Page 75 of Deacon

“Patch right now,” Ink said. “Switch and Bender will rotate in.” I dragged a hand over my face. “This is overkill.” Ghost answered, “It’s caution,” and I shot back, “It’s babysitting.” Ink watched me for a second before saying quietly, “It’ll make us feel better.”

That shut me up.

There was no strategy hidden underneath it. No order from Priest or security argument designed to win me over.

They were worried.

I looked at the two stubborn bastards standing in my hospital room pretending this was just another operational decision. They had brought me an update themselves, put one of ours outside my door, and apparently planned to keep doing it whether I appreciated the effort or not.

“You’re both a pain in my ass.”

Ghost grinned. “That’s not a no.”

I exhaled slowly, and my ribs complained with the rest of me. “Fine. He can stay out there.”

Ghost started to speak, but I pointed at him. “Out there. I’m not having some prospect sitting in the corner while I piss in a plastic jug or try to sleep.”

Ink snorted.

“Jesus,” Ghost muttered. “Fine.”

“And only because it makes you idiots feel better.”

“Sure,” Ink said.

Ghost glanced at him. “That make you feel better?”

“No.”

Both of them laughed, rough and brief, and some of the pressure left the room with it.

We sat quietly for another minute. Ghost drifted back toward the window while Ink stayed in the chair, and the silence between us felt easier now. Men like us rarely said the important shit directly when there were twelve other ways to make it understood.

Ink finally stood and put the chair back. “We should let you rest.”

“I’ve done enough resting to last a lifetime.”

Ghost smirked. “Try not to get shot again and maybe you can cut back.”

I gave him the finger, then grimaced when the movement pulled at my shoulder. The bastard noticed.

Ink opened the door and paused. “If anything feels off, you call. I don’t care what time it is.”

“Same,” Ghost added.

I looked at them and saw the worry beneath all the bullshit. “Yeah. I know.”

Ink nodded once. Ghost lingered a second longer, apparently checking that I meant it, before following him into the hall.

The door shut softly behind them, and a moment later I heard low voices outside. One belonged to Patch.

I shook my head against the pillow.

Fuckin’ overkill.

My cut rested beside me, the leather warm from lying against my leg, while one of ours stood watch beyond the door in a hospital corridor that smelled like bleach and old coffee. I was bruised, stitched together, and thoroughly sick of being trapped in this room, but I was alive.

Apparently, my brothers intended to keep it that way.