Dirty Money (2 page)

“What?” She turned to look at me. A single line of sweat trailed down her chest and disappeared into her cleavage. So she was human.

“You’re kind of ripped.”

“Right.” Reese stared at my arms. “I’m toned. You’re ripped.”

“For real?” Slowly, I raised the bags I was carrying so my muscles would tense more. She rolled her eyes. “You into that?”

“Shut up.” Reese set her bags on the floor and crossed to where I was standing. A ripple went down my spine as she drew a fingertip across my bicep. “You know I’m into it.”

I dropped the bags and slammed her back into the wall. Reese tilted her hips forward into mine.

“Tease.” My whispered word echoed faintly through the cement chamber.

In response, she bit me. The scrape of teeth on my neck went straight to my cunt, burning everything in its path. Then she kissed me sweetly. All lips and nothing else. Girl really was a tease. Her hands were already under my shirt playing over my shoulder blades and down my spine. Just as she shoved her tongue into my mouth, Ryan sauntered in with his load.

“Oh, come the fuck on.” His bag crashed to the floor. A wrapped gold bar fell out and slid a couple inches.

Reese and I broke apart looking guilty. She smoothed her skirt. I fixed my shirt.

“I’m really, really trying to be cool here.” He rocked forward until he was standing on his bare toes, then back onto his heels. “But it’s just not working.” He tossed his hands into the air in surrender. “Just keep it where I can’t see it, all right?”

Yep, we should have told him sooner. Sleeping with your best friend’s sister is a terrible idea. Not telling your best friend about it is an even worse idea. Ryan was taking it well though. He’d known for almost twenty-four hours, and he hadn’t shot either of us. Okay, my interpretation of taking it well might have been a little warped.

“Sorry, bro.” I studied the ground, unconsciously reaching for Reese’s hand. Smooth, warm fingers slid into my palm. “We’re not trying to screw with you.”

“I know, I know. Fuck. It’s just icky for me.” Seemingly at a loss for what to do, he slapped his arms down to his sides and started worrying the material of his boxers. He still wasn’t wearing pants.

“Icky?” Reese asked.

“Shut up,” he said. “I’ll get used to it. I swear. Just go easy on me.” Reese opened her mouth to respond. “If you don’t,” Ryan cut her off, “I’ll shoot Coop.” Like that, the mood changed from bickering children to the mocking boy I loved. A grin broke out across Ryan’s face.

“I can’t help that your sister’s hot, dude.”

“Don’t push it.” He lost the grin. “I’ll drop you like a bad habit.”

“Darlin’.” I let go of Reese’s hand so I could shove past him. “That’s my line.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Hey, at least he was coping.

*

San Felipe was a town full of retired Americans, windsurfers, and caravans of dune buggies. Not really my scene. We all had one thing in common though. Booze. It was the same as El Dorado Hills where we were willing to put aside our differences over inconsequential things like abortion and gay rights and taxes for the shared joy of mainlining tequila and shotgunning beers. Sadly, Reese didn’t appreciate my alcohol guzzling ability. She did, however, let me look up her skirt. Then she went back to dancing with a super pretty boy with better moves than me. I went to find Ryan.

“This place is full of bros,” Ryan told me.

“Don’t worry. I won’t let them beat you up.” He was right though. The cantina was filled with dudes who were half frat boy and half surfer and not successful at either. A lovely breed of stupid guy whose vocabulary consisted of “Cha-way” and not much else.

“Tequila?” Ryan pushed one of two shots toward me.

“Thanks.” I reached for the shot and brushed up against him in the process. He hissed and moved away. “What’s wrong with you?”

“My arm.” He kind of looked like he was going to hurl. “It hurts like a fucking bitch.”

I’d thought he was drunk. Well, he probably was, but I realized his murky eyes and the slightly nauseated look were from pain.

“Shit. I knew we needed to clean that.” I grabbed his uninjured arm and helped him off the barstool.

“Where are we going?” Ryan leaned into me so I was supporting most of his weight.

“Bathroom.” I led him carefully through the crowded cantina trying to make sure no one hit his arm. We pushed inside what functioned as a bathroom and locked the door. “Don’t touch anything,” I warned him. It smelled like booze and piss. There were stains on the floor and walls that could have been any one of many bodily fluids.

“’Kay.” Ryan immediately leaned back against the wall. Great listener.

I rolled the sleeve of his T-shirt up and picked at the edge of the tape. “You want me to go fast or slow?”

“Don’t care.” He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his head back into the wall. “Just do it.”

“All right.” In my head, I counted to three then ripped the tape off.

Ryan screamed and dry heaved a little, but he didn’t throw up. Slowly, he started to sink to the ground.

“Shit.” I caught him before he fell to the questionable floor and hauled him back up to face me. “Ryan.” No response. “Ryan, look at me.”

“That really hurt.” He raised wet eyes to mine.

“Shit, I know. I’m sorry.”

“’S okay. Thought I was going to hurl.” He still looked like he might. Beads of sweat were gathering on his face, and I’d never seen him look so pale.

“Are you all right now? Can I look at your arm?”

“Yeah. Go for it.” Again, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

There was a good amount of pinkish custard color pus seeping from the wound. Both fresh and dried blood streaked the edge of the gash. His arm wasn’t swollen, at least not much. It didn’t look great.

The last week had been filled with quite enough horror for my appetite. I really didn’t feel like looking at the physical, oozing remnants of that horror.

“Superglue was a shitty idea,” I told Ryan.

“Isn’t that what they use for stitches now?” He still had his eyes closed.

“Sort of. Sometimes. I guess for smaller cuts.” We should have taken him to a hospital. “We need to get out of here.”

“Where’s Reese?”

“Dancing.” I considered taking him out there with me, but I decided it would be easier with Reese helping. “How drunk are you?”

“As much as you.” Ryan opened his eyes. “I’ve had maybe four shots.” He was one up on me. “And a beer.” Make that two up.

“Can you stay here? I’m going to get Reese.”

“Yeah, okay.” He didn’t seem happy.

“Be cool,” I said as I let myself out of the dank bathroom.

*

I deposited Ryan on the sofa in our rented bungalow. Reese trailed behind me and deposited a bottle on the table. She disappeared into the bathroom only to reemerge moments later with a palm sized cardboard box and a first aid kit. They joined the bottle.

“Ryan, how’s your stomach?” I took his hand and rubbed it between mine. “Feel like you might heave?”

“No. I’m fine.” He reclined into the corner of the couch.

“Ready to get shit faced?”

“Bring it on.”

Reese cracked open the bottle of tequila and handed it to him. It was the best the bartender had, or rather, the highest proof. None of the shops in town were open, so we were working with what we had.

“Do I have to eat the worm?” Ryan swirled the bottle and peered into its depths.

“Bottoms up,” was all Reese said.

“Water too.” I grabbed a couple bottles from the small fridge and set them next to him. “Pace yourself.”

“I think I know how to get drunk, bro.” Over the next half hour, he proceeded to gulp from the bottle. With each mouthful, he would shake his head and swallow with a grimace.

Once his drinking was underway, we started pulling out supplies. Reese filled a small cup with peroxide. I broke open the sewing kit Reese had pulled from the bathroom and dropped the needle into the cup. Reese poured a bunch of ibuprofen into Ryan’s hand. He gulped them down with some tequila.

“You sober enough, babe?” Reese pulled me into one of the bedrooms so Ryan couldn’t hear us.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I reached for her just so I could feel better. “What if it is infected?”

“We won’t be here long.” Her delicate fingers played over my wrists and hands. “We can take him to a hospital if we need to when we get wherever we’re going.”

“All right,” I said even though I wasn’t sure about it.

“The main thing is just getting it clean. He’ll be fine. Don’t worry, okay?”

“Right.”

“I can do it if you want.”

“Guys.” Ryan appeared in the door of the room. “I’m officially plastered.”

“Get more plastered,” I told him.

He gulped some more tequila. The bottle was half gone. “How ’bout now?” As if one more mouthful would do the trick.

“Depends. How do you feel?” Reese abandoned me for his side.

“Drunk.” He unintentionally swayed in demonstration. Reese slipped an arm around his waist before he fell.

“Can you finish the bottle?” I asked even though I doubted he could.

“I don’t wanna.” Great. Now he was whining.

“All right, sweetheart. Come on.” Reese dragged him back to the couch and sat him down. Then she rummaged in the kitchen until she found two shot glasses. She sloshed tequila into the glasses and handed one to Ryan. “I’ll help you drink it down, okay? On three.” He looked queasy. “One.” Ryan sniffled. “Two.” He frowned. “Three.” They tossed back their shots and smacked the glasses back to the table.

Reese immediately poured each of them another, which they slammed like water. She poured another. And another. After that, I stopped counting.

They started slowing down, each regarding the bottle as if it contained buttermilk instead of tequila. Two inches from the bottom, Ryan finally protested.

“I can’t.” He rubbed his eyes. “No more.”

“We are almost at the bottom. Come on.” Reese managed to sound encouraging even though she was trashed and looking nauseated too.

“Uh-uh. Can’t see. Vision’s blurry.” Probably because he had tears in his eyes that he wasn’t aware of. “And I can’t, umm.” He pointed at his mouth. “There’s water in my mouth. It’s watering. Can’t swallow. Yeah, swallow.”

“All right. You ready to do this?” I moved out of the way so Reese could stumble with the discarded shot glasses into the kitchen. Awesome. Now they were both going to be plastered and belligerent.

“No. Wanna sleep.” Ryan scooted down the couch and curled up on his side. “No more tequila.”

“Take off your shirt.” I slid an arm behind him to help him sit up. Instead of taking his shirt off, he stared at himself and plucked at the material. “Come on, Ryan.” I gripped the bottom and started working it up. “Help me out here.”

“Coop?” He slurred.

“What?”

“I’m real drunk.” It was good he was pretty.

“I know. Hold your arm up.” I lifted his right arm so I could get the shirt over his head. After that, it was easier to pull it down his injured arm.

Reese staggered in to lean heavily on the couch. “Do you want me to hold him down?”

“You can’t tie me down, girl.” Ryan was reclined again and talking to the couch cushions.

“Let’s just see how the cleaning goes,” I said. I put a folded towel under Ryan’s bicep and free poured peroxide into the wound. It started to fizzle and the pus disappeared under white foam. “How does that feel?”

“Cold.” For a second, I thought he fell asleep. “And tickly.”

“Let it sit for a sec. I’m going to wash my hands.” I’m pretty sure he did crash out then. When I got back from scrubbing my hands pink, his eyes were closed and his chest rose and fell in perfect rhythm.

Clumsily, Reese handed me a package of gauze as I got on my knees in front of Ryan. He moaned when I wiped away the mixture of chemicals and puss. When it was clean enough to see the inside of the wound, I poured more peroxide on. It bubbled and turned white, but not as much as before.

“Is it clean?” Reese leaned over my shoulder to look. She lost her balance and had to hold on to me so she wouldn’t fall.

“I don’t know. I guess.” I stood and guided her to the edge of the couch so she was sitting between Ryan and me. “Sit here so he can’t move.”

“Okay. I can do that.” Reese straightened and placed her palm on his chest. She was taking this seriously. Adorable.

It was now or never. Fuck. I opened the sewing kit and retrieved my needle from the peroxide.

“What color thread do you think he wants?”

Reese shrugged then giggled. “Is there any purple?”

I couldn’t help laughing. Ryan hated purple. It was his least favorite color.

“Yeah.” I unwound the purple thread and took a good five minutes feeding it into the needle.

“Do you need some help with that?”

“No. I think I got it.” I didn’t.

“Do you even know how to sew?”

“Yeah.” No.

“You look a little lost.” She started to reach for the needle.

“I got it.” I moved out of her reach. Her hands weren’t clean. “Sorry if I never took home ec.”

“Neither did I. Your mom taught me how to sew.”

That threw me. “She did?”

“Yeah.”

Where the hell was I? “Oh. I, uhh, didn’t know that.” The thread finally slid through that impossibly small hole. “Yes.”

“So are you ready?” Reese stared at the threaded needle I was holding.

“No. Why do you think I’m just sitting here staring at it?” Dead serious. I had no desire to give Ryan stitches with a hotel sewing kit. Then again, I really wished he hadn’t been shot. I also wished a bunch of freaky, hairy, overweight dudes weren’t after us.

“Suck it up,” Reese said. “If you do, I’ll let you look under my skirt again.”

“Right,” I scoffed. “You’ll let me look up it anyway.”

Reese just glared. Sexy.

*

During the entire process, Ryan moaned and whimpered and tried to scoot away. Instead of holding him still, Reese kept closing her eyes so she wouldn’t have to watch. I didn’t blame her. I didn’t want to watch. It was disgusting. And difficult. I finally understood why they used curved needles for this shit.