Twice Shy (The Restraint Series) by Jill C Flanagan, Jill Christie Page B

Mary’s mouth, or whether Mary got West snozzled first. Stace betted on the latter.

Chapter Seven
    “S he’s angling for cash. You know that, right?”
    West and Stacy sipped tea. His, peppermint for the belly and head. Hers, full-throttle caffeine. They had just come back to the room after breakfast. Stacy had tried to return the favor and bring breakfast up. West refused. Although he was hurting, he didn’t want to admit it.
    He’d guzzled the water, downed the Advil, and then lurched out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. The drugs came back up too, so Stacy got some more. She hoped these would stay down.
    The second set did. West didn’t attempt to talk, so she didn’t ask any questions. Any change in air pressure probably caused him pain at that moment.
    They sipped tea in the room. West had related how her former mother, now aunt, had drunk him under the table and given nothing away. It was then Stacy supplied the opinion that Mary was after money.
    Sarge knocked, and Stacy let him in. He was carrying a smelly concoction and had a slightly evil sparkle in his dishwater-blue eyes. “Drink this.”
    Stacy recognized the smell. It was a hangover cure he’d made for others who were hurting.
    West eyed him and the drink suspiciously, sniffed and recoiled. “Not happening.”
    Sarge chuffed, did the male thing. “Pansy.”
    West smiled, then winced. Then attempted to smile again, with less strength behind it. “Yes, I am. Tim wouldn’t like it if I changed teams.”
    Sarge made that almost-laugh sound again. “It’s a prairie oyster. Egg, tomato juice, Worcestershire and Tabasco sauce. It’ll burn the mornin’ after right out of ya. Come on, down it, Westcott.”
    West eyed it again. He must have been really hurting as Stacy could see him considering it. He took a breath and downed it. For a moment, his whole body shuddered and both Sarge and Stace moved so they weren’t blocking West’s path to the toilet.
    The moment passed. West blinked a few times. Breathed. After a few minutes while Stacy and Sarge talked about inconsequential things, he nodded to Sarge. “That is better.”
    “I was just saying to West that I think Mary’s after money.”
    Sarge shook his head. “I don’ think so, Stace. I think she’s downright scared. Those Patriot people are not playing with a full deck, an’ they’ve got guns. She stole a kid. Plus she left. Those people don’t take kindly to that kinda stuff.”
    Stacy explained how she was now conflicted about Mary; she was thankful Mary had taken her away from that place, which slightly mellowed her resentment about the neglectful and unloving upbringing. Stacy felt that once she could get past the emotion, logic would prevail.
    “She got messed up in those... whatchamacallits?” Sarge paused, then found the word he was searching for. “Formative years. She passed it down a generation. She may be your aunt by blood, but she is your mom. Mothered you in a piss-poor way, but she’s yer mom.”
    “We’ll offer her money.” West finally spoke and looked like he was faring better. Water bottle number six or seven was in his hand. “We’ll see if we can buy the scared out of her.”
    Sarge nodded. “If not, I have a Plan B. Don’ want to use it so I won’t tell you about it.”
    Mary was off on Saturdays and Sundays. They took Sarge’s vehicle. Stacy couldn’t have a driver’s license and West was most likely not yet legal to drive.
    “She’ll be in as rough shape as I am.”
    “If she’s true to form, she’ll have had her first Caesar of the day. She avoids hangovers by being a functional alcoholic. Staying drunk.”
    West got a troubled look on his face. Stacy, concerned, asked, “What?”
    He shook his head. “I don’t know why, but meeting her makes everything... more visceral. And I don’t like her, but... I’m almost jealous of her.”
    “That’s some fucked-up shit, West,” Sarge interjected.
    Stacy gave West a WTF look. He gave a low