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“What happened?”
“You were attacked at Miss Marcy’s.”
Miss Marcy’s.
A piano played in a room thick with tobacco smoke. Peter sat across the card table, holding his hand too close to his chest. Jesse remembered Izzy at the keys, playing faster as voices rose near the back hall.
Then nothing he could put in order.
He pushed against the mattress to sit up. His left arm took some of his weight. His right refused to follow. A sharp pain tore through his ribs, and the room tipped sideways.
Nate caught his shoulder. “Stay down.”
Jesse gagged. A basin appeared beneath his chin, and he retched until his injured side cramped. There was little in his stomach to bring up.
Carolina steadied him while Nate held the basin.
“Try a slow breath,” she said.
Jesse couldn’t bear having her witness this. He reached for the basin to shove it away, but his right hand struck the edge and fell back onto the blanket.
Nate wiped his mouth with a damp cloth.
“Stop.”
Nate drew back. “All right.”
Jesse kept his eye closed until the nausea eased. When he opened it again, Carolina stood near the foot of the bed, holding the basin. She met his gaze, then quietly carried it away.
He was grateful. He hated she knew why.
Nate remained beside him, sleeves rolled past his elbows, his eyes bloodshot.
“How long?” Jesse managed.
“Long enough to give us a fright.”
Jesse tried to follow the answer, but the hours behind him wouldn’t come together.
“Izzy.”
“She’s safe.”
He gripped the sheet. “Peter?”
“Alive. Bruised, but he’ll recover.”
Jesse let his breath out. He could see Peter’s cards again. A red king. Someone laughing in the hall. The shine of polished boots beneath a table.
“Do you remember who attacked you?” Nate asked.
Jesse searched for a face. Lamplight caught a silver tooth; a man’s voice spoke from somewhere out of sight. Then pain crowded the memory away.
“No.”
“Don’t force it.”
Jesse tried to lift his right hand.
