Page 115 of Prodigal Son

She sighed. “Because if I do, you’ll try to get dressed and leave, and you’re not in any kinda shape to do that. So.Go fish.”

He looked at his cards. At the rest of the deck sitting between them on top of the blankets, face-down. “I can’t believe you don’t know how to play poker,” he muttered, but reached for a new card to add to his hand.

“Too busy learning how to rebuild transmissions,” she said lightly, “no time for stupid card games.”

“There’s always time for stupid card games.”

The last of the morphine was wearing off, she could tell. He seemed tired – his eyelids heavy, body swaying slightly side to side every so often. But his mind was sharp again, and his unusual display of temper told her his pain was significant, as did the way he clenched his jaw. She was trying to distract him, but her own frustration was getting harder and harder to bite back. He needed some more drugs, and she was starting to entertain fantasies of pinching his nose shut and forcing him to dry-swallow one of the pills Flash had left behind.

Someone passed by outside: low voices, and footfalls muffled by the carpet runner. Albie lifted his head, one-eyed gaze going straight for the door. His jaw tightened an impossible fraction, and his hand clenched around the cards, bending the edges.

It was going to be a very long day.

And then a very long night.

Just leave, a tiny voice whispered in the back of her mind. Some last shred of stubbornness. But she pushed it away without any real thought. No, she was here. She wasn’t leaving. Like she’d told him: she cared.

“Will you at least put some ice on that eye?” she asked. “Before it swells up and takes over your entire face?”

He swallowed. “Yes.”

Axelle popped up, grateful for the chance to stretch her legs – she wasn’t used to all this sitting around bullshit – and went to the door, intending to go down to the kitchen. Someone waited in the hall, though. A prospect, leaning back against the wall, arms folded.

He lifted his brows. “Need something?”

She stepped out and pulled the door to behind her. “Are you guarding the door?” she whispered.

He grinned. “Phil was afraid Albie might decide to hit you over the head and pull a runner.”

She snorted.

“Whatcha need, love?”

“An ice pack. For his eye. He’s not going to ‘hit me over the head,’ thanks, but he is gonna drive me crazy.”

He nodded like he’d expected as much. “Yeah. Sounds about right. I’ll be back.” He headed off, presumably in search of the ice pack.

She…lingered there in the hall. She wasn’t proud of it, but, care or not, Albie was driving her crazy.

“Hey,” someone said off to her right. Someone with an American accent.

She twisted around sharply, and was met with…a strange sight.

The man was tall. Very tall. Taller than anyone else here. Broad-shouldered. Intimidating. His hair was probably long when it wasn’t slicked back, and tied up. He wore a suit that, while it fit, looked out of place on him, for reasons she didn’t understand. He had a deeply tanned, handsome narrow face, and when he smiled, it slid across his lips at a roughish angle. He was wearing makeup, just enough to be noticeable.

“You’re Albie’s girl, right?” he asked.

“Uh. Yeah. Not really.”

His grin widened. “Ah.”

“Ah, what?”

“Nothing.” He chuckled. “You coming with us? Or you staying here?”

She couldn’t help but bristle. “I’ve gotta stay and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. Why? Is that a problem for you?”

“No.” He shook his head, and his smile seemed genuine – for what it was worth. “You just remind me of someone is all.”

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