“Z.” Rooster touches my shoulder. “You need to have your leg looked at.”

Funny, with all the adrenaline from the fight I forgot all about the long cut. I glance down. Blood soaks my jeans on either side of where Shadow sliced.

“Fuck.” Now it hurts. “Make sure that asshole’s gonna live first, then send Doc down to my room.”

“Z,” he protests.

“I’m fine.”

“I got him, Rooster,” Murphy says. He butts his big head under my arm and has me lean on him until we get to my room.

“I’m fine.”

“You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“Fuck you.”

“You kiss your baby momma with that mouth?”

I chuckle as he pushes open my door and helps me into the room. “Every inch of her.”

While I drop into a chair, Murphy searches the bedroom before moving on to the bathroom.

“You could at least shut the door.” I shout.

“Why? You’ve seen my dick before.”

“Which is why I’m asking you to shut the door.”

“I’m not taking a piss, dumbass. I’m looking for something.”

“What the fuck for?”

“Something to clean that with. You want your leg to get infected and fall off? You can’t ride then.”

“When did you get so annoying?”

“I can only find some tiny finger Band-Aids.”

“Sorry, wasn’t planning to get sliced up tonight.”

He stops in the bathroom doorway, shaking a small green bottle at me. “Seriously, Z? Mint-flavored lube? I expect better from you.”

I rumble with laughter, which eases the pain in my leg a bit. “That’s not mine, you dick. It was in the room when I took it.”

He flips the bottle over. “Guess that explains the late-nineties expiration date.”

“Why don’t you give it a taste test? See if it still works.”

He flips me a middle finger and tosses the bottle in the trashcan.

“Go wash your hands after touching that, ya perv.”

He returns and throws a towel to me. “Put some pressure on that before you bleed to death.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble, wadding up the towel and pressing it down over the cut. “Motherfucker.”

As he’s finishing his search for who-the-hell-knows what, someone knocks on the door. “You think you can get that for me, princess?” I yell.

Before Murphy can get to the door, it opens and Teller slips in.

“You could wait until I say come in.”

“I thought you did.” His scowl deepens. “Are you really busting my balls right now?”

“When would be a better time?”

“The adrenaline drop is making him cranky,” Murphy explains. “You bring some food like I asked? He’s lost a lot of blood.”

Teller pulls a Snickers bar out of his cut and tosses it to me.

“I said food, not candy,” Murphy says.