Page 63 of Slow Burn

“Sol?” Kelly hadn’t moved. She sat twisting a loop of red hair in her fingers, watching him with big hopeful eyes. He unhooked his seatbelt and reached across her to pop the trunk. “Oh, Sol, please—”

The freezing air felt good on his skin. God, he was sweating. As he hauled her garbage bag out of the trunk, a knife of pain went under his ribs. He winced and fell heavily against the car.

“Sol?” The car shifted up as Kelly got out and came around the back. He couldn’t get his breath. Heart attack. That was what it was. No big deal, an ambulance’d fix him right—

He was sweating all over the jacket. The wool was blotching dark in places, all ruined. He brushed his fingers over the damage.

Hot. Hot. Hot.

Kelly said, “Oh, honey, it’s okay, I won’t leave if you don’t want me to go, it’s okay—”

She hugged him. When she felt the heat she tried to yank free but he held on, not because he wanted to hurt her but he wantedhelp, wanted her to make itstop, this terrible thing, this awful pain. Knives. Knives everywhere. Skin coming off in strips. Heat burrowing in everywhere, burning, everything burning.

Kelly’s fingernails clawed at him, sank deep into his skin and pulled it out by handfuls. He couldn’t hold her anymore but when his legs gave way and he fell she was still with him, screaming, beating at him, clawing.

Stuck to him. Before the skin went black on her face, he had time to think,You got what you wanted, baby.

Chapter Twenty-five

Velvet

It was dark when she woke up, morning or middle of the night or some damn thing. Velvet groaned and put a pillow over her head, but that only made the pain echo more, like a pinball trapped inside her skull. She blinked dry eyes until the digital alarm clock swam into view.

It said 7-something. She couldn’t tell if it was A.M. or P.M., didn’t really matter, anyway except there was better shit on TV if it was P.M. She was in no mood for “Good Morning America.”

Christ, how the hell had she gotten home? Speaking of that—where the hell was she? She fumbled for a light and found one on the bedstand. When she flicked it on, she moaned and turned it off just as fast. Neon blue. God, she’d made it to Robby’s, maybe the bus driver had walked her upstairs. Lucky she hadn’t gotten busted.

With the pillow held firmly over her head, she turned the light on again. She let the glare in in stages—through closed eyes, then just a peek, finally eyes open at half-staff. No way were they coming open any more, not yet, not in this technicolor hell. She kicked the suffocating covers off and stumbled naked out of bed, found a T-shirt and slipped it on, a pair of discarded panties that felt suspiciously stiff. What the hell. She’d change later.

She was sitting on the end of the bed, head in her hands, waiting for the pounding to die down, when Robby knocked on the door.

“Are you all right?”

“God damn nosy Irish bitch,” Velvet whispered into her trembling hands. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Can I come in?”

“No.”

She hadn’t figured Robby would pay any attention, and she was right. The door opened and light—a lot brighter than the little nightstand glare—hit her like a white wall. She wailed and shut her eyes.

“Poor thing.” Robby sounded unsympathetic. “Time to get up. I’ve got to go.”

“Where?”

“Work. Come on, get up, you’ll feel better if you move around. Do you remember getting here?”

Velvet tried to shake her head. It was a bad idea.

“You opened the door at three in the morning and hit the floor like a sack of bricks. On top of that, the intrusion alarm went off. I didn’t know whether to kill you or call the paramedics.” Robby was doing something behind her, straightening up, pawing through clothes in the closet. The rattle of bangers was enough to make Velvet’s eyes bleed. “I put you in a cold shower just in time for you to start throwing up. All in all, it was a glorious morning, and don’t youeverdo that to me again,ever, or you’re out on your ass, understand me?”

Velvet pried her fingers away from her eyes and blinked until Robby’s face came into focus. Hard. Cold brown eyes. A mouth like a straight razor.

“Sure,” she agreed, and gulped back a hot mouthful of something she didn’t want to identify. “Sorry. Won’t happen again.”

“It had better not.” Robby glared at her another minute, then went back to rattling hangers. “Have you seen my brown pants?”

Actually, from where she sat, Velvet could see them real well. They were crumpled in a ball under the dresser, probably covered with vomit and Chivas and Listerine. She covered up her eyes again.

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