Three the Hard Way by Sydney Croft Page B

asked.
    “Just a branch.”
    “Why’s my head hurt so much, then?” he complained.
    “Was a big branch,” Ian said.
    “A tree fell on me. I expect more sympathy,” Justice told them both.
    Ian nodded, his lips pressed together like he was trying not to laugh. “Plenty of sympathy.”
    He felt a couple of pricks of pain along his ankle and then just some pressure. He drifted in and out of sleep, hearing Ian murmuring directions to Tag, and occasionally he’d hear things like, “mild concussion” and “needs antibiotics,” and “he’ll be okay, right?”
    That last one was Tag’s voice, full of concern. Justice wanted to tell him not to worry, but nothing seemed to be working right. Maybe that was Ian’s grand plan—drug him and then sell him to . . . space pirates. Or whoever.
    “Why’s he mumbling about space pirates?” he heard Tag ask.
    “Grab me a bag of saline,” Ian answered. “Don’t want him dehydrating.”
    Justice finally managed to open his eyes.
    “Hey, Justice—you’re okay. Your leg’s stitched up and you’ve got a concussion. But you’ll be fine.”
    “What about you?” His voice was so low that Ian had to move close to hear it. He was practically whispering in Ian’s ear.
    “What about me?” Ian asked.
    “You have no loyalty,” Justice murmured.
    “Yeah, I do,” Ian told him. “’S’why I’m here.”
    “Promise?” Justice held up his scarred hand.
    Ian glanced at it. “Taggart has that scar too.”
    “I know. I gave it to him.”
    Ian wasted no time in holding Justice’s hand, giving it a light squeeze. “Promise.”

    Tag stepped into the bedroom and tossed Ian the bag of IV fluid. Ian caught it one-handed, glanced down at it, and shook his head. “This is glucose solution. And it’s expired.”
    Tag shrugged. “Like I know the difference. The saline solution is probably expired, too.” The guy who’d built this prepper box of a cabin had stocked the basement with enough food and medical supplies to run a hospital for months. Sure, Tag had picked up some meds and bandages before coming back here, but while Tag had basic first aid knowledge, thanks to his mom’s insistence on learning survival skills, he wasn’t up on the more advanced crap.
    Ian shook his head. “Saline doesn’t degrade the way glucose does. We can probably still use it.”
    “The IV supplies are in the basement,” Tag said. “Help yourself.”
    He and Ian had faked some great cheeriness when Justice was awake, but now they were back to strained silence and dark looks, which was exactly what he got as Ian brushed past him on his way to the basement.
    “Trouble in paradise?” Justice asked, watching him with drowsy eyes as he dragged the corner chair over to the bed and sat down.
    “Didn’t know you considered Alaska paradise.”
    Justice shuddered. “Fucking snow. Cold. Reminds me of Christmas.”
    Taken aback by the anger in Justice’s voice, Tag frowned. “You love Christmas.” Even as he said it, he regretted it, realizing the stupidity of his statement.
    Through the glaze that dulled Justice’s eyes, more anger sparked. “Itor.”
    Yeah, Itor. The fuckers had killed their mothers on Christmas day. They’d been at Justice’s mom’s place for the holiday, and while their moms cooked Christmas dinner, Tag and Justice had gone to a movie. What they’d returned . . .
    Tag shook his head to clear it, not willing to let himself fall down that pit of despair right now. There was plenty of time for that later.
    Justice reached up, touched his head, and winced. “What did your lover drug me with?”
    Tag chose to not take Justice’s bait. “No idea. You got all combative and shit, and he had to sedate you.”
    “You let him?” Justice glared. At least, he attempted to. The drug was kicking his ass. “He could’ve killed me.”
    Tag shook his head. “He’s not a bad guy, Justice.”
    “He lied to you,” he slurred. “Got you kidnapped.”
    Tag wasn’t sure when