CHAPTER 6

"Thomas, dude, you're here." Derek's relief was obvious as he fist bumped Thomas. He must've been lying earlier and wasn't sure if Thomas would be here. "Is Mitch inside?"

"Yeah, but keep it down. He's passed out in back. Said he was feeling under the weather." Thomas ran a hand through his light brown crew cut as his eyes slid from Derek to me. "Dude, you're rude as hell, aren't you gonna introduce me to this vixen?"

Derek's eyes flicked to mine. I could see the apprehension all over him. Under the weather. We'd both heard the same thing. Mitch had an illness, and from all we'd seen tonight, it could be assumed Mitch was sick with the same thing as everyone else.

"Damn dude. Staring at the beautiful woman isn't an introduction," Without grabbing a jacket or shoes, Thomas jogged down the four steps and walked toward me, his muscles taunting me. Thomas was ripped. He held out his hand. "I'm real sorry about Derek. He's known for being moronic from time to time. I'm Thomas—" Shock filled his eyes. "Holy shit! What happened to your face?"

I closed my eyes and let out a sigh. I'd forgotten about my face, but I could only imagine how bad it looked. I needed to clean it up as soon as possible. "Um... it's a long story, but I'm Casey."

His hand remained outstretched. I don't know why, but I didn't take it.

"It's okay. I don't have cooties." Thomas shrugged and smiled, revealing a perfect white smile. I bet his girlfriend was sitting inside waiting to get back to whatever it was they were doing, because the idea of this gorgeous guy ever being single was just, well, irrational.

"No. It's not you." I frowned. "Do you have a bathroom? Or a first aid kit?"

Thomas let his hand fall as his smile melted. "Tough crowd tonight. What am I missing?"

"I'm just... I've had a long night." My gaze fell to the dirt.

What could I say? I didn't want to tell Thomas everything. He was a stranger. I glanced to Derek for help. Compassion filled his expression. I really just wanted to get cleaned up and get a move on. Mom's life was in limbo. This guy was Derek's friend. It was his job to be the bearer of bad news.

"What did he do?" The sharp note in Thomas's voice startled me.

What was he talking about? What did who do? When I didn't answer, he started toward Derek.

"Did you hurt her?" Thomas's tone was laced with insinuation.

"What?" Derek's forehead wrinkled in confusion.

Thomas seemed to grow another two inches as his muscles turned to stone. "You heard me ass wipe! What the hell did you do to her face?"

Before I could say anything, Thomas was in front of Derek clenching his collar, nearly lifting him off the ground. Thomas had about four inches on Derek. This got ugly fast. Thomas was frigging crazy town.

"What the hell, man? I didn't do anything. Just calm down." Derek's voice remained steady.

"It wasn't Derek. He had nothing to do with this." I yelled.

Thomas glanced at me, and his eyebrows relaxed. He slowly released Derek's shirt. "Alright, someone better tell me what's going on real fast because I've lost my patience with this mess."

I wanted to ask how he defined patience, but decided against it.

"Derek will tell you everything. Can I use your bathroom, please?" I glanced toward the door. "Oh, and if you have bandages that would be... helpful."

Thomas wiped his hands against his sweats and waved us in. "Yeah, come on."

Derek waited for me to pass by him and grabbed my elbow. "You want me to help?"

I leaned into him. I thought about Derek cleaning my face and applying bandages. For some reason, I knew he'd be gentle and do his best not to hurt me. I wanted his help. My stomach fluttered at the image of Derek being alone with me in a bathroom.

God, Casey! Get your frigging head out of the clouds. No wonder Suzie was so attracted to Grant. The seductive allure of the brothers was uncanny. "Our parents need medicine, Derek. Just see if Thomas will help us out, and I'll take care of myself, okay?"

His fingers tightened around my arm as he dipped his lips next to my ear. "I'm sorry about Thomas."

Those four words caused tingles to rush over my entire body. How did he do that? I had to get away from him. Thinking was nearly impossible when he was so close and whispering in my ear. What was it he said? Oh, yeah. He was sorry for his hotheaded friend. I accepted his apology and went inside.

Thomas's trailer was brand new inside. It was cozy and impressively clean. Surprisingly, I didn't see a girl sitting on the nice leather furniture in the living room.

He must've been in here alone. But why? A guy like Thomas would be fighting women off with a stick.

The massive flat screen mounted on the wall was paused on some zombie game. Was that Left 4 Dead 2? It instantly reminded me of Suzie. We used to play it together all the time. Back when she wasn't so distant.

"In here," Thomas said from down the hall.

I followed his voice and found him in a spotless bathroom totally themed out in blackjacks. The ace and jack of spades held significance to someone. The shower curtain, rugs, toilet seat cover, and towels were all covered in blackjacks. Even the toothbrush holder was bowing down to the blackjack God.

"Here." Thomas handed me a small box with a first aid symbol.

"Thanks." I opened the box to see its contents. Everything I could possibly need was here.

Thomas's smoky brown eyes assessed the damage of my cheek. He knelt down, opening a drawer filled with perfectly folded washcloths and hand towels. He set one of each on the polished marble counter. "Need anything else?"

"No. That's perfect. Thank you." I hadn't looked in the mirror yet. Honestly, I was a little afraid to see how bad it was.

"I'm in the other room if you need me." Thomas gave me a small grin as he shut the door.

I let out a long breath. Here goes nothing. I gave my reflection a once over and hissed.

What is it about wounds? They can be there for hours, and you barely realize they exist, but as soon as someone says anything or you give them any attention the pain spikes instantly.

My cheek crawled with a stinging discomfort.

The old woman definitely left ring marks on me. My cheek would take a while to heal. The few outlying scuffs and scratches would heal up fast. I was more worried about the twin gashes, sliced deep enough to produce dark red scabs. They could arguably be black.

Both cuts were at least an inch and a half long. The skin was hanging off the opening of the lower cut, but the smeared blood made it look a whole lot worse than it actually was.

Other than that, my fair complexion was flushed, and my long red hair was frizzed out from the ride over. I was a hot mess.

First things first. I washed my hands thoroughly and dried them while I let the hot water run hotter. Using the washcloth dowsed in hot water, I scrubbed the wound. What if that old woman had the sickness on her rings or hands?

A whoosh of nausea from the steaming water threw me off balance as fear forced me to scrub even harder. I succeeded in removing the dried blood and the scabs.

A slight bruise was forming under my eye where I'd been elbowed. I studied the deep injuries, searching for any red puffy skin, but nope, I just looked... beat up.

It took everything in me not to scream when I used the alcohol pads. I made sure to use a bunch to kill all the germs. Applying the first aid cream soothed the sting before I pressed three bandages over the gashes.

I went about making myself presentable. Just as I was finishing my ponytail, I heard a yell.

Running out of the bathroom, I searched for the voices.

"Call 911!" Thomas yelled from the opposite side of the trailer.

The words were a punch to my stomach. How many times would I have to hear that tonight?

Whispers, mumbles, and grunts filled the silence.

I frantically searched for the guys until I discovered where the sounds were coming from.

I slowed my approach as I heard Thomas yell. "I don't give a shit! He needs a hospital. Grab his goddamn legs!"

When I rounded the corner, a sickening stench hit me in the face. It was worse than Mom's smell earlier in her room. The waiting room in the hospital came to mind.

Thomas seemed to breathe in relief when he saw me. "Casey, thank God. Tell him. Tell Derek that Mitch is okay and we need to get him to the hospital."

I glanced down to Mitch, an older man with light brown hair. Mitch was probably Thomas's dad or grandfather. Dark bruises marred Mitch's wrinkled skin. Only his eyes and ears were swollen now. He was most definitely pale and shiny with oily sweat. Blood leaked out of his ears and eyes.

My body started trembling uncontrollably. Mitch was... Mitch was...

I'm not sure when it happened, but Derek's arms were suddenly wrapped around me, pulling me against them. "Shhh. Shhh."

Why was he shushing me?

"It's all gonna be alright. Just calm down." Derek breathed in my ear. "You're okay. Everything's gonna be okay."

That's when I realized I was crying. How could I be so selfish? Mitch was dead or nearly dead, and Thomas was most likely losing all sanity while I cried like a baby in Derek's arms.

Derek ran a hand over my hair as I clutched him, pressing my forehead to his chest. The comfort of his arms holding me close helped me come back to reality. I could finally think straight again.

"We have to go." His soft lips grazed my ear.

I gulped and nodded, clearing my throat. "I... I know. I'm sorry. Let's go."

When I pulled away, Thomas was staring at us, his face slack. He was in shock. "So it's true? Everything Derek said is true?"

I reached up to my bandages to make sure they were still attached correctly. "Yeah. It's all true."

"But how? Why?" His discouraged gaze fell to the floor.

Wiping the tears off my cheeks, I walked over to Thomas. "I don't know why. Maybe we'll find out, maybe we won't, but I know that if we do nothing when we could've done something, we'll all regret it."

"He's still breathing. He looks dead, but he's still alive." Thomas glanced over to Mitch, then back to me. "I know where they keep all the antibiotics in the warehouse. We can still help him and y'alls families."

My heart did cartwheels. Maybe. Just maybe. We could stop our loved ones from getting any worse.

"We have to go now." Derek's voice was low, controlled. "If we wait any longer it could be too late."

Thomas snapped into action. "Let's do this, Stanley. In and out. I'll get dressed and grab my gun."

Wait. What? And who was Stanley? Last name. It had to be Derek's last name.

"No one said anything about guns." I looked between them. "No one is going to get hurt, right?"

"Do you want to tell her or do you want me to?" Thomas strode out of the room with chilling confidence.

Derek ushered me out of the room. "We won't use it if we don't have to. And trust me when I say, I don't want to, but..."

"But you will if you have to," I finished his sentence.

Absorbed in regret and sadness, Derek nodded. "When it comes to the people I love. I'll always do what I have to do to keep them alive. Like your dad. It's just how I am."

I squeezed my eyes closed. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."