“He’s asking to confirm your childhood nickname.” Blood drains from my extremities as my gaze darts to Sloane. I shake my head. “No.” That seems to delight the hellcat—Rose’s responding smile is fucking feral. “Great. Then I knife you in the balls.” “Yeah? Hobble over here and try it,” I snarl. I try to poke her with the rubber end of the crutch but Sloane bats it away. “For fucksakes, you two. I’ve got a messed up arm here. I need a doctor,” Sloane says, shifting side-to-side at the waist to give a demo of her limp appendage. She turns enough to give me one sad-puppy eye. The longer she
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