“Something like that.” Tentatively Rogers steps into the cell, eyeing Izz assessingly. “You have the guards’ stressing, I’ve been told you’re running around carrying bloodied individuals.”
A long pause follows, one in which no one fills. Probably because one of them is essentially comatosed, the other is treading on glass to not irritate the one who is a breath away from going on another killing spree.
Only time will tell who cracks first. Explaining why he is in his head over this incident is beyond his grasp of his own thoughts. He could be held at gun point, safety off and gun man a chronic epileptic, and he still wouldn’t be able to tell you why.
It makes no sense.
One thing he does know, his shoulder aches. Another thing he’s been unaware of, his hand moving slow circles over Izz’s back. He pushes forth words to block out thewhy’sto what he’s doing.
“What do you want.” It’s neither a question, nor a sentence. He is equal parts interested in the answer and not.
Rogers regards Izz for a time, then throws out a question. One of many he no doubt has. “Want to explain what’s going on? I can see he’s still breathing. Where’s he bleeding? We can take him to medical.”
“He’s not leaving my sight.” Rage hotter than anything he has ever felt spews up his spine, zapping into his arms to sizzle his joints. He turns that inner ‘fuck you’straight onto Rogers, letting the guard see everything inside him written all over his face.
Rogers hands shoot up, a placating gesture if Sinn'ous ever saw one. “No. No. Of course not, no one’strying to take him from you. I’m here to see what I can do to help. Nothing more.”
A grunt breaches Sinn'ous’s lips and he drops his eyes back onto Izz. Perched so silently in his lap. A soft rise and fall of his chest is a satisfying sight.
The boy still breathes. Even if he doesn’t yet respond.
What am I going to do with you?
It’s a question he’s not sure he’ll ever find the answer to.
He’s not sure he’s ready for the answer.
34
ROGERS
Surprisingly Sinn'ous isn’t covered in blood. And the ‘body’he is holding is not in fact dead. Although, that conclusion is in question. Jasper’s eyes are fixed and dilated. It’s as though his mind has blinked out and taken a sabbatical.
There is, however, a blood covered sheet scrunched in a loose ball on the floor. Smears of red over the usually off white colour of a sheet washed far too many times.
But what tops the cake of thiswhat-the-fuckmoment, is the way Jasper is curled up in Sinn'ous’s lap. And the psychopathic inmate is rubbing small circles on the kid’s back. It’s unnerving. But also kind of sweet.
Why is it sweet?
It’s literally a psychopath who Rogers knows plans to kill Jasper. This shouldn’t be a moment to swoon over. But shit if it isn’t hard to hold back theawwwwww.
Okay. He needs answers.
“Did you—”
“I didn’tfuckinghurt him.” Sinn'ous’s arms tighten and he pulls Jasper that much closer. A possessive glint hitting his eyes and sparking a fire so hot Rogers could swear it singed his eyebrows. The flat emotionless expression grows colder than usual, any semblance of human warmth sucked out.
Rogers forces himself to hold his ground and not move back a few retreating steps. You don’t show weakness to a predator, not if you want to keep on breathing.
Both his hands are now held out in what he can only hope radiates a placating air. “I’m just here to find out what happened. Nothing more, you do your thing.”
It’s like being stuck in a box with a hyper aggressive rattle snake. One wrong move and he’ll be taking fangs to the face.
“I need a blood test done.”
Rogers’s eyebrows threaten to rise at the words. He hits them with a counter threat that if they do so he’ll cut them off. They listen and stay in place.
“On him?” Rogers tips his head at Jasper.
