Page 94 of Coerced

“Oh, no! Of course you need to save your friends. Don’t even worry about me.”

“Do you have family or anyone who may be looking for you?” I stuffed my hands in my pockets. This would be so much easier if we could dump her off in someone else’s lap.

“No.”

There goes that idea.

“Okay, enough. The rest can come later.” Gigi stood suddenly and flapped a hand at us, taking over like a battlefield general. Her accent peeked out and I hid a smile. “Y’all go to the diner and fetch us some food while Mira takes a bath.”

#

Gigi was right.

Although I didn’t quite understand the expression she’d used, I learned this sleepy little towndidshut down after dark. Me and Travis were the last customers at the diner, and, when he asked, the cashier said nothing would be open until morning.

We ate our late supper in the girls’ room. Mira managed to keep down a cup of tomato soup. She looked better after her bath, but was still exhausted.

John, on the other hand, looked terrible. He didn’t eat much, saying he felt nauseous and had a headache. I made him take two more pills and Travis promised to check on him throughout the night.

When we got to our room, I noticed Rome’s face was flushed and he held his damaged arm stiffly. He favored that side, too, as he sat on his bed and wrestled out of his boots and jeans.

Mira is an armload to carry around. His ribs must be killing him. I don’t trust myself too much, but I should try to help him.

“Should we check your wounds?”

“Only if you smell something putrid.” He crawled into bed.

Although I had never heard ‘putrid’ before, I understood and nodded. A wound stunk if it became infected.

Not knowing what else to do, I picked up my sketchbook, put it down again, and fiddled with the blinds until they closed without a gap. I thought about going for a run, but didn’t want to leave the others unprotected. With a sigh, I started to pace.

“Stop that! Jeez!” He rolled over and covered his head with a pillow. “At least rest if you can’t sleep, or you’ll be fit for nothing tomorrow.”

“Sorry.” Falling on top of my bed, I spread out my arms and legs and stared at the ceiling.

“Want to talk?” he asked after a minute, his voice muffled by the pillow.

“’Bout what?”

“It doesn’t matter, does it? Why does Gemma call you—”

“Don’t talk about her!” I barked. “What’s college like?”

“Oh. Boring, to be honest.” He uncovered his head. “At least for me it is. Probably would be for you, too. I can’t see you taking notes and listening to an hour-long lecture and enjoying it.”

“Ugh. Sounds worse than high school. Do you have to go to college to go on missions?”

“No. You’re on a team. When it pulls out, you go along. That’s why there are so many nephilim who live at the Sanctuary. It’s hard to cut out of a job at a moment’s notice in the human world.”

“Does it pay well?”

“Sure. And you can freelance while working for the Council, too. As long as you live at the Sanctuary and serve, the Council pays you and covers your mission expenses. Freelancing, though, gives you that extra for a nest egg. You should talk to your warden about money. He or she could guide you better than I can about finances.”

“I ain’t worried about money.”

I had plenty of it stashed away, and getting more was easy.

It’s after midnight and he’s injured. I should be quiet so he can sleep.

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