The Rules of Survival (Mercer #1)

RoS Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

My throat hurt. My head throbbed. My nose was blocked.

My eyes were so heavy I didn't even want to contemplate opening them. On the upside, I was surrounded by warmth. It was a warmth that completely eradicated the bone deep chill I'd been plagued with these past few weeks. I reveled in it, losing myself in the contentment of being cozy and listless, of being fully relaxed for the first time in what felt like forever.

And then reality set in. I came into consciousness slowly but surely and my first coherent thought was: am I dead? This was followed immediately by: probably not, considering that apart from the inviting warmth I felt like I'd been run over by a truck, and was almost certain someone had set my right hand on fire.

Trying to ignore it, I snuggled deeper into that warmth, hugging my pillow and squirming to get comfortable. It occurred to me that my pillow was very lopsided and twice as hard as it usually was. The stupid thing refused to soften into any shape that would mold to the side of my face.

Groaning, I cracked open eyelids packed down with cement and had to blink back tears. The daylight streaming in through the window somewhere behind me was absolutely blinding.

"God," I muttered, my voice coming out as nothing more than a hoarse croak.

This was what I got for totally losing my shit and blubbering for all I was worth last night. I was surprised Justice didn't have a meltdown of his own just witnessing my hysterics.

Holy Jesus, Justice!

I tried to sit up, but something was caught on my left hand.

What the...

I froze, staring at where my fingers were intertwined with someone else's. Specifically, I was gripping Justice's hand, and I was holding on so tight I was amazed his fingers hadn't turned blue and fallen off yet. His arm was running along the edge of the bed, and I discovered I'd been using his biceps as a resting spot for my head. I was scooted as close as I could get without toppling off, and apart from his arm substituting as my pillow, I'd curled my upper body around it.

Getting my fingers to release their death grip was hard work, made that much harder when I attempted to do so without waking him. He was sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, his right knee bent with his other arm resting on top of it. His black shin length coat was draped haphazardly over one of his legs and his torso, but apart from that he was still only in his jeans and long sleeved tee.

Once again that pinched, cruel expression was etched into his face. The only indication that he was sleeping was his deep, even breathing and the way he didn't even twitch when I finally extracted my fingers. They cramped when I flexed them and I bit back a hiss of pain.

It took a few disorientating moments to figure out where I was (in the small bedroom) and that apart from Justice, there were two other bodies jammed into the tiny space.

Sal was sitting on the opposite side of the room, legs stretched out in front of him, arms folded loosely over his chest. Despite the severe morning chill he wasn't wrapped in a blanket, his dark wash jeans and thick black coat the only barrier between him and the icy air. Chin length hair was partially shielding his angular face, deep brown eyes staring off into space.

Somehow managing to squeeze himself in between Justice and Sal, Ray was asleep on the mattress on the floor. Face down with his arms cradling his head, he was snoring like his life depended on it. The faded purple afghan had been thrown over him, and his legs disappeared beneath the bed.