks up to Jake, who stands and lets himself be enveloped by a wall of gorgeous man. They are so achingly beautiful together that I have to force myself to look away.
DB doesn’t look too happy about their presence, sending an arched eyebrow in Jake’s general direction. Jean-Pierre tightens his grip on his man, responding in his beautiful French rumble, “Anders called in the order before he went into surgery, and Roly invited me to come with him.”
Fucking Anders would order pizza in the middle of all this.
Roly spots me in my little corner of solitude and tilts his head, taking in the Steri-Strips and the temporary clothing. He ventures over, setting the box of pizza on the coffee table in front of us.
“Hungry?”
“Starving.”
He takes the paper plates that Thane has magicked out of somewhere and grabs a couple of slices, one for me and one for himself.
I take an absentminded bite, then groan when flavors of peach and rosemary hit my tongue. Roly laughs at my reaction.
“Who puts peaches on a pizza?”
“That’s Evie’s doing. She’s a mad scientist with flavors.”
“Damn, that’s fucking delicious.”
He nods, and we continue to eat in silence, watching as DB shifts his glare between Jean-Pierre and Roly.
“What’s going on with DB?
Roly polishes off his pizza crust, weighing his answer.
“Some of his business spilled over into the gym several months ago, and since then he is adamant that we keep the gym separate from whatever it is that y’all get up to.”
“So, y’all being here…”
Roly grimaces, then shrugs. “He’s not a fan.”
“Sounds like Anders is going to get his ass handed to him when this is all said and done.”
“What else is new?” Patting my leg, he gets up. “We’re gonna head back into town before the vein in DB’s forehead explodes.”
I stand and we exchange an awkward half hug. “Thanks, Roly. Thank Evie for me.”
