Page 121 of The Slayer
Even if he knew it was the worst sin, letting her heal him, because one of these days the stain was going to stick to her.
Chuito just hoped he worked up the willpower to get out of her life before it happened.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Garnet County
October 2014
Present Day
Tino had whiskey.
He had Vicodin too.
And there wasn’t milk or aspirin in sight.
Chuito almost congratulated himself for knowing that Tino had been full of shit in the sheriff’s office when he told Wyatt he was kidding.
“Motherfucker.” Chuito looked at the bottle on the table. “You can’t take this shit. It’s a narcotic.”
“I know.” Tino grinned at Chuito as he sat across from him at the table. “That’s sorta why I like it.”
“It’s gonna show up on a drug test.”
“I don’t have another fight until next month. We’re good,” Tino said as if that explained it. “Besides, it’s got my name on the bottle. I dislocated my shoulder. I can legally take a fucking Vicodin when my best friend jerks my arm outta the socket.”
“This prescription is four months old.”
“And there are still pills in the bottle.” Tino sounded very proud of himself. “Give me some credit.”
“Man, you’re better than me. I can’t take any of it. No matter how bad the injury is, I can’t let them write me a script like this. I’d swallow the bottle in three days. I wanna swallow it right now.”
“Yeah, me too.” Tino took a sip from his very large glass of whiskey. “Give it to me.”
“Considering what you associate stimulants with”—Chuito looked at Tino harshly—“I’d rather not.”
“Good point.” Tino leaned over the table and set the bottle between them like an ominous symbol of everything it represented to both of them. He got up and poured Chuito a glass of whiskey and handed it to him. Then he clinked the one in his hand with it and toasted. “To downers.”
“To downers.” Chuito agreed and drank half the glass, because he saw it for what it was, an offering of something that was the exact opposite of violence.
“Damn.” Tino winced as he watched Chuito drink. “I shudder to think what you did with blow.”
“Right?” Chuito laughed. “Now you know why I can’t take Vicodin.”
Tino sat down and studied him for a long moment, taking a drink, but doing it like an Italian, savoring it like the pendejos who made Johnnie Walker did it just for him.
“Okay, so tell me, ’cause I gotta know,” Tino started as he stretched out in the chair, dark gaze still leveled at Chuito. “How good is the sex that had you spilling your guts like that? ’Cause I sure haven’t fucked a woman who made life in prison sound like a good idea.”
Chuito looked at his glass, considering the question. “Pretty fucking good.”
“Your back’s all fucked-up,” Tino pointed out. “She’s a scratcher. I like scratchers. It’s always the quiet ones. Always.”
“She fucked me like a criminal,” Chuito admitted as he closed his eyes. “It messed up my sensors.”
“I guess.” Tino took another drink. “Did you tell her about Nova?”
“No.” Chuito shook his head. “But she noticed the ink is the same as yours. She did notice, and I’m sorry about that.”
