Free Bailey Bradford - Southwestern Shifters 06 - Reverence by Bailey Bradford Page B

had a little bubble to his butt, nothing like it used to be, and not that it really mattered. His eyes lit on his knuckles and he sighed before towelling off sloppily.
    There was, unsurprisingly to him, a first-aid kit in the cabinet. Since everything he needed except self-esteem had been stocked in the apartment, he’d figured the kit would be there. He hadn’t had one before, but it was really neat, filled with just about everything someone would need in an emergency, short of an actual doctor. Harley took out a packaged antiseptic wipe and tore it open. There was a mild sting as he went over his knuckles but nothing too bad. After tossing the wipe, he closed the kit and put it away.
    His stomach rumbling, Harley tried to remember the last time he had eaten. Probably, if he didn’t include a snack when he just had to eat or fall over from hunger, then it would have been some time when he’d been with the shifters. Cooking was just too much effort and anyway, he wasn’t anywhere close to being a chef. Mac and cheese, he could manage, but even that, one of his main comfort foods, was unappealing.
    Besides, he figured it would be dark in a couple of hours, and he needed to decide what he was going to do. He averted his gaze from the bedroom as he passed it. The living room wasn’t quite so pretty now, with his laundry piling up in one corner and the bags of new clothes he’d bought in another. Harley shrugged. He hadn’t been willing to check for clothes in the bedrooms, so he’d just deal with the mess.
    Rationally, he knew he couldn’t keep avoiding the bedroom, or could he? As long as he did laundry and folded his clothes, maybe bought a nice cabinet or something to store them in, what would it matter if he lived in the living room? It wouldn’t.
    A check of the time and Harley groaned. That creepy feeling was trying to come back, the one that made him want to curl up on the floor and totally lose his shit like he had the first day he’d returned. Every night, he’d fled from it, and tonight would be no different. Harley remembered his fear in the bathroom. Okay, it’d be a little different. He’d stop, buy some condoms—flavoured ones, because latex was just ew-tasting—and stay sober enough to remember to use them. No lube, because none of those things were going near his ass. Harley could let men use his mouth, but that was it.
    The hard part would be staying that sober. Harley knew he’d be tempted by the drugs and booze just as he had been the past few nights. It made him forget, which maybe wasn’t such a good thing after all since he couldn’t say who he’d blown and whether or not they’d been safe or anything.
    “Fucking idiot.” Harley started digging through the bags, then glared at the door when more racket came from the shared hall. He hoped his new neighbour was a hell of a lot quieter once he or she was moved in.
    Tight black pants with silver stitching and a shiny silver long-sleeved shirt would do for tonight. Harley checked himself in the mirror as well as he could. Maybe a full-length mirror was in order. He tousled his hair, not overly concerned with it. He could style it all nice and everything, but ten minutes of dancing and he’d have product running into his eyes, so why bother. His right hand ached slightly and his ribs were tender, but Harley decided to forgo any ibuprofen. He didn’t know what he’d ingested the prior nights and didn’t want to risk having his liver or kidneys shrivel up inside him.
    “Stupid to be afraid of that, considering,” he told himself. Harley forced his gaze to look in the mirror. “Tomorrow, you will go get tested somewhere. Tonight, you will not get so stoned you suck any and every guy around. And, no condom, no sucking. Remember that.”
    He shouldn’t go out at all, but he was. Harley couldn’t stay in the apartment, and anyway, he was already contaminated by Dobson and his men. No amount of cleaning himself could remove the filth