Not by choice. The room—whatever and wherever it was—had stopped spinning, but my skull still throbbed like a prick and I was pretty sure a lawn mower had ripped through my stomach.
Viktor had both hands cupping my face.
I reached for one.
He smiled and the moody aches faded a bit. This fucker, he was so hot. That hair, those eyes. The pretty tats on that smoking body.
I love you.
Viktor tapped a finger to my lips. “Shh. Let me say it.”
He leaned closer, blocking the rest of the room out, his forehead to mine, pinning me in place as if he had no fucking idea that I’d die right here a happy man. “I love you. I should have said it the other night—I should’ve said it a long time ago. I am so sorry you went into that fight without knowing.”
It took me a second to catch all his words. To process them into something coherent. Then I laughed—a little bit, anyway. “Vik, I know you love me.”
“You do, huh?”
“Mmm.” It was all I had, nausea rocking me. Pain. Not as killer as before, but still profound enough that I was done with the best conversation I’d ever had.
Rude.
Viktor eased back and said something to someone else. Didn’t care who. This place smelt like Kings, and I was cool with any of my brothers being close. Fuck. Ineededthem as much as I needed Vik.
Locke popped up—I felt more than saw him. His big hands. His deep voice. “Gonna give you a shot, brother. Help you ride this shit out. That okay?”
I made a sound of agreement. A sharp scratch pierced my arm and I waited for the hit, but nothing happened for a while. Then I realised I’d passed out again and I woke up in exactly the same position.
Locke was gone.
Viktor remained and he looked knackered.
I tugged on his hand. “Lie down with me?”
Vik slid down the bed, gazing at me with bloodshot eyes. “You have a lot of friends.”
“Do I?”
“They do not leave.” Viktor nuzzled my cheek. “Saint is here, and Locke fell asleep on the sofa.”
“Locke falls asleep everywhere.” I risked a glance around. For the first time in a while, my eyeballs moved without hurling me off a cliff. “Where are we?”
“Whitness. Locke lives upstairs with his lovers.”
I computed that. Orla’s flat.
Jean.
“Your grandmother is well.” Vik read my mind. “Nash went to see her this morning.”
It made sense to ask what time it was now. What day. But I didn’t give a fuck. The troll in my head was quiet and I didn’t want to wake that arsehole up.
I gazed at Viktor instead. He had a shirt on and different clothes. His hair was damp, but I could tell he hadn’t slept.
“You need to drink,” he said suddenly. “Here.”
Water appeared. I didn’t want it. Until I did, and I drank the lot.
Viktor tossed the empty bottle. “That is good. Maybe Locke will go home now.”
