I thumbed out a message to Doc.
Rio: Fever. Shaking. Wounds clean. Meds taken. No drip left. Now what?
Doc replied almost instantly.
Doc: Fever breaks or doesn’t. Five grand upfront, plus expenses, for a visit.
Anger flared, hot and immediate, a gut-deep fury I couldn’t shove down. That was Doc—blunt, mercenary—but tonight it felt personal. As if the fucker couldn’t be bothered to care. I ground my teeth, shoving the phone back into my pocket with aforce that sent a sharp jolt up my arm, then swallowed the bitter tang of resentment—and the craving riding up the back of my throat. I’d been clean since we killed Mitchell, or near enough, but stress made addiction hum in my blood. The hollow pull for kickers was always there, waiting. Easier than this, easier than anger. Easier than watching someone die when I’d played a part in hurting them. Yes, in the grand scheme of things, all I’d done was choke him, but…
All I did was choke him? Jesus, I could have killed him!
But if he’s one of the bad guys, I’ll kill him anyway.
Lyric shifted, a soft sound escaping him, more a breath than a word. His eyes were shut now, lashes dark against the sickly pale skin of his face. He looked… small. Fragile in a way that twisted something in my chest. Curled on his side, hands loose on the sheets as if he’d fought and lost. Vulnerable in a way I hadn’t seen in a long time.
He reminded me of Danny. And that nearly wrecked me.
Lyric wasn’t dying on my shift.
It wasn’t just about him. It was about me—about this crack in my armor I couldn’t seem to fix. I’dswapped one addiction for another. The pills had dulled everything; now the obsession sharpened it all to a blade’s edge. If I couldn’t save him, what did that make me? I needed him alive because walking away felt too much like losing again. Failing.
Danny.
And I wasn’t built to fail.
The door eased open with a soft creak, and Robbie slipped back inside, cradling a jug of ice as if he were sneaking contraband into a war zone. He hovered near the foot of the bed, gaze darting between me and Lyric.
“I read up on it,” Robbie whispered. “He needs fluids. If he can’t drink… maybe just rub some ice on his lips?”
He was so fucking young standing there, hope and worry tangled in his voice. I couldn’t believe Enzo had let him up here—with someone who might be here to hurt us. Someone who might have had something to do with what happened to Robbie.
I gave a nod, reaching for the jug.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Let’s try that.”
Robbie hovered, then added quietly, “And you could try elevating his legs a little. Apply a cool compress to the back of the neck. Monitor hisbreathing rate… maybe tilt his head if he starts choking.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You swallow a medical directory or something?”
Robbie ducked his head, the tips of his ears flushing. “I… I read one. A while back.”
The door cracked open again, and Enzo stepped in, face tight, eyes locked on Robbie. “I don’t like you being here, sweetheart. Please come back down.”
Robbie lifted his chin. “He can’t hurt me.”
Enzo didn’t answer right away—just gave him a look. Stricken. The kind of look that said protecting Robbie wasn’t a choice for him. It was instinct. A need so deep it cut through everything else.
Robbie hesitated, then gave me a quick smile, soft and full of reassurance. “I’ll check back in a bit.”
I swear, Enzo growled.
Robbie patted his arm as he passed. “And I’ll bring my protector with me.”
I watched them start to leave, then Enzo stopped, his brow furrowing as if he’d just remembered something. “Killian’s gone to the Cave, took Jamie with him. And the Chevy with the fucked timing is back in, the transmission’s grinding as if it’s chewing gravel.” He glanced at Lyric, who was mumbling in his sleep. “You got this?”
“Sure.”
“No fight tonight?”
