Page 8 of Reaper and Ruin
I sighed. “Can we talk about this when we aren’t soaking wet and half drowned?”
Grayson eyed me, but his gaze quickly turned to Whip and hovered there, visually checking him out with his doctor’s eye, even though his words were for me. “Or you can give me the CliffsNotes now because I won’t sleep a fucking wink until I know what the hell happened with all of you tonight.”
I sighed, palming the back of my neck and trying to pick which piece of information to feed him first. “There’s a pile of bodies out at Trigger’s favorite dump spot.”
Grayson shrugged. “So?”
“Female bodies,” Whip filled in wearily. “Mutilated, tortured, abused bodies, who, without checking their ID, I’m sure are not on the list.”
Gray recoiled. “You think Trig and Ace and Torch…”
I shook my head. “No. Shit, I dunno. Maybe. It could be this fucker messing with us, trying to set us up.”
“Or yeah,” Whip practically drawled. “Or we’ve been looking outside the group the whole time when maybe we should have been paying attention to those in it.”
The thought left a sour taste in my mouth, and clearly one in Grayson’s too. None of us wanted to believe Trigger or Ace or Torch were responsible for that pile of bodies we’d found. And yet, the possibility couldn’t be ruled out either.
Whip coughed again and leaned heavily on the brick wall, looking like he was ready to pass out on his feet at any minute.
I moved in, making sure I was close enough to catch him if he decided to go and faint or something.
Gray noticed too, and ran his hands through his already messed-up hair, his brain clearly working overtime. “Nobody says a word about this until we can properly debrief with X and Violet. Where are they anyway?”
“Pretty sure they’re off celebrating life by running with the bulls or swimming with sharks,” I said dryly.
Whip coughed. “Please don’t even joke about swimming right now. I don’t think I’m ever getting in the water again. Why does he get to feel like a million bucks while I feel like death?”
“Because he’s fifteen years younger than you maybe?”
Whip shot me a dirty look.
Grayson nodded. “Go on. We’ll talk more tomorrow. Whip, if that cough gets out of hand or you start having chest pain or breathing difficulties—”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll call you.”
Grayson crossed his arms over his chest and nodded, clearly not one-hundred-percent happy with the fact not much could be done tonight. “He doesn’t go out of your sight, Levi. Not even for ten minutes. Someone needs to watch him, and if he’s not going to go up to the hospital, then it needs to be you.”
I nodded, taking the responsibility seriously because I knew Grayson wasn’t just blowing smoke up my ass. Even I could see Whip was exhausted, and he had to have taken in a lot of water when X had been holding on to him for dear life.
“I’ve got him,” I assured Doc, while Whip muttered complaints over us talking about him like he wasn’t even in the room.
Doc disappeared into the darkness of the night, his footsteps crunching over dead leaves as he made his way back through the darkness to the house he and his family shared within the Slayers’ compound.
Whip could barely peel himself off the wall. He stumbled, and I caught him, getting myself beneath his arm and helping him inside.
“Bourbon,” Whip requested passing the bar.
“Not a fucking chance.” Though I really wanted one as well, I was too scared to let him drink when he looked as rough as he did. “Shower and bed. You can drink if you’re still alive in the morning.”
Whip raised an eyebrow and trudged along the hallway. “Some lovely, positively uplifting words of encouragement. Thank you, Levi.”
Whatever.
I half dragged him to my room, locking the door behind us.
Whip moved to sit on the bed, his legs giving up the fight now that the adrenaline had worn off and his body knew he was somewhere safe.
“Nope, not going to bed in wet clothes.” I hauled him toward the bathroom. “Shower.”
