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A fresh worm of worry winds through me. What the hell is going on? Has something happened to Tino? Is he sick? I can’t help but relate to my own situation, thinking of how helpless I am during a seizure. I’d hate to think of Tino going through something like that.
“Can you break down the door?” I ask the neighbor.
He arches his brow at me. “Do I look like I should be in an action movie? Are you nuts?”
He might not break down the door, but I know two guys who definitely will. I’ve barely recovered from my sprint up the stairs, but I turn and race right back down them.
By the time I return, I fear they’ll both be dead.
I burst back into the den. Dom and Kirill are sitting on the floor, on the opposite sides of the room, both with their knees bent and heads in their hands. They’re bloodied and bruised, but it doesn’t look as though they’ve done each other any serious damage.
“You’re done, then?” I glare at them.
Dom shrugs. “For the moment.”
“And what the hell did any of this fix?”
“Nothing, but it made us feel better.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better, because something is wrong with Tino. He’s in his room, but not coming to the door. You need to come with me and get it open.”
Dom frowns. “He wasn’t answering my call earlier.”
“Yeah, ’cause maybe he can’t. Now get the fuck off the floor and come with me.” Kirill looks my way, and I nod. “You, too.”
Together, we run back up to Tino’s room. The neighbor is still lurking outside, though I suspect he’s drawn more by the drama than any desire to help.
Dom bangs on the door the same way I did only moments before. “Tino? Open up, dude. We need to know you’re all right.”
No response comes.
“Can you break it open?” I ask.
Kirill steps forward, pushing us out of the way. “I’ll do it.”
Instead of shoulder barging the door, he turns to put his back to it, then lifts his knee at a ninety-degree angle, and kicks backward as hard as he can. The door shudders but doesn’t give, so he repeats the process, and then one more time.
The door bursts inward.
Tino is lying on the bed on his back, but something about the way he’s positioned doesn’t feel natural. My heart lurches into my throat. I race over to the bed and shake his shoulder. He doesn’t respond. It’s like shaking a ragdoll. His normally olive skin is pale, and his lips have a tinge of blue to them.
Is he alive?
“Tino?” I cry.
Why isn’t he waking up?
Dom pries open one of Tino’s eyelids. His pupils are pinpoints, though they should be wide from the lack of light.
Dom drops Kirill’s eyelid again. “Fuck, he’s unconscious.”
I study his chest, desperately watching for the rise and fall. His breathing is shallow, but it’s there. At least he’s alive.
There’s a half-drunk bottle of vodka on the floor, and on the nightstand is a bottle of pills. Dom picks them up and reads the label. “Oxycontin. Shit.”
My head is all in a muddle. Tino has overdosed? Why would he do that? He wouldn’t do something so desperate because of me, would he? I’m not even going to try to pretend I’m important enough in his life to make such a terrible decision for. The other Devils, though, maybe? Perhaps he couldn’t stand the idea of no longer being like brothers?
The thought is powerful enough to knock the breath from my lungs. Have I done this? Have I come between them, and this is the result? I’ll never forgive myself.
