HUNTER (The Corbin Brothers Book 1) (46 page)

“Well, I have to keep you awake, for one,” she said. “So no falling asleep.”

I groaned. “I’m super tired, Casey. I could fall asleep right here on the toilet.”

“Fall asleep and you might never wake up,” she warned. “You could slip into a coma because of the trauma your brain has been threw. The punch — did it happen before or after you jumped out of the window?”

“Before.”

Casey sucked in air through her teeth and shook her head. “I don’t know how you had the balance to hit the dumpster if you already had a concussion,” she said. “You probably worsened it when you landed, too.”

“It was that or get shot,” I said. “Plain and simple.”

“You gotta do what you gotta do,” she remarked. “You don’t have to stay up all night. Just for a few hours, to make sure you’re okay. The concussion looks like it’s moderate, and you might have balance issues or difficulty remembering things for a few days. You’ll also have a headache. If this lasts longer than a week, we’ll have to go to a doctor. No excuses.”

“I understand.”

“Glass out of head, concussion diagnosed,” Casey muttered. “A bite mark? On your boob? Let’s see.”

I hesitated, my hand at the collar of my shirt.

“Don’t be shy,” she said, laughing. “Come on. I mean, I just yanked a huge chunk of glass from your forehead, Cocoa. We’re practically lovers.”

I laughed, too, at Casey’s zaniness. She was going to make a great nurse. If she could get me, her patient, to open up so easily, she’d have no problem with anyone else. I gingerly took my shirt off, easing it over my head with Casey’s help.

My bra was covering the bite. I pulled the cup down, taking my breast out.

“Goddamn,” Casey said. “And that’s my professional opinion. You can quote me. Did you kill the fucker? Please tell me you did.”

I looked down, my eyes widening at the bite mark. It was throbbing and swollen. I could see the shape of each tooth in the ring of bruises, the skin broken in many different places.

“I didn’t kill him,” I said, feeling almost glum about it. “It happened in the middle of my workplace — well, my former place of work. There were people all around me. He punched me, fell on me, and then bit me.”

“Didn’t anyone do anything?” Casey asked, wetting a square of gauze with alcohol. “One, two, three, Cocoa.”

She swept the alcohol-soaked pad over my injury, wincing when I winced.

“God, that stings,” I groaned.

“That’s how you know it’s working,” she said, paying special attention to each point of broken skin. “The human mouth is a disgusting place. You could get a nasty infection if we don’t clean it out.”

An infection from that horrible man — Mike? No, thank you.

“Do you want to just pour the whole bottle over it?” I asked.

Casey laughed. “No need to,” she said. “I’m very thorough.”

“Yes, you are,” I said. “And no, no one did anything until the bouncers pulled him off of me.”

“Assholes,” she commented. “Did you defend yourself? Give as good as you got?”

I felt ashamed as I shook my head, feeling like I deserved the sting of the alcohol on my chest. “I tried to hit at him, but he was so drunk it was like I wasn’t doing anything.”

Casey nodded. “As soon as you get well again, I’m going to teach you some basic self-defense. It’s good to know. I took a class when I started my night job and let me tell you — once you get a reputation of being a balls kicker, you get a healthy dose of respect. You just have to threaten to do it, most of the time.”

“What kind of night job necessitates being a balls kicker?” I asked.

“Stripping does,” Casey said, discarding the gauze pad and soaking another in alcohol before going over the bite mark again. I was thankful she was being so methodical about it. What she’d said about mouth germs freaked me out.

“That’s cool,” I said, sucking in my breath at the fresh alcohol burning the bacteria away.

“Whatever,” Casey said. “I know you’re judging me. Everyone does.”

“No judgment,” I protested. “Why would I do that?”

“You know,” Casey said, looking insecure for the first time that night. “Everyone says that strippers are just single moms, or druggies, or nymphos. Really, most of the girls at my work are just desperate. They need to make a buck and have the body to make it possible.”

“I think it’s fine,” I said. “You said it yourself — you gotta do what you gotta do.”

“It’s damn good money,” Casey remarked, throwing the gauze pad away and putting a large bandage on my breast. “It’s paying for my school, and it puts a dent in the rent.”

She handed me a soft pink robe that had been hanging from a hook on the back of the bathroom door. I took it gratefully, covering my nakedness.

“Let’s see, injury tally,” Casey said. “Glass in head, check. Concussion, check. Boob bite, check. Your ribs are going to have to, unfortunately, heal themselves. They do that. So, check, but I’ll give you something for the pain when we finish getting you cleaned up. Now, onto that ankle.”

She helped me prop my leg up on the side of the tub. Casey untied my sneaker and got my sock off before rolling up the leg of my jeans.

“Oh, God,” I said, looking at the swollen mass my ankle had become.

“I can’t believe you were walking on this,” Casey said, looking at me with amazement.

“Running, at one point,” I said.

“You’re a tough cookie,” Casey said. “Well, since you already said it, I can say it. The ankle looks like shit, Cocoa. For tonight, all I can do for you is ice it, elevate it, and keep your weight off of it. Tomorrow, you’re going to come to school with me.”

“I am?” I asked, confused.

“Yes,” Casey confirmed. “As long as you don’t mind a bunch of nursing students ogling your ankle and the X-rays we’ll do, you’ll get free care. Most of us are pretty good.”

“If any of them are half as good as you, I’ll be fine,” I said. “You’re going to be a hell of a nurse, Casey.”

“I’m already a hell of a stripper,” she said, grinning. “Some days, I wonder if I’m making the right career move with this nurse stuff. If I wasn’t paying for school, I’d never have to take in a roommate.”

“For my sake, I’m glad that you’re going to school and have need for a roommate,” I said. “I lucked out.”

“I guess we have Sandra to thank for that,” Casey said, busying herself with packing up her first aid kit.

“Sandra,” I repeated, racking my brain. “Oh, of course. Sandra. It’s just that we called her Blue at the nightclub. It’s hard to think of her as anything else.”

“Blue,” Casey tried out, narrowing her eyes. “Her eyes. Makes sense.”

“How do you know her?” I asked.

“We met at a party, before she went to the nightclub,” Casey said. “We kind of hit it off — oh. I’m bisexual. Is that a problem?”

“Nope,” I said. It wasn’t. In my opinion, there were two types of people in the world: good guys and bad guys. Sometimes, the lines blurred between the two, but at the end of the day, they always made themselves know.

Mama? Bad guy. Casey? Good guy. I didn’t care what got her off. I thought back to my own recent experience with the couple, Johnny and Electra. I’d had fun, especially since I was getting paid to do so, but women just weren’t my thing.

To be honest, I wasn’t certain that sex at all was my thing. I’d had so many bad experiences — along with so many emotionless fucks — that I felt like I could go the rest of my life without having sex ever again. I was probably ruined, too, unable to open myself up to love after everything I’d been through.

“Great,” Casey said. “That would’ve been awkward if it had been a problem.”

“You got to cop a free feel, though,” I joked, pointing at my bandaged breast. “I let you get away with it because you were fixing me up.”

“I’ll consider it a payment,” Casey said.

We both laughed. “Wait, so Blue — I mean Sandra — is bisexual?” I asked. “I never knew.”

“That was my problem, too,” Casey said. “I never knew. She’s just a free spirit. After that night, she was hard to get a hold of. Then I get a letter telling me she moved into some weird boarding house and was bartending at the same place and would I be her pen pal? It was trippy. We write letters every so often.”

“She marches to the beat of her own drum, that one,” I said. “I love her like a sister. She saved my life tonight.”

“To Sandra,” Casey said, raising an imaginary glass.

“To Blue,” I agreed, raising an imaginary glass of my own. We made them “clink” and laughed at our silliness.

“I bet you’d like to take a shower,” Casey said.

I eyed the tub. “I’ve been taking showers for the last nine years of my life,” I said. “Would you mind if I took a bath?”

“I’d mind it if you fell asleep and drowned,” Casey said. “So you’d better not do that. A bath’ll do you some good — ease your sore muscles and help your ribs.”

She pulled back the shower curtain and turned on the water, adjusting the knobs until a steaming stream of hot water came out. The tub started filling as she plugged it up.

“I don’t want to drown in your bathtub,” I said. “Do you have any bubbles? You could stay in here with me, keep talking to me to keep me awake.”

“Are you coming on to me?” Casey teased, pouring part of a bottle of fragrant liquid into the water. Immediately, the bathroom smelled of roses, foam rising in the tub. “Let me help you with your clothes.”

“Now you’re the one coming on to me,” I said, grinning. “I was hoping you’d ask that. I don’t think I have the strength to get them off of me.”

Casey’s touch was gentle and politely clinical. When I was naked and the tub was full, she helped me climb over the ledge and ease down into the bubbles.

“Fuck,” I said, drawing out the vowel at the exquisite feeling of being submerged in water for the first time in way too long. “Oh fuck. I feel like crying. I feel like singing.”

“Has it really been nine years since your last bath?” Casey asked.

“Boarding house,” I said, shrugging. “Common bathrooms, showers only.”

“Lame,” Casey commented. “So tell me about this boarding house set up. Did it have a bar or what? How did it work? Sandra never explained it very well.”

Casey had taken me into her home, dressed my wounds, and seen me naked. I didn’t see a point in holding back. I cupped my hands and brought some of the water to my face, enjoying the way it ran down my neck and chest.

“There was a boarding house,” I said, “but we didn’t pay for room or board. We worked for it.”

“Is that legal?” Casey asked. “It seems like an easy way to swindle people.”

“That became apparent to me pretty recently,” I said. “The reason I was getting shot at was because I tried to withdraw my earnings from working. There was a nightclub below the boarding house. We were all waitresses, except for Blue and a couple of other girls. They tended bar.”

“I think I understand,” Casey said, propping her chin up on her fist. She studied her pink toenails. “So you had to withdraw the money you earned from a bank?”

“Mama was the bank,” I said, the memory of her wild look and ugly gun making me shiver. “She kept all our earnings locked up in a safe in her office. We’d even give her our tips for safekeeping.”

“Sounds like a swindle,” she remarked.