A groan blistered my throat. I forced it down and planted my fist to the mattress, wrenching my head to the doorway. Andthere he was, leaner and meaner than I remembered with hisshorthair, but every bit as enchanting.
The sickness faded and I fell into his sooty gaze. There were six feet between us, but somehow my own bleary eyes still saw those shades of black. Those gunmetal flecks, and suddenly, we were a world away from here, in a dark, concrete ditch. In the rain with our hoods up. In the living room of a flat thousands of miles away. He was in my arms, bare skin pressed to mine, and that memory hit me harder than any drug ever could. “Why are you here?”
Ranger flinched at the scrape in my voice. He tossed a water bottle on the bed and rapped his knuckles on the doorframe. “Meet me in your fancy kitchen and I’ll tell you all about it.”
I’ll tell you all about it . . .
The phrase jarred my brain. But he was gone before I figured it out, and his abrupt absence compelled me out of a bed I didn’t recall getting into any more than I recalled changing my clothes. Out of a flux I’d been trapped in for...
I did not know how long.
I glanced at the window. The sun was high. Since this morning then. Or maybe since Priest had jabbed that first needle in my arm.
My feet hit the tiles, the coolness travelling up my legs and into my aching hip, but the discomfort was not awful. It was just... there, and the activity beyond my bedroom was distraction enough for now.
I followed the sound to the kitchen. To whereRangerstood at my fridge, scowling at the shelves. “You need to teach me the Russian word for bacon.”
“Why?”
“So I can tell your sister I need that shit in my life more than... whatever the fuck this is.”
He wrinkled his nose, and it was so adorable that I forgot the English word for salmon and spoke Russian instead.
Ranger’s glower deepened. “Nah, I’m not having that. My sketching skills have limits.”
“What?”
“Your sister. She drew me some pictures. I returned the favour. If this monstrosity is anything to go by, it didn’t pan out.”
“Is smoked fish. You have it in England.”
“Who does?”
“I do not know. People?”
I took the package from him and put it back on the shelves my faithful sister had stocked while I’d slept. Myaloofsister. That she had engaged Ranger enough for some kind of illustrated conversation was unfathomable. “When did you speak with my sister?”
“Yesterday.” Ranger shut the fridge. “She brought you some sausages, but you were still out, so I ate them and I’m not fucking sorry.”
“Yesterday?”
Ranger slid me a murky glance. “The day before today, but you won’t remember it cos you were sleeping off your smack binge. You only got up to piss and feed the dog, and I’m pretty sure you sleepwalked through both activities.”
“It was not a binge.” I pushed out of the narrow space we’d both claimed.
He caught me.
I let him.
“It is what it is.” His harsh brogue deepened to a growl, his rough fingers tight on my wrists. “Pretending otherwise isn’t going to fix it.”
“Maybe I do not want to fix it.”
“Don’t believe that.”
“Why not?”
Ranger released me from his scalding grasp. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. I know you’ve got connections, but scoring round here must be a fucking nightmare.”
