As he cleared his throat, then smashed his fist into Guthrie's face with a nasty crack of cartilage and blood splatter, Thane was grateful for small miracles. Because by the time he was done with this piece of shit, there wouldn't be enough of him left to fill a trash can.
Guthrie covered his face with his hands, his eyes wide as he tried to stem the bleeding. His dick swung in the wind, fully erect. “I fucking shot you!”
Shutting down every sensation but the need to destroy his enemy, Thane stretched his right arm out until the joint popped. He swept his gaze over Connie, noticed a knife and the gun were on the floor beside her. “Maybe you should perfect the art of killing one person before you up the stakes, Mik.” He lashed out, slamming the heel of his hand into the asshole's sternum, propelling him back. “Stevens set me up and you fell for it like a bitch. You want to take me out, fucking do it, but don’t you ever touch my woman.”
“Stevens told me what you did,” Guthrie wheezed, gagging on his own blood. “Ratting me out, sending me down the goddamn river. I’ve wanted you dead for a long time, but the pretty cunt you've been servicing is fair game. You cost me everything, and if losing her rips your heart out, so much the better.”
So much hatred. Thane would have mulled that over once, dissected it, tried to find the origins so hatred could be set aside, and friendship placed in its stead. Not today. He lunged forward, feeling his knees quiver in protest. Slamming into Guthrie was akin to running headlong into a wall, but the pain didn't matter. It barely registered in the grand scheme of things, even as more blood pumped out of the wound to soak an already ruined shirt.
They went down, Thane's fist pummeling whatever he could reach. His vision swam dangerously as he shifted on top of Guthrie, raining punishing blows on the man's face and chest. Batting aside any and all attempts at defense, he was riding a strange high of bloodlust and sadism, pushing himself beyond his physical limits to watch crimson bloom over tanned skin and bruises shadow his enemy's flesh.
The punch to his injured shoulder rocked him back for a moment, and he threw his head to the sky to roar as though he was more animal than man. Right in that moment, with his knuckles ripped and dripping with blood, he couldn't say he wasn't. He was driven by the need to protect his female, and his Dom was determined to have vengeance—even if it meant committing murder.
Using his advantage, Thane battered the fucker with his right fist until he couldn't swing any more. Over and over, flesh striking flesh with the intent to damage. No one would mistake the sound as anything sexual—it was all power, all rage. The sound of a man being beaten half to death.
When his arm tired, Thane found he couldn't breathe. The inert form beneath him was bruised from pelvis to forehead, coughing up blood and wheezing. His cock had deflated, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of pain pumped into him in such a short period, but Thane wasn't done with him yet. He had to hurry, though. The rage and adrenaline were burning down to the last dregs, taking his energy with them.
“You don't want to kill me, Thane,” Guthrie slurred, apparently missing several teeth. The asshole turned his head and spat blood, laughing. “You were the softest one in the unit…” He spat again. “Best hands, best eyes, and soft as shit.”
“You’re dying here today,” Thane hissed through his teeth. “I didn’t even know you were dealing drugs, idiot. I didn’t know until this morning,” he sucked in a breath, found his chest was tight, “when Stevens told me. He wanted me to take you out to save his ass, and I refused.” His head swam, dangerously light. “Now I’ll oblige him, because you hurt my woman.”
“Blood loss is a bitch, Thane. I'm hurt, but I'm not bleeding out, not like you.” Guthrie lifted his hand and jabbed a finger into Thane's shoulder, barely missing the entry wound. He laughed again, flecks of red splattering over his lips and chin as Thane struggled not to scream. “Swaying like a little girl. White as a fucking snowflake. Two minutes, you'll be unconscious. I'll slit your throat and fuck that tight cunt while your girl cries over your dead body.”
Oh, he had to go and say that, didn't he? Thane pressed the heel of his hand against the wound, estimating it was about three inches below his collarbone. The bullet shouldn't have hit anything vital, but the asshole was right—he didn't have a great deal of time before his body called it a day. Guthrie couldn't be left unattended with Connie, not again. Jasper was coming, but Connie had to be protected at all costs.
Grunting under his breath, Thane shifted his weight and drove his knee into Guthrie's dick with all the force he could muster. When the bastard squawked and attempted to cup his crown jewels, Thane knelt on the flaccid organ with one knee, pushing all his strength into that point. If that knife was any closer, he would have gladly castrated the fucker and left him to bleed out.
The edges of his vision began to darken, and something strange prickled up his spine. Shoving away from his foe, Thane stumbled to his feet and staggered. Fuck, he was down to seconds. The pain was muted, barely a blip on his register. Leaving Guthrie gripping his cock in both hands, Thane managed to make his way unsteadily to Connie, collapsing onto his hands and knees beside her.
He didn't dare touch her. The bruises and swelling on her face suggested something might be broken. Concussion would be an issue, among other things, and all he wanted to do was scoop her up, tell her she would be okay. Look after her. No such luck existed, he thought as his vision switched off for a freakish second, then flickered back on.
“Sugar, if you can hear me…” He spoke slowly, feeling as though his tongue was too thick and numb to speak. “Help's coming. Jasper’s coming.” Everything felt so fucking heavy. He remembered the sensation, couldn't say he'd missed it. He tried to push up, but his hand slipped, jolting out in front of him.
Metal touched his fingertips.
Gun.
Thane picked it up, the weight of it almost too much for his arms to raise. How fucking demoralizing was that? So fucking weak he could hardly brace the handgun long enough to aim it at the man who'd brought terror and ruin to Thane's goddamn house. Smeared devastation over the walls, stained the floors with fear.
Guthrie said something, his voice high and desperate. He lifted his hands in surrender, his mouth moving, but Thane didn't hear words. He could barely hear the soft whoosh of blood in his ears, because there was none. The man with the muddy eyes and the shaved, tattooed scalp meant nothing.
Numbness spread down from the top of Thane's head, through his face and neck. He swayed, then something hit him, knocked him back as a dull bang registered. Down, down, down. He stared blankly at the ceiling for a moment before it all went dark.
Chapter Sixteen
When help arrived, Connie curled herself into the corner and kept quiet.
Evan had beaten her if she made even the slightest noise he could construe as a complaint, so she'd learned to keep her head down and her mouth shut. Fading into the background wasn't as easy as she recalled, not when Jasper kept checking on her. It was hard to stop her teeth clattering together like a pair of castanets, but she forced her jaw into stillness to avoid more questions.
She was in shock—she was lucid enough to accept that—but she was a mess. Half of herself had regressed back to a timeline where Evan ruled over her with an iron fist and agony, while the other half struggled to remember exactly what had happened. There were blank spots in her memory, things she didn't want to think about. Things the men in the room would want to know.
It didn't matter that their faces were kind, or that they said they were there to help. Just Jasper at first. Sweet, protective Jasper assessing the situation, making phone calls. As time ticked past, more people arrived to witness her humiliation.
Somehow, she'd ended up huddled in the corner of the living room, away from the bodies sprawled lifelessly in garish puddles of red. Could she recall how she'd gotten there? No. Arms around her knees, she watched with detached interest as men worked on those bodies, trying to bring them back to life. She didn't move
a muscle as one corpse was lifted into a black bag, zipped up, and carried out of the house at Atticus's command.
Jasper's blond head was bowed as he kneeled next to the second body, his hands busy and bloody. Two of the men she didn't know copied his position, obeying his every order as he gave it. Tubes led from the remaining body to a stand erected solely for the purpose of hanging plastic bags high in the air.
Doctor Connie understood what was happening.
Shocked Connie didn't care.
“Connie, at least let me put a blanket around you. You’re shaking.”
She flinched and hugged herself tighter. Twice already, she'd been approached by members of Atticus's team. One had even gone so far as to touch her knee with his fingertips as he crouched in front of her. She couldn't remember exactly what had happened after that, but her right foot was now bruised.
“Just leave me alone, Atticus.” She couldn’t look at him, not when there would be pity in his eyes. “I’ll be fine.”
Jasper pressed something against the body's shoulder and waited for one of the others to take his place in putting pressure on it. He rose and stripped off his gloves, coming over to mirror Atticus’s crouched position on the other side of her. “Hey, sweetheart. Sorry it's taken me so long to get back to you.”
Warily, Connie watched his hands, his body language. When he moved too quickly, she pressed herself further into the corner, prepared to attack if he crossed her unspoken boundary line.
“Thane's alive. He's lost a lot of blood, but I've got him on fluids, packed the wound, and we'll get him to the hospital as soon as the ambulance arrives. We’re going to take you with him. You've taken a hell of a beating and you're naked.” Pale blue eyes narrowed. He reached out to touch her cheek, then scowled when she slapped his hand away. “Goddamn it. Sweetheart, are you hurt?”
Although she wanted to curl herself into a smaller ball and fade away under the scrutiny of her friends, Connie knew it was the worst thing she could do. These were two of the most tenacious men in her life, and they wouldn't hesitate to get answers from her. Answers she didn't have.
“I’m fine,” she repeated, fighting to keep her voice steady. “Nothing’s broken, I’m just bruised, and my emotions are a little…raw.” Damn it, her voice cracked. “I’d appreciate some space…and the blanket.”
This time, when Jasper reached out and set his hand on her thigh, Connie bared her teeth and snarled. Her depth perception was skewed by the swelling around her eyes, possibly the hard hits to her head, but when she clawed at him, her nails bit into his skin.
Jasper sighed and extricated his hand from her fingernails before scrubbing it over his face. Pushing to his feet, he murmured, “You’re not fine, Connie. Will you at least let me examine where it hurts?”
Did he not understand she hurt everywhere? Her stomach and ribs ached something fierce, but it was her head causing her the most pain. The migraine continued to simmer beneath the injuries, turning her into one big throbbing mess.
“She's not going to the ER, Jasper. Neither is Thane. We have the facilities at HQ to accommodate them both, and I have a couple of doctors I can call on to help. I'll make sure they're waiting for us by the time we return to base.” Atticus pulled out his phone and tapped something out quickly, then shoved it back in his pocket. “All right, little sub, you’re gonna stand up with me now, okay? You've had a really shitty morning, and it's not going to get any better, but being cold and scared won't help. Jasper's got some meds that will help with the pain and the contusions. And,” he crooned persuasively, “a soft, warm blanket with your name on it.”
Air whistled nervously down her nose in quick bursts, giving her anxiety away. She wanted the blanket, but no one was touching her. No one was drugging her. The temptation to stick her thumb in her mouth and suck was primal and strong. Self-soothing, self-comfort.
“That fucker is not going to lay another hand on you, Con. Thane took care of him.”
No. She didn't want any more pain. Her head and neck were already screeching for mercy, and the migraine was promising unbridled retribution when it reached its peak.
Here and now, she was ninety-nine percent certain she hadn’t been raped. She was aware of what that kind of assault left her body feeling like, and although the familiar pain of a thorough beating gnawed at her, she didn’t feel dirty and used. Not the way she would if Guthrie had done his worst.
Her eyes skipped past Atticus, past Jasper, and landed on the man still laid out on the floor. Thane. Jasper said he was still alive, so she had to believe it was true. J was good at his job, he'd know better than anyone how to take care of her lover. The man who'd saved her more than once.
Connie closed her eyes and turned her face away, her control slipping far enough from her reach that her teeth began to chatter. Cold settled in her bones, and she wondered if she'd ever feel warm again. It had taken her ten years to find happiness and the light in the dark after Evan, only for her to be plunged back into the black.
“Get the meds, J. Just enough to smooth out the rough edges. I hate seeing her in pain.”
Connie pressed her hands to her ears to block out the sound of Atticus murmuring to her. She longed for the quiet she'd fallen into, the peace of oblivion. Nothing could hurt her there—her body didn't exist, her mind was cut loose to float along in false security. Maybe she could find a way to make it permanent. All her training screamed at her to fight that idea, but the psychologist was just a fraction of the personality that made Connie who she was.
There were bigger elements, ones more wounded, who got a definite say in the matter.
The scent of blood and death changed, lightened. Something fragrant and citrusy cleaved through the air, acting like a palate cleanser for the nose. It was all female, a breath of fresh air, and belonged to only one person Connie could think of. She opened her eyes and blinked at Archie, her lips trembling when she realized her friend's brave expression was simply a mask. She shrank back, hugging herself tightly.
“It's okay, Connie. I'm just shocked. That looks as though it hurts.” Sitting beside her, Archie lifted her hand and brushed a fingertip over a bruised cheekbone. “Jasper needs to take a look at you. The ambulance will be here soon, but if you need medical treatment, he can make you feel better until the girls arrive.”
Connie sighed. “I don’t want any drugs, Archie. Before everyone gets the wrong idea, I wasn’t raped. He just used me like a pinata. Jasper should be taking care of Thane.”
“If you don't want Jasper to look, will you let me make sure you're okay? We can cover you up with the blanket and go upstairs, away from all these bossy men.” Archie attempted a smile that didn't come close to reaching her morose brown eyes. “It'll take five minutes, Connie. I won't hurt you. Jasper can stay down here and make sure Thane is in the best hands.”
Another head shake.
Archie sighed and looked resigned. She shifted closer and ran her hand over Connie's head, stroking her hair gently until she relaxed. “I'm so sorry this happened, Con. We'll fix it, I swear we will. Do you want to go sit with Thane? He’s unconscious because of all the blood he lost, but he'll know you're with him.”
There was a trick somewhere, she knew. Her friends were sneaky at finding ways of getting what they wanted, especially when they were concerned. She didn't trust Anarchy's capitulation or her gentle petting. It was why she was braced to run at the first sign of betrayal, but between Archie, Jasper, and Atticus, they'd surrounded her strategically with no place to go unless she started scurrying through their legs.
They understood her too well.
Archie twisted to drape the blanket around Connie's shoulders. It was only because she was watching her friend that Connie glimpsed the small syringe hidden between the material and Archie's hand. Handing over control to her body, Connie let it decide whether it wanted to take flight or stay and fight.
Hospital, numerous tests, rape kits, medication, psychiatric visits, more meds…she couldn't
do it.
When the fabric settled into place around her shoulders, Connie exploded into action. Diving forward, she ignored the protests of her broken body and crawled through Atticus's legs. Something twanged painfully in her thigh, but she kept going. She could run and find somewhere safe enough to hide and lick her wounds, just as soon as she could…get away from…her friends…
She tried to drag herself forward, feeling her muscles turn to water. Only halfway through the arch of Att's spread legs, she strained for an extra inch before her body told her to go to hell and curled up to sleep. Her mind continued with the illusion of escape—for about thirty seconds before her vision failed.
“Just let the pain meds do their job, little sub,” Atticus rumbled as he bent and gently scooped her up, swaddling her in the blanket and cradling her against his chest. “No one will touch you, you have my word. Just sleep.”
She blinked up at him, his dark hair and worried face filling her fractured vision. A warbling groan of discomfort hummed in her throat when his fingers touched her skull, feeling around for whatever he was looking for. She tried to push him away, but the drugs reduced her to a limp noodle.
“If that fucker wasn't already dead,” Atticus snarled, then cut himself off when Jasper shook his head.
“Not now, brother. Thane handled it. Damn it, she needs a head scan, looks like she's been pistol-whipped. Fucker whaled on her face pretty bad and there might be some fracturing.” Something bright and shiny beamed into her right eye, blinding her. It flicked over to the left. “There're signs of concussion. She and Thane are gonna end up spending some quality time in the medical quarters.”
No. Connie's breathing picked up. Medical quarters sounded a lot like hospital, and the hospital was a huge no-no. Her legs kicked restlessly, flopping uselessly in uncoordinated directions.
“How much did you give her?” Atticus asked as he carried her, flying her away from the bloody scene. Green eyes, riddled with guilt, conveyed instructions she didn't want to obey. Relax, we've got you. Just let Jasper take care of you, little sub.
Talk For Me: Club Avalon Book 3 Page 40
