CHAPTER 33

Jagger gazed down at Jeff's face. His eyes were closed, but Jagger wasn't sure if he was really sleeping or just pretending to. It didn't make any difference, because all he was going to do was look at him.

He just liked watching Jeff sleep. Liked the way his lips curled up a little at the corner, like he was smiling. Liked the way his jawline was squared off, like some kind of movie star.

His eyes left Jeff's face and began moving down his body. For some reason-a reason that Jagger couldn't quite remember-Jeff didn't have any clothes on, and even though Jeff wasn't shivering or anything, Jagger was sure he must be cold.

Jagger himself was shivering.

Maybe if he just lay down next to Jeff and put their bodies close together-

Suddenly, Jagger didn't have any clothes on either, and his body was pressed close to Jeff-really close. Jeff's skin felt warm and soft, and Jagger let his finger trace the curve of the other man's hip. Jeff moved, pressing closer, and Jagger felt his groin start to stir.

And his hand, which only a second ago had been on Jeff's hip, was now-

Jagger jerked awake, the dream shattering. His hand was on his crotch and-

He jerked it away and looked around, terrified that Jeff had seen him, and knew what he'd been dreaming.

Realizing he was still alone in the alcove in which Jeff had left him, he relaxed. It was just a dream, he told himself. It didn't mean nothin‘. Nothin' at all!

Then, as he came fully awake, he began to wonder where Jeff was.

And how long he'd been asleep.

He hadn't intended to go to sleep-hadn't even thought he could, the way his face was hurting. And now it wasn't just his face, either. Now his whole body hurt, his muscles aching with the chill of the tunnel. With a grunt, he rolled over, and a searing pain ripped across his right cheek. Without thinking, he put his grimy fingers to his face, flinching at the stinging. His fingers automatically went to his mouth, and he tasted the saltiness of blood.

More gingerly, he began exploring the rest of his burns. The blisters on his scalp and head were much worse-the last time he'd touched them, he could barely feel them. Now they seemed to be everywhere, and even though he knew he shouldn't touch them, his fingers kept going to them anyway, poking and prodding at them until finally they started to burst. They were on his face, too, and not just on his right cheek, where they'd torn open from the concrete he was lying on. They were on his chin and the side of his nose, and his right eye was starting to hurt so bad he could hardly open it. He must have had his head turned to the right when the bastard dumped the boiling water on him, because the left side of his face actually seemed to be okay. But the rest of the burns were hurting so bad it was like his whole head was on fire, and-

And where the fuck was Jeff?

Dumped me, Jagger thought. The motherfucker dumped me.

It seemed hours since Jeff had left. At first, Jagger hadn't been worried at all-he trusted Jeff-trusted him almost as much as he'd trusted Jimmy before-

Well, before the bad thing had happened.

Anyway, he hadn't trusted anyone else like he'd trusted Jimmy until Jeff came along, and when Jeff said he wouldn't be gone very long, he had believed him. But now, with no idea how long he'd been asleep, and with the pain from his burns getting worse, he was starting to wonder. All Jeff was supposed to be doing was finding some water. How long could that take? It seemed like there'd been dripping pipes all over the place.

Unless something had happened to Jeff.

He thought of all the people they'd seen in the tunnels, all the men that had flashed knives at them and looked like they wouldn't even think about it before sticking blades in their chests.

What if Jeff had run into a couple of those guys, and without him there to protect him?

Shit! What kind of idiot was he, letting Jeff go off by himself? Jeff was really smart-a lot smarter than he was-but he wasn't very big, and without him to take care of Jeff-to watch his back-anything could have happened. Any one of those guys could have taken him out.

Jagger heaved himself painfully into a sitting position, his back resting against the end of the alcove. His throat was parched, and his stomach ached with hunger.

And Jeff had taken the wieners.

Motherfucker! Took all the food and just took off, leaving him to starve to death.

Jagger's fury began to burn with as much heat as the wounds on his head. That was what happened when you trusted people-they fucked you over. It had happened with his mother, who'd just taken off one day and left him in the crummy house they lived in with no food and no one to take care of him. He'd started screaming then, and somebody had finally heard him, but all that happened was they put him in the foster home.

Jagger felt like screaming right now, but he'd learned a long time ago that screaming didn't do you any good at all. It just got you in more trouble. What you had to do was pretend you didn't care. Pretend nothing was wrong at all. Then, when you got a chance, you got even.

The anger inside him burned hotter, and Jagger's fist closed on the railroad spike that was his only weapon. He began grinding its point against the concrete surface on which he lay, honing it sharper with each stroke. And as he worked the metal of the spike, he began imagining the things he would do to Jeff if he ever found him again. And not just with the spike, either.

With his hands, too.

He imagined his hands closing around Jeff's throat. And Jeff's eyes-his beautiful, soft brown eyes-staring at him, begging him not to do it, to let go of him. But it wouldn't happen-he'd only squeeze tighter, and watch while Jeff's face turned red, and his eyes bugged out, and his arms started flailing around as he struggled to free himself. But he wouldn't free himself, because Jagger knew he was too strong.

And he'd never let go of Jeff, no matter how much he begged. He'd just hang on to him, holding him, until he finally stopped struggling. And after that, when he knew that Jeff would never go away from him again, he would go on holding him, cradling him in his arms, rocking him, just like his mama had rocked him when he was a little baby boy, back before she left him.

And then they'd be together, just the two of them, him and Jeff.

A sound, so faint he almost missed it, drifted out of the darkness, and Jagger froze, the spike suspended a fraction of an inch above the concrete shelf. His body tingled with tension as he strained to hear.

The sound came again.

Footsteps, somewhere in the distance.

Footsteps that were coming closer…

Jeff was getting more worried. When Jinx had first appeared out of the darkness, he'd felt a surge of hope, had been certain, in fact, that she must know of a way to escape the tunnels. But now he was starting to wonder. They were halfway back to the place where he'd left Jagger, when he stopped and turned to face her.

"Why do they do it?" he asked.

Jinx looked at him uncomprehendingly. "Why does who do what?"

"The herders. Isn't that what you called them? The men guarding the subway station?"

"Why does anybody do anything?" she countered. Then, before he could reply: "Money."

" ‘Herders,' " Jeff repeated, more to himself than to Jinx. "It sounds like they're running cattle or something."

"Not cattle," Jinx replied. "Don't you get it? They're running game."

"That's all it is?" he asked, his voice reflecting his outrage. "A game?"

The girl fairly glared at him this time. "Not ‘it'! You. You and that other guy. Don't you get it? You're not cattle-to the hunters, you're just game. Like rabbits, or deer, or anything else people hunt."