“Joe…”
Joe opened his eyes.
Dubois was looking down at him. “Didn’t you hear the bell?” He handed him a cup of tea.
Joe was wrecked with exhaustion and muscle pain. He didn’t think he could move, but he sat up anyway, taking the cup. Then he realized he had to tell Dubois he wouldn’t be coming back to their cell this evening, after their last meal. He didn’t know how. He was a coward. He sipped the hot tea, remembering their night together. He could have blushed from thinking of the things Dubois did to him, when Linhart slept.
Joe decided he’d ask to see Cooke today. He’d offer to do anything―anything at all―to keep Cooke from transferring Dubois to another cell.
Who would look after Dubois, if he wasn’t at his side?
“Joe, what’s wrong? You look ill.” Dubois sat by him.
Joe took an
