Page 90 of Worshiping Faith

“Thirsty,” he mutters.

“I know,” I say, pressing the cool rim of the glass to his lips.

He needs more than water. A saline drip would be better. He needs antibiotics, strong ones. IV meds. I’ll have to get to the infirmary, get him set up before his body gives out completely.

His fingers shake as he grips the glass, draining it fast before sagging back against the cot. His eyes meet mine, and for a second, he looks… lost. Like a kid who’s been left out in the cold too long.

“I’m hurting,” he says, his voice a whisper. “You got any pills?”

My stomach clenches. I know what he’s really asking for. Not something for the infection. Not something to heal.

Something to numb.

The addiction in him is gnawing at every nerve, screaming for relief. And I know, I know, that no one here is going to waste pain meds on a junkie crashing from withdrawals.

Outside, the distant pop of gunfire echoes through the ship.

My pulse spikes.

Shit. What now.

I force myself to focus. One thing at a time.

I brush the rag across his face, wiping away the sweat clinging to his skin. “I don’t think so,” I say gently. “Can you power through for me?”

Jinx swallows thickly. He doesn’t argue.

“Do you feel like eating something?”

He shakes his head. “No.” He finishes the water, his strength draining with every swallow, then sinks back into the cot, breath shallow.

I glance at the door, about to tell Wilkes we need more fluids in here, when the crackle of the walkie cuts through the air.

“Trip is on the way to get Faith. We need her in the infirmary. Wilkes, stay with Jinx,” Dax says.

Wilkes steps forward, fully into the room.

I hate leaving Jinx with him. Not because I don’t trust Wilkes. I do. But I know how he sees Jinx.

Not as a person. Not even as a man.

Just another con. Another piece of shit under his boot.

I set the glass down and pull Wilkes into the hall.

His expression is unreadable, but there’s something dark in his eyes.

“Please remember,” I start, keeping my voice low. “He’s barely hanging on. There’s an infection on top of thewithdrawals. He’s not just some junkie coming down, his body is fighting to survive.”

Wilkes watches me, his jaw tight.

“I know you have a heart,” I whisper. “Please. For me. Use it with him.”

His expression doesn’t change. “I’m not cruel,” he says.

It’s not a promise. Not an agreement.

But it’s something.