He hurt in places he hadn’t injured, given the effort he’d exerted. Though he fought regularly, he rarely fought that long and never that hard. He’d just donned his second boot when there was a knock on his door. Slowly, agonizingly, he made his way to the outer chamber and answered the summons, splaying his hand against the jamb to support his weight. Upon seeing his caller, he cursed his decision to leave his bed. Jagger swept his hat from his head. “You’re looking better than when I saw you last.” Ambrose gripped the jamb as if he’d pull it from the wall. “What the hell do you want?” “Better, but you still look like shit.” Jagger raised his brows. “May I come in?” Ambrose threw the door wide and stepped to the side. Jagger strolled inside, lightly swinging an ivory-handled walking stick. “You live here?” he asked, perusing the meager furnishings. “I live better than this.” Ambrose strode to the middle of the room where Jagger stood judging. He turned to say something else, but Ambrose silenced him with a fist to his mouth.
