Suckers Read Free

said, “I never felt anything like it. Fucking… I can’t even describe it.”
    “You think it was a bat?” Dan said.
    “Not any fucking bat I’ve seen. Man, it had a hold on you.”
    “No shit.” He massaged his neck as they stepped out of the elevator.
    “I’m surprised you don’t have marks,” Ray said. Which made Dan think of his hoodie, still out there on the ground. He should have been wearing it; maybe it would’ve saved his neck.
    The hotel’s silent hallway felt safe. It felt real, and what had happened out there—out in the alley at the far side of the hotel—felt like something your subconscious dredged up as you fell off the edge of sleep.
    His cheekbone stung. The knuckles he’d busted against the wall in the club earlier throbbed like a distant beat. And the nape of his neck felt…strange. Not tender, but something. He scratched it.
    “You’re a mess,” Ray said, cocking a little smile at him as he ran his keycard through the door lock. The green light flashed. They spilled into the room. A couple lamps burned as if Ray hadn’t wanted to come back to darkness. Or, more likely, he hadn’t thought to switch them off when they’d left for the club.
    “Let’s get you cleaned up.” Ray flipped on the bathroom light.
    “Let’s get a drink,” Dan said.
    “Raid the minibar?”
    “If there was ever a time to pay six bucks for a bottle of beer.”
    “How about we splurge on something harder?” He winced at himself in the mirror. His cheek had a split in it to match his knuckles.
    “I’m not gonna argue with you,” Ray said from the other room, bottles rattling as he yanked the minibar’s door open.
    Dan turned his shoulder toward the mirror and cranked his neck, one hand pulling at the collar of his t-shirt. His skin shone with the wetness the thing had left on him, but Ray was right—there was just a stray mosquito bite back there, barely a bump. He cranked on the faucet, his stomach turning at the thought of having that thing’s slobber on him. Grimacing, he grabbed the sliver of hotel soap and scrubbed all the way up his forearms.
    Ray came through the door with a tiny bottle of Wild Turkey for him.
    He bent over the sink and scrubbed his neck, pushing his wet hand under the collar of his shirt. He closed his eyes— What a fucking night —before cranking the faucets off. He straightened, water dribbling down the middle of his back, under his shirt. He took the Wild Turkey and threw it back, the burn rolling down his throat like fire, heat spreading like a hand through his belly.
    What a fucking night .
    Ray cranked the water back on and took hold of Dan’s chin, turning it toward him. He dabbed his cheek with a wet facecloth, making Dan wince. Another dab, another flinch. Every time Dan’s eyelid jumped, Ray’s squinted in empathy.
    He set the Wild Turkey on the sink by feel. His hands trembled. He jerked his face away from the washcloth. His chin tingled where Ray’s fingers had held it. He splashed his face. Gripped the tap and turned it back off. Blinked water from his lashes as he watched the last of it spin down the drain.
    When he straightened, Ray had a dry towel for him.
    He left a dab of blood from his cheek on it, a watery tinge of pink.
    His fingers thrummed with the aftershock of adrenaline.
    “That was some scary fucked-up shit,” Dan said.
    “What about the others?”
    Dan’s stomach tensed. Their crew was out there, probably as tempted as they were to walk it to the hotel. People they were responsible for. People they needed in one piece if they were going to finish this tour.
    Dragging his phone out of his pocket, Ray said, “I’ll get a hold of Moss.” Of their crew, Moss was the Reliable One. Not to take anything away from Stick or Josh, because their drum tech knew his shit and Josh could work a merch table like nobody else, but when an adult was required…it fell on Moss.
    Dan swept the empty bottle of Wild Turkey into the trash bin. He winced at