Page 79 of Pawn's in the Bishop's Game (Checkmate 1)

“I’ll take care of you. I won’t get mad, I promise.”

“‘Kay.”

“Kane? Do you know what’s wrong? Why are you sick?”

“Cocaine.” My stomach jumps when he burps and turns to the window. “Abel musta cut it with something.”

“You had cocaine tonight?”

“Mm.”

“Cocaine is…” I can’t even process. I don’t know anyone in my whole life who’s ever used such serious drugs. “Cocaine’s really bad for you, Kane.”

“Mm.”

“Do you use cocaine often?”

He shakes his head and brings the shirt up to wipe sweat away. “Couple times.”

“Do you… do you use it for fun? Are you addicted?”

“No.” His eyes snap open similarly to before, and it’s the only warning I get before he shoves the door open and hurls so hard he almost falls out. I slam my foot onto the brakes and thank God it’s the middle of the night in a tiny town and the streets are empty.

Diving half out of my seat, I grab his sweaty shoulder and attempt to pull him back.

“Kane. Jesus.” Unsnapping my seatbelt, I half climb onto him in an effort to pull him back. “Please don’t fall out.” The roaring of his vomit drowns out my pleas. “I can’t pick you up, you’re too heavy. Don’t get out of this car.” Like he wants to stress me out, he lifts his right leg and puts it out the door. “Don’t!” I slam my fist into the muscles on the side of his back. “Don’t you dare get out, Kane! Get your foot back in, finish hurling, then we’ll go home.”

“It’s like razor blades.” For the first time since I met him, he sounds more like a scared child than the scary man I’ve learned to love. “It hurts, Blondie. Abel’s trying to kill me.”

“I won’t let him. I’ll kill him for you. Get your foot in.” I fist his denim covered thigh and work to pull it back in. I barely feel my snapping nail or my smarting ribs from the awkward angle, I simply grunt and work to get his leg back in. “Two minutes. Hold on for two minutes.” I grab the back of his neck, yank him back, and slam his shirt against his mouth. “Lock it up, Kane. Pull your shit together, otherwise I’ll take you to the hospital.”

With tears in his eyes, his gaze comes back to mine. “That was fast.”

“What?” I lean over him a second time and slam his door closed. I slap a hand over the lock to keep him in. “What was fast?”

“You said you wouldn’t get mad. You got mad.”

“I’m mad you’re trying to get out of the car! I’m not mad you’re sick. Spew between your legs. I don’t even care.” With that brilliant plan in my mind, I grab the back of his neck and push his head between his knees. “Spew down there. I’ll replace the carpet.”

“‘Cause you’re rich. Rich girl can afford a new car when her deadshit friend chucked.”

“Yup. Head down. Stay down.” With squealing tires, I take off and make it back to his apartment in record time. Pulling up in the dark parking lot near the smelly dumpster, I switch the engine off and turn to watch his broad back lift and fall. “Kane. Let’s go. You can get out now.”

Shakily, he lifts his head and looks up at the five-story rundown apartment building. His knee bounces with nerves. “I dunno if I can walk that far. Lemme sleep here.”

“Nope. Come on, get out.”

He closes his eyes and lays his head back. “Can’t. Too far.”

“I need you to, Kane. Come on.” I grab my purse and push out of my side of the car. Dashing around to his, I use my key to unlock to the door. “Get out, Kane. Stand up. I can’t carry you.”

“No.” He licks his dry lips. “Wake up, sick. Sleep, not sick.”

“You can sleep in three minutes. I promise, I’ll help you sleep.”

“No.”

“I’ll call my family. I’ll call them to help me carry you. You don’t want that, do you? Don’t make me call my cops. They’ll get mad at you.”

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