“It wasn’t a question, Eagle.” This new voice was as bold as he was afraid. “We’ve got a loose cannon inside the gates. A woman from the wild killed Nathan this morning. We got orders to search every inch of the grounds.”
My breath froze in my lungs. What would he do? Would he give me up?
“Do you have a death wish? Get the fuck away from my door before I personally introduce you to it!”
Silence followed his threat, and I held my breath as I waited to hear what would happen next. I expected to hear weapons being drawn, the slap of fists against skin, anything but what actually happened, the slamming of a door and the clicking of locks.
Feet pounded the concrete floor until he—Eagle—was standing over me again, looking even angrier than before. His jaw tightened as his face twisted into a tight scowl. Full of trepidation, I watched him and waited.
After several tense seconds, he let out a frustrated breath and turned away. A pained sigh escaped my lips, and I shivered beneath the blanket. I was going to close my eyes, just for a second ...
Just for a second.
Chapter Seven
Eagle
“Shit,” I muttered, my eyes on the ceiling as I paced the room. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”
The dirty, scrawny, foul-smelling thing on my couch had been sleeping nearly twenty-four hours, and no matter how hard I shook her, how loudly I yelled, she refused to wake up. Now she was burning up, her skin hot to the touch, and a sheen of sweat coated her filthy body.
She was starving, no doubt dehydrated as well, but no matter how many times I’d tried to pour water down her throat, several moments later it came right back up.
She was dying, or would be soon, and not from her superficial wounds. While the knife injury had been a bleeder, it wasn’t life threatening. I’d suffered far worse injuries without issue. But she was weaker than I’d ever been, and this was probably the ugly result of a combination of malnutrition, shock, and infection.
But more disconcerting was why the fuck I cared? I didn’t know her, and even if I did, even if she were one of the whores I visited regularly or any one of the number of people living in Purgatory, I still wouldn’t have given a damn. With the exception of a select few, whenever someone was dying—and someone was always dying here—I didn’t care.
And if she didn’t die, what the hell was I supposed to do with her? I had no way of getting her outside the gates. I’d secured Jeffers’s distrust after my epic fuckup with Wildcat. There was no way I’d be allowed in or out without being searched first.
Gritting my teeth, I continued pacing. What I wouldn’t give for a cigarette, an entire pack of cigarettes, a bottle of the good stuff, and a dark corner to sit in. To die in.
“Fuck!” I bellowed. Coming to a halt, I sent my fist into the nearest object—a large oak armoire. My knuckles cracked against the wood, and hot waves of pain shot up through my hand and arm. Cursing, I pulled back, shook the pain out, and again sent my fist into the wood, effectively splitting the door in two. The entire cabinet shook, and the items on the top shelf spilled to the floor.
Avoiding the waterfall of useless shit, I took a step back to survey what fell—a pile of books, a broken wrench, plastic bottles, and a paper bag. I reached for the bag and pulled it open to stare at the contents, small bottles of shampoo and wrapped bars of soap, vaguely recalling the day I’d acquired them. It had been on a scavenging run, at some hotel a few miles from Purgatory. We’d taken everything, even the paintings on the walls.
After turning to look at the limp form lying on my couch, I glanced down at the bag in my hand and cursed. I could let her die or I could save her. But in order to save her I’d have to clean her, feed her, and hunt her down some antibiotics. Letting her die would be the easiest option, the least demanding of me and my time, but then why the hell had I picked her up and brought her back here in the first place? And why was I already making my way across the room, my attention fixed on the two large plastic storage tubs stacked in the corner?
Pulling the top tub free, I blew a layer of dust off the top and pried the lid open. Several spiders scurried out, and the ones that didn’t I flicked free of their webs. Tossing the tub into the center of the room, I stared at it.
I didn’t have nearly enough clean water to fill it; the only water I kept in bulk was as dirty as the earth it came from. But why waste clean water on her? As it was, it would take three or more baths before she’d resemble a human being.
I was halfway through pouring the third container of water into the tub when she began to stir, moaning in pain. After dumping out the last of it, I noted the tub was now three-quarters of the way full, so I made my way to her and yanked the blanket from her body.
“Fuck,” I muttered, looking her over. “You really fucking stink.”
Her shirt was already torn down the center, but it still took quite a bit of maneuvering on my part to free her from it. Her pants were worse, stuck to her body in various places, and tied around her waist with a thick rope, the intricate knot rather impressive. Eventually I gave up trying to pull the rope free and simply sliced it off with a blade. When I pulled the stiff material down her legs, I was greeted with an entirely new set of smells, and none of them good.
Taking a step back, I closed my eyes and tried to breathe through the sudden blinding rage filling me. This was why I didn’t bother. This was why I didn’t involve myself in others’ bullshit. People like her—people who thought covering themselves in shit and living in trees—weren’t my problem, and I sure as fuck didn’t owe anyone anything.
Who had been there to help my ass out in the beginning? Who the fuck had made sure I kept breathing? Who the fuck had taught me that while covering yourself in shit might keep the rotters at bay, but would kill you in a second if you happened to have an open wound?
It sure as hell hadn’t been Jeffers, the sniveling mess of a man that he’d been and still was. It was me, always me. And I didn’t owe anyone anything. Not anymore.
But if that were true, then why had I rescued her? Better yet, why was I picking her foul-smelling body up off the couch and lowering her slowly into a tub of water?
“Been doing a lot of shit lately that you shouldn’t,” I muttered.
Maybe you’re not doing nearly enough, the voice taunted.
