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I had friends in here. But out there, I just had Griffin. A faceless entity that was my only link to a previous life that felt as if it were slipping further and further away every single day.
“You’re not a just a soldier,” he argued. “You’re an integral part of this investigation and you’re doing a great job.”
“Yeah,” I spat. “A soldier.” I blew out a sigh into the receiver. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take, Griffin.”
“You’ll take it all,” he insisted. “Just remember who your real family is. And know that we’re all out here for you. Even if I’m the only one you’re stuck talking to.”
“I like talking to you,” I said softly. “You keep me human.”
“And you keep me sane,” he agreed.
I jumped at the sound of someone pounding on my apartment door.
“I’ve gotta go,” I said quickly, disconnecting the call as I scrambled to my feet and headed back into the living room. “Who’s there?”
“It’s Speedball,” a chipper voice called back. “I’m here to play candy stripper.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” I said as I opened the door and let him inside.
“I’m an adult and I’ll do as I please,” he insisted, dropping his backpack onto the coffee table and lowering his gaze to my chest. “That looks terrible.”
“It’s fine,” I lied. “Look, I’ve got to get some sleep.”
“Well, you’re not going to be able to sleep like that,” he said, gesturing toward the red, raw brand on my right pec. “Come on, let Kenny take care of you.”
“Whatever.” I walked into the bedroom and kicked off my shoes before dropping onto my back on the mattress.
Kenny followed me in, his bag in his hand again. He climbed up next to me and pulled it into his lap, popping open different compartments and removing various first aid products from its depths.
“God, you weren’t kidding,” I said, watching as he methodically opened jars, cut gauze and snipped pieces of tape.
“Nope,” he agreed, grinning down at me. “You want me to do this naked?”
“No, thank you,” I said firmly. “You don’t have to do any of this. I can take care of myself.”
“None of you can take care of yourselves,” he said, rolling his eyes before starting to smooth a cold paste over the burns on my chest.
I hissed and tried to shrink away, but he held me down with his free hand, possessing far more strength than I would have given him credit for.
When he was done with the ointment, he placed a square of gauze over it and taped it down. Then he slapped his palm down over the burn.
“Mother fucker!” I yelled, knocking him away as he giggled. “You’re an asshole.”
“I know,” he agreed. “But you love me.”
I did love him. He was too sweet not to love. He was like the little brother of everyone in our district. But while most of the guys showed their love by getting him high as fuck and using him as entertainment, I actually considered him my family, and I tried like hell to protect him.
“You want a hand job?” he asked, settling against my side and running his fingers lightly down my stomach. “It might help take your mind off the pain.”
“No,” I said, threading my fingers through his to keep them from straying lower. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m good.”
“Okay,” he said, pulling away to roll over. I could hear him digging in his bag, then he came back to me and pressed a pill against my lips. “Swallow.”
I accepted the pill from him, trusting that it would be for the pain, and he hadn’t just roofied me or something.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered, settling into me again. “The first one’s free.”
“The Oxy or the hand job?” I asked.
