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Blinking fiercely, he said, “Where’s your fucking gear, man? You know, the yellow suit.”

V smiled, his eyes a little shiny as if he too were choked up.

“Don’t worry, I’m covered. So, I guess you’re back, true?”

“And ready to rock and roll.”

“Really.”

“For sure. I’m thinking about a future in contracting. Wanted to see how this bathroom was put together. Excellent tile work. You should check it.”

“How about I carry you back to bed?”

“I want to look at the sink pipes next.”

Respect and affection clearly drove V’s cool smirk. “At least let me help you up.”

“Nah, I can do it.” With a groan, Butch gave the vertical move a shot, but then eased back down onto the tile. Turned out lifting his head was a little overwhelming. But if they left him here long enough—a week, maybe ten days?

“Come on, cop. Cry uncle here and let me help.”

Butch was suddenly too tired to front. As he went totally limp, he was aware of Marissa staring at him and thought, man, could he look any weaker? Shit, the only saving grace was that there wasn’t a cold breeze on his butt.

Which suggested the hospital gown had stayed closed. Thank you, God.

V’s thick arms tunneled under him and then he was lifted easily. As they went forward, he refused to let his head rest on his friend’s shoulder, even though it gave him the sweats to keep the thing upright. When he was back on the bed, shivers racked his whole body and the room spun.

Before V straightened, Butch grabbed the male’s arm and whispered, “I need to talk to you. Alone.”

“What’s doing?” V said with equal quiet.

Butch looked over at Marissa, who was hovering in the corner.

With a flush, she glanced at the bathroom, then picked up two large paper bags. “I think I’ll take a shower. Will you excuse me?” She didn’t wait for a response, just disappeared into the loo.

As the door shut, V sat on the edge of the bed. “Talk to me.”

“What kind of danger is she in?”

“I’ve taken care of her and three days in, she seems fine. She can probably leave soon. We’re all pretty convinced by now there’s no cross-infection thing going on.”

“What’s she been exposed to? What was I exposed to?”

“You know you were with the lessers, true?”

Butch lifted one of his busted-up hands. “And here I thought I’d been to Elizabeth Arden.”

“Smart-ass. You were there about a day—”

Abruptly, he grabbed V’s arm. “I didn’t crack. No matter what they did to me, I didn’t say a thing about the Brotherhood. I swear.”

V put his hand over Butch’s and squeezed. “I know you didn’t, my man. I know you wouldn’t.”

“Good.”

As they both let go, V’s eyes went to Butch’s fingertips, as if he were imagining what had been done to them. “What do you remember?”

“Only the feelings. The pain and the…dread. Fear. Pride…the pride is how I know I didn’t squeal, how I know they didn’t break me.”

V nodded and drew a hand-rolled out of his pocket. Just be fore he lit up, he looked at the oxygen feed, cursed, and put the cig back. “Listen, buddy, I gotta ask…you okay in the head? I mean, going through something like that—”

“I’m cool. Always was too dumb to have PTSD or some shit, and besides, I’ve got no real memory of what went down. As long as Marissa can walk out of here okay, then, yeah, I’m fine.” He scrubbed his face, feeling the itch of his beard growth, then dropped his arm. As his hand landed on his abdomen, he thought of the black wound. “You have any idea what they did to me?”

When V shook his head, Butch cursed. The guy was like a walking Google link, so him not knowing was a bad thing.

“But I’m on it, cop. I will find an answer for you, I promise.” The brother nodded at Butch’s stomach. “So how’s it look?”

“Don’t know. Been too busy being in a coma to worry about my six-pack.”

“Mind if I?”

Butch shrugged and pushed the covers down. As V lifted up the hospital johnny, they both looked down at his belly. The skin was not right around the wound, all gray and puckered.

“Does it hurt?” V asked.

“Like a mother. Feels…cold. Like there’s dry ice in my gut.”

“Will you let me do something?