Page 27 of Tormented
EIGHT
Abbey
He’s a damn angel when he sleeps. So at peace, so untroubled, so . . . normal looking.
“What did you do to him?”
King scrubs a hand over his face as he looks down at Sawyer passed out on the sofa. “Gave him a heavy dose of ketamine.”
“You fucking tranquilized him?” I exclaim.
He looks at me with nothing short of guilt. “What else could we do? Let him go start a fuckin’ war we’re not ready for? Or get his ass killed? You think Ramona and Mack need that as well after what happened tonight?”
“Fuck Ramona,” I mutter under my breath, kneeling down beside Sawyer. “You been checking his vitals?” Too much and they run the risk of sending him into a heart attack.
“When he got brought in,” King says. “You think you could be a doll and watch him for a while though?”
Hooch picks the perfect time to join the spectacle, coming to a stop beside King and turning his mouth down in the corners as he raises his eyebrows. “Ho-lee hell. You really took him down, huh?”
“It’s not a joke,” I snap. “They could have fucking killed him.”
King stares at the ground, a firm frown in place. I know he wouldn’t have done it on purpose, that this wouldn’t have been his first choice, and he’s right. Sawyer striding into Carlos’ estate like a bull in a china shop, shooting up anything that walks and talks, creating all-out havoc, wouldn’t have been in anyone’s best interests.
“I’ll hang out here,” I say calmly. “You go do what you need to, King. I’ll let you know if I get any trouble.”
“What are you doin’, Abbey?” Hooch asks, looking between King and me.
“She’s keepin’ an eye on Sawyer, checking he doesn’t accidentally OD.”
Hooch shakes his head vehemently. “No way.”
“Why not?” King asks the question burning in my mind.
“You know what the risks are, right?” Hooch asks. “Hallucinations, out-of-body experiences, psychosis—as though he doesn’t have enough of that—and general violence when he comes down.”
“I’m well versed on what the drug does,” I tell him. “And I’m pretty fucking experienced in the come down, too.”
He stares at me, as does King. Oops. Just let another slice of my history slip.
“Evan?”
“What the fuck is it now, Abbey?”
“Your friend woke up, and she’s being sick on Momma’s bed.”
“Aw, shit.”
“Sort it out between yourselves,” King says, checking his phone. “But somebody needs to keep an eye on him. I’ll message you a number to call if you need a doctor, Abbey.”
Hooch watches King go, waiting until he’s through the garage door before he settles on the armchair opposite where I kneel. I lift Sawyer’s arm from where it rests over the edge of the sofa and feel for his pulse. It’s quick, but nothing to be concerned about.
“He’s going to wake up in the next hour,” Hooch says. “K doesn’t last that long.”
“I know.”
“Why do you like him so much, Abbey?” He settles back in the seat, no ounce of malice in his question as he crosses one ankle to the opposite knee.
I shrug, looking over Sawyer’s sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, and long eyelashes. “When I look at him, I feel as though I’m looking in a mirror.”