Page 12 of Tater
That landed harder than any bullet.
Ren’s instinct was to deflect. Make a joke. Pretend it rolled right off. Instead, she let it sit for a second.
The dragon purred under my skin, pleased. “He’s ours.”
“Codependent much?” she said weakly.
“Shut up and take the fuckin’ compliment,” he said.
They fell into a quieter kind of silence then. Not comfortable exactly, but less jagged.
After a while, the ache in her ribs settled into a dull, steady burn. her eyelids felt heavy. The dragon pulsed warmth into the worst spots like a space heater fighting a draft.
“Any news from outside?” she asked, trying to stay awake.
“Hades Hellhounds went dark right after the hit,” Eagle said. “No bikes spotted near our lines, no poking at our gas station, nothing. Too quiet.”
“Licking their wounds,” Tater said. “Or lining up the next move.”
“You think they’re waiting to hit harder?” Ren asked.
“Maybe,” he said. “But they also know we’re pissed now. Any move they make, we’re gonna meet them with more than harsh language.”
“You gonna let me be there for that?” she asked.
He didn’t answer right away.
“Depends,” he said finally. “On if you can stand without falling on your face.”
“Pretty low bar.”
“For most people,” he said. “You, I’m raising it to ‘no internal organs visible’.”
She rolled her eyes. “Dictator.”
“President,” he corrected. “Heavy is the head, all that shit.”
The dragon snorted. It had opinions about kings and crowns.
She felt exhaustion dragging at her again, heavier this time. It was a different kind of pull — less like passing out, more like finally giving in.
Tater must’ve seen it. He squeezed her hand and stood.
“I gotta go run church,” he said. “The boys need to hear from me before rumors start breeding. You gonna be okay here for a bit?”
“I’d come with you if I could,” she said.
“I know.” He leaned down and brushed his lips against her forehead, just above the line of an old scar. “That’s half the problem.”
He straightened, picked up his cut from the back of the chair, slid into it. The weight settled across his shoulders like a question he already knew the answer to.
“Try to sleep,” he said. “Let the lizard work.”
“It’s a damn dragon,” she muttered.
“It can be whatever the hell it wants as long as it keeps you breathing,” he said, and then he was out the door, leaving the smell of leather and storm behind.
The door clicked shut.
