Page 25 of Sully

“I have home, car, and purse ibuprofen,” I admitted.

“Getting older is fun, right?” Sully asked, shaking his head. “I have a knee that tells me when it’s gonna rain. But because your head got bumped, we’re gonna skip the ibuprofen and go with some acetaminophen instead.”

“Okay,” I agreed, pulling my arms out of the blanket to reach and start to slide up the sleeve of my shirt.

“What’s up?” Sully asked when I strained to look.

“My arm is sore,” I told him, twisting to attempt to get a better look, but it was no use.

“Can I look?” he asked, scooting the lamp closer.

“Sure,” I agreed, yanking my sleeve up higher. “Do you see anything?” I asked when he leaned over, making his hair fall forward to curtain his face, and bringing a new rush of that peaches and vanilla scent. Was it his shampoo that smelled so good?

“Uh, yeah,” he said with a sigh as he moved to straighten again. “Unfortunately, yeah.”

“What does that mean? What is it?”

“I’m no expert, but it looks like a needle mark.”

“A needle mark?”

“I was kind of wondering about that, actually. But didn’t want to freak you out.”

“Well, you’re freaking me out now,” I said, feeling my chest already starting to grow tight.

“So, you know that thing in movies and TV where someone gets hit on the head… then they wake up hours later?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s mostly bullshit. I mean, for moderate or severe brain injuries, it’s possible. But most people who knock out from getting hit on the head are out for less than fifteen minutes.”

“But I—“

“Was kept for hours, yeah,” he finished for me. “Which made me wonder how he kept you out for longer. This,” he said, waving toward my arm, “seems to explain it.”

“He drugged me? Shouldn’t I… feel something?”

“I think you probably slept most of it off. Then, when you woke up, the adrenaline you felt about the bomb and shit kinda counteracted any lingering effects.”

“What could he have used?”

“There are a few things,” Sully said, shrugging his shoulder. “None of them are anything to worry about since you’re here, you’re awake, and you’re not experiencing any weird side effects.”

“Okay,” I said, but the way my heart was pounding said nothing at all was okay about that.

“But it might also give me… something to go on.”

“How so?”

“There’s really nothing he could have had legally to knock you out like that. Which means the club can start hitting up local dealers, see if anyone had a client who fit your rough description.”

‘Rough’ was hardly an adequate word. I mean, I’d had almost nothing to give him. Average height and husky with tight clothes? No hair or eye color. No tattoos. Nothing useful.

But maybe we could hope for a little miracle.

“I’m just gonna grab you those meds,” he said, walking into the bathroom, rattling around, then coming back with two pills that I happily took, though it seemed like they got stuck in my too-tight throat.

“Thanks,” I said, then stiffened as the door pushed open behind him. I really didn’t think I could handle another person right then.

---