Hunted (A Sinners Series Book 2)

“No, why would I assume that?” she asks, her voice incredulous.

“Was there anything else they had you do?”

“No.”

“How about your information—did they write your name down?”

“Yes.” I release her wrists, and she flops back down to her pillow. “This is ridiculous.”

The door opens, and Cole stands there, pinching his nose. “You get everything you need out of her?”

I nod in his direction and then turn back to her and say, “I’ll be back to get you cleaned up.”

“No, wait! You know something don’t you?” Her voice dances on the edge of panic, and she speaks quickly, trying to grab my arm as I move back.

“I have to go.”

“Bitch. I answered your questions.” She narrows her eyes at me.

I leave the room and bolt the door, and Cole pulls me into his arms.

“Until we know everything about this virus, I’m not comfortable with you being around her.”

“She’s not contagious anymore; you heard Roméo.”

“Still. She’s evil.”

“Evil or not, she’s dying. And I’m not like Wilson. I won’t leave her in there to rot away in her own filth.”

“So let someone else take care of her.”

“Yeah, like who? Bill?”

“Why not?”

“You’re joking, right?” By the look on his face, I know he’s not.

Back in his room, Roméo is writing with his right leg crossed over his left, tapping his right foot in the air.

“They were told it was a vaccine, one that would keep them from getting the virus that’s going around the Hole,” I say, winded from my encounter with Amber. Roméo looks up at me as if I’m a distraction from important work. “They made them feel lucky, almost honored, that they were chosen.”

All eyes rest on me.

“Wilson’s a sick son of a bitch,” Bruno says. His tucks his hands into his pockets. Grace sits at his feet with her head leaning against his legs.

“So now what?” I ask Roméo.

“We document everything: her symptoms, how long they last. We count the hours or days that she lives. And we need to find out where in the hospital Sutton’s records are hidden. My guess is that Sutton could be the key to blowing this wide open.”

“His office,” I say with a shrug. “It’s the only place he charted. But wouldn’t Sutton have told us if he had anything to do with these experiments? If anything, he was trying to stop them.”

“He’s smarter than Wilson.” Cole says. “I imagine he hid any records well.”

I turn and rest my forehead against Cole’s chest; the softness of his cotton shirt feels good against my skin. He encloses me with his arms and kisses the top of my head. Then he pushes me away for a second.

“Roméo, is it safe to be around Amber?” Cole asks what we’re all thinking.

Roméo takes a second to consider the question before responding, “I don’t think she is contagious any longer. Otherwise, I wouldn’t risk your lives or mine.”

Zeus snores loudly from his spot in the far left corner of the room, and it draws our attention until Bruno speaks again.

“She may not be contagious anymore, but I’m pretty sure she’s dying. That’s not news anyone wants to hear.”

“Should we tell her?” Grace asks.

“Not yet,” Roméo says.

Cole shoves his hands into his pockets and shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“Okay, Bill, you got nominated to help me clean up Amber. Shall we do this?” I look at Bill, whose bushy eyebrows raise up on his forehead. They almost blend in with his wild hair.

“Why do I always get stuck cleaning up bodily fluids?” He looks genuinely offended. I shoot him a “because-you’re-crazy-as-hell” look, and he acquiesces. “I’ve got gloves, some bleach, and a few scrub brushes.”

“All right.”

Bill and I walk in unison, step for step. He fiddles with his fingers and counts quietly. He’s strange. But for some reason, I like being around him. Maybe because as annoying as he is, he makes me laugh at times.

“Lusty?”

“Bill?”

“What?”

“I’m not sure, you said my name first.”

“Oh right; I did. I hate to say it, but … I think this country’s going down the poop shoot.”

“I’m afraid you might be right.”

“I need another drink.”

“You’re still drinking?”

“Yup, just not as often as I would like.”

“How can you function, drinking all the time?”

“I don’t get drunk. I drink just enough to calm my nerves.”

He scratches the back of his head before picking a scab off his neck, and I smack his arm with the back of my hand. “Don’t do that. The last thing you want are any open wounds around Amber. Not to mention that’s completely gross.”

“It’s nice to know you care so much.”

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