The Brightest Night (Origin #3) - Jennifer L. Armentrout Page 0,161

pale or gray, and too dirty, and there was too many of them. My gaze darted over the faces. There had to be … good God, there had to be almost twenty? Maybe more? Because some moved into smaller groups, shielding the youngest among them, so it was hard to count.

I wanted to cry.

The knot that had been in my throat had lodged itself in my chest as I glanced over them, but I kept my emotions locked down as I exhaled roughly. I focused on Nia. “Are you the one who’s hurt?”

She lifted a shoulder. “It’s just a scratch.”

“But scratches get infected,” Jamal said.

“Does that happen a lot?” I asked.

Nate glanced down at the little girl. “Sometimes. We mostly get lucky, though.”

Mostly. I swallowed. “I brought rubbing alcohol and peroxide. There’s some cotton swabs here and some ointment. Nate said you had bandages?” Clean ones, I wanted to add.

“We do.” Jamal answered as the others watched silently. “Is that aspirin or something?”

I nodded. “I think it’s ibuprofen. I thought you guys could use it.”

“Yeah.” Jamal stared at the bottle as if it were a hundred bucks sitting there. “We can.”

Nia started forward then, and I didn’t dare move as she picked up a bottle. “This is gonna hurt, isn’t it? I mean, it’ll fizz and burn.”

“Maybe a little, but I think that means it’s working.” Happy she was speaking to me, I decided to push my luck. “Can I see your hand?”

She glanced down at her hand and then slowly extended it toward me. She uncurled her fingers, revealing a thin, ragged slice across her palm.

“Is it bad?” asked Jamal.

The cut wasn’t deep or wide, but the skin was an angry red around the wound. “I don’t think it’s bad, but I’m not a doctor or anything. My mom was, though, and I remember once her mentioning when there’s an infection, you’ll see lines sort of streaking out from the wound. I don’t know if that’s always the case or not.” I looked up, wishing I had paid more attention when Mom had randomly talked about medical things.

“There’s no pus or anything coming out of it,” Jamal said. “I’ve been checking.”

“And I’ve been keeping it cleaned,” Nia said. “Trying to at least.”

“That has probably helped.”

Nate had walked over and unscrewed the lid off one of the bottles. “Let’s get this over with.”

Without further ado, he splashed some of the peroxide over the cut. Air hissed between Nia’s teeth as the liquid immediately fizzed. We left it like that for a few moments, and then she let me dab up the liquid with a cotton ball. Nate moved on to the alcohol, which may have been overkill, but I had no idea. I tried to asked questions while one of the other kids appeared with a pack of unopened gauze. How long had they been here? How old were they? Was anyone sick? All I got were noncommittal answers or shrugs, but as the other kids got closer, I saw that others had bruises on them. Some on the arms. Others along the jaws. A few had split lips.

I looked to Nate as Jamal carefully wrapped Nia’s hand. “What’s up with all the bruises and stuff?”

Jamal’s hand halted for a fraction of a second, and then Nate said, “Some of them fight. We’re all like a family, though.”

“A dysfunctional one,” Nia muttered.

“Maybe you all should, I don’t know, not fight so seriously?” I suggested.

Jamal cracked a grin. “Sounds like good idea.”

“Were all of you in group homes?” I asked.

“About half of us. Some were homeless, I think. There were more, but…” answered Jamal, trailing off. He cleared his throat. “Some kids got sick, you know. Or there were accidents.”

Pressure clamped down on my chest. “There were more kids who died?”

Nia nodded. “Yeah, and there were others—”

“Shit,” Nate whispered at the same second a very deep, very male voice boomed.

“What in the hell are you doing here?”

32

The kids scattered.

They rushed back to the pews, all except Nate, who remained by my side as a man stepped out from the dark doorway Nia and Jamal had walked out of earlier.

And the moment my eyes locked with the man’s, I didn’t like him. It wasn’t an irrational response. There were reasons, starting with the fact that he was a grown adult, somewhere in his thirties, maybe older, and he was by far cleaner than all the kids present. Not a speck of dirt on his pink cheeks or on the ball cap that