Swept Aside

by Sharon Sala

Lou paled. “Sew him up? What the hell?”

  “His head is still bleeding. It’s too deep to stop on its own. We’ve got to sew it up.”

  “Fuck! I’m not touching him.”

  Nick’s voice dropped to a whisper as he put a finger right in the middle of Lou’s chest.

  “You are going to help hold him or you’ll be the next one in need of stitches. And by the way, where the hell is the sack with the meds in it?”

  Lou blinked. “Over there.”

  Nick grabbed it and glared.

  Lou stared back. This was a side of Nick Aroyo he’d never seen, and he didn’t think he liked it. Still, he wasn’t big enough to challenge the man and come out on the winning end, so he unloaded his pockets, hunched his shoulders and stomped out of the room with Nick right behind him.

  When they got back to the bedroom, Tug was lying on the bed in nothing but his underwear, and Amalie was carrying a basin of dark, bloody water into the bathroom.

  Nick paused to watch her. This woman was a far cry from the one who’d been cowering on the kitchen floor a short while ago. Then he moved toward the bed where Wayman was drying his brother’s body with a large white towel.

  “She gave him a bath,” Wayman said. “Cleaned him up real good, too.”

  “I see that,” Nick said, as he set down the sack.

  Amalie didn’t know the men had come back until she heard Nick’s voice. She paused inside the bathroom, watching him from a distance.

  His height alone was menacing, and there was a purpose in his step. More than once she’d caught a gleam in his eye that didn’t fit his demeanor. She was just as afraid of him as she was of the others, and yet when she got caught in his gaze, she couldn’t look away. The men in her social circle didn’t look like him. Unshaved faces and a gold earring did make a statement, but nothing reassuring.

  She caught him looking at her and once again felt trapped. Trying to change the mood of the moment, she pointed to a door across the room.

  “I think there’s a sewing box in that closet. You’ll need some kind of needle to sew him up, right?”

  Nick hated that she was afraid of him, but this wasn’t the time to worry about it. If Tug died, Wayman would freak out on the world, and then they would all be in trouble.

  “Yeah. Great. Get it, will you?” Nick said.

  Amalie did as he demanded, but as she entered the closet she was instantly assailed by the scent of jasmine that she associated with Nonna. For a moment she leaned her head against the door and closed her eyes.

  “Are you all right?”

  Amalie jumped. Oh, Lord. He was right behind her.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just… I was…”

  She shrugged it off, unwilling to explain herself or to share something as precious as her Nonna with these men. She began poking through the clutter, moving clothes and shifting pillows and boxes until she found what she’d been looking for.

  “Here it is,” she said, and reached up.

  But she’d forgotten about her shoulder. The muscles pulled. “Ow!” she cried, and pulled back, wincing in pain.

  “Let me,” he said, and reached over her to the shelf above. “Is this it?” he asked, with his hand on the handle of a round woven basket.

  “Yes.”

  She didn’t like the feeling of being trapped, and quickly backed out and away from him.

  Nick took the basket to the table and began digging through it, and found the pincushion, then the needles, but when he pulled them out one by one, he began to frown.

  “These needles are too short. Are there any others?”

  “There should be more in the bottom of the basket. Let me look.”

  He handed her the basket.

  After a few moments, she held up two small flat packets.

  “Will any of these do? Nonna used them to quilt.”

  Nick chose one of the longer, thinner needles and then turned to her again.

  “Would you thread this one for me, please?”

  Again Amalie did as he asked. Then she watched as he poured alcohol on the needle, then over his own hands, before moving back to the bed.

  “Hold him,” he ordered.

  Wayman got on one side and Lou on the other.

  Nick took a deep breath, pinched the gaping edges of the wound back together and pushed the needle through the flesh.

  Four

  A short while later Nick was tying off the last stitch, thankful that Tug had not regained consciousness. If he had to venture a guess as to the extent of the man’s injuries, it would be broken ribs, the possibility of internal bleeding and maybe a fractured skull. Without medical care, his days were numbered.

  But it wasn’t whether Tug would live or die that bothered Nick the most. It was what their presence was doing to Amalie Pope. With every stitch he put in Tug’s head, he’d heard a slight shift in her breathing. If blood suddenly gushed through the wound, she would gasp. He had a suspicion that the sight of blood was a trigger for PTSD after what she’d been through, and that she was fighting every instinct she had not to faint.

  Every time Nick pushed her grandmother’s quilting needle through the skin on Tug’s head, Amalie thought she was about to pass out. The blood splatters on the pillow were vivid and ugly reminders of the night of the shooting. The memories that kept flashing through her mind were random, but impossible to forget.

  Blood blossoming on the front of a man’s white dress shirt.

  The exit spray on the wall behind him turning into the vermillion version of a Rorschach blot.

  Blood running out from under bodies in lazy rivulets.

  The reflection of overhead lights on the glossy surface of a crimson pool on the gymnasium floor.

  Then Tug moaned and reality surfaced, although the horror of what she’d experienced was still with her. When Nick tied off the last stitch, she closed her eyes, willing herself to a calm she didn’t feel. All she knew was that if she fainted, she would be vulnerable to the whims of four strangers. She was so disconnected from what was happening, she didn’t even know Nick was done until he spoke.

  “Amalie, I need gauze and tape. They’re in that sack at the foot of the bed.”

  She flinched, then opened her eyes, spotted the sack and went to get it, giving Lou a wide berth as she passed.

  “Before I leave…” Lou whispered, and stroked his crotch, leaving the rest to her imagination.

  Her stomach turned, but she refused to let him see her fear. She grabbed the sack, shakily opened the box of gauze pads and laid them on Tug’s belly, then tore off several strips of surgical tape and hung them on the headboard.

  Nick covered the head wound, then tossed the needle and remaining thread in the trash.

  “That’s all I can do for him, Way. He needs to get to a hospital as soon as possible.”

  “Where were you men when the tornado hit Bordelaise?” Amalie asked.

  Nick hesitated. It was enough that they’d invaded her home. There was no need telling her that they’d been in jail, or that they were escapees on the run.

  “In…uh…we were inside a building.”

  “Oh.”

  Lou snorted.

  Nick gave him a warning stare.

  “Then how did you get all the way out here?”

  “The car we were driving broke down. We began walking, hoping to find help to get Tug to New Orleans.”

  “There’s a good hospital in Bordelaise,” Amalie said.

  Nick thought fast. He said a mental apology for the fact that he was about to add to their lie.

  “It was hit by the tornado, too.”

  “But—”

  Wayman was tired of the conversation and interrupted.

  “We’re here now, and nothing’s going to change that except a ride out.”

  Amalie felt the undercurrent of secrecy and could only wonder what else they weren’t telling, then caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and quickly looked away. Her entire body was trembling, and she
was white as a sheet.

  Nick felt her panic. Damn Lou and the situation in general. He needed to change the subject, and thinking about the power being off and wanting a shower led him to his next question.

  “I don’t suppose your grandmother had a generator on the property?”

  The shift in subject worked.

  “Maybe,” Amalie said. “If she did, it would be in one of the sheds.”

  “After that trek through the swamp, we could all use a shower.”

  She thought of the rainwater barrel at the corner of the house.

  “If you’re okay with the great outdoors and rainwater, there should be a barrel full of it out back.”

  “That’ll work,” Nick said. “Way…there’s nothing else we can do for Tug. Lou and I are going to take the lady up on her offer. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Lou frowned. “I don’t need to—”

  “Yes, you do,” Nick said. “You stink. We all stink. We’ve been wading through bayou country. At the least, I would think you’d want to check for leeches.”

  Lou’s eyes widened as his lips went slack. “Check for what?”

  “Leeches. You know…flat, bloodsucking worms. They latch onto your skin and suck the blood out of your veins. Leaves a hell of a sore when you pull them off.”

  “Hellsfire!” Lou cried, and bolted toward the door, pulling his shirt over his head as he went.

  Nick could see the relief in the woman’s expression as he added, “Way won’t bother you, and we won’t be long.”

  Amalie shrugged. She wasn’t going to thank him. If they hadn’t invaded her house, being bothered wouldn’t be an issue. She was beginning to realize that there was a reason why they didn’t just send someone for help for the man who was injured. They were hiding. But from whom? Lord. What kind of people had invaded her home?

  There wasn’t anything more Nick could say to reassure her. He made a quick trip into the bathroom, gathering up a couple of washcloths and towels, and a bar of soap.

  “Be back in a few minutes, Way, then you can wash up.”

  “All right,” Wayman said.

  Amalie glanced at Tug French. He didn’t look all that good. Her gaze shifted to his brother. They were both big men—tall and heavy-set.

  She glanced at the phone. If the power would just come back on, she could slip away long enough to call for help.

  She was still lost in thought when Wayman walked up behind her.

  “You got anything to eat?”

  Startled, she spun to face him, her heart hammering so hard that she nearly passed out.

  Wayman frowned. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Thanks for helping with Tug.”

  Amalie struggled with the urge to cry. But you did scare me, she accused him silently. You continue to scare me. She wanted to hide. Instead she was forced to interact.

  “I guess I can make sandwiches.”

  He grinned. “Yeah…good.”

  Amalie pointed toward the door. “I’ll have to leave the room.”

  “Uh, yeah, okay.” Way glanced at his brother. “I guess I can come with you.”

  Amalie shrugged. “Whatever…”

  They left the room together, their footsteps echoing on the old wooden floors as they made their way down the hall. Amalie wanted to run, but she knew she would only get caught.

  God…where are You? Why is this happening to me again?

  She’d had so many expectations when she’d decided to come back to Louisiana, but none of them had involved being held hostage in her own home.

  As soon as she got to the kitchen, she began assembling the ingredients for sandwiches, making two each for the three men. She banged drawers and slammed cabinets, venting her fear and frustration on the furniture, and hoping the men got the message. She grabbed a bag of chips from the pantry, added a handful to each plate, then handed a plate to Wayman, who immediately began eating.

  “Got anything to drink?” he asked.

  “Dr. Pepper and Pepsi, but the ice is melting.”

  “That’s all right,” he said.

  Amalie handed him a glass and a two liter bottle of Pepsi.

  “Knock yourself out,” she muttered, and then moved to the other side of the kitchen, putting as much distance between them as possible.

  Moments later footsteps at the back door signaled that the other two were returning. She looked up just as Nick and Lou walked in. One look at Nick’s bare chest and hard belly, and her heart skipped a beat. She had to remind herself that a stunning body did not compensate for being bad—although, if it did, Nick would have qualified for sainthood.

  Despite her best efforts, she didn’t look away, then told herself it wasn’t a crime to look. He was just a man without a shirt, and she considered herself a normal twenty-six-year-old woman. Although she’d seen men in various stages of undress over her lifetime, she hadn’t seen a one who could hold a candle to him.

  Water was dripping from his jeans, and she guessed he’d doused them in the water, too—obviously to remove the mud. She couldn’t blame him for the effort, but the wet denim clung far too suggestively for her peace of mind. She noticed his boots were also clean, and the shirt he was carrying appeared to have been scrubbed clean, as well. Water was beading on his hair and chest as he draped the shirt across the back of a metal stool to dry.

  All of a sudden he looked up and caught her staring.

  Rats. She looked away, but it was too late. He’d seen her. Lord only knew what he would make of that, but it couldn’t be good.

  Lou wasn’t nearly as wet, which meant he wasn’t nearly as clean, but for once he was focused on something instead of her.

  He pointed to the food.

  “Hey! Gimme some of that.”

  Amalie handed him one plate and Nick the other. As they began to eat, Nick glanced at the battery-powered clock on the wall. It wasn’t long before sundown.

  “I don’t suppose you have a chain saw, or even a hand saw?”

  She shrugged. “If I do, it will be in one of the sheds out back.”

  “Why do we want a saw?” Wayman asked.

  “To cut that tree off her car.”

  “But the top’s mashed in,” Lou said.

  “One thing at a time,” Nick said. “If we can clear the debris, we might be able to pop the roof back up enough to drive it.”

  Wayman grinned, but Lou’s reaction was a frown.

  “Why go to all that trouble? As soon as the power comes back on, we’ll just make a phone call and have someone come get us.”

  Nick frowned. “And if the power doesn’t come back for a week, are you willing to sit here and wait to see how long it takes Tug to die?”

  Wayman’s face turned as red as his hair. He slapped his hand on the table, making the dishes rattle.

  “Like hell! Tug’s not gonna die. Stop saying that.”

  “Wishing won’t keep it from happening. He needs a doctor,” Nick said.

  Way didn’t comment, but Amalie could tell he hadn’t liked being corrected, especially by Nick.

  Nick finished his food, then carried his dirty dish to the sink, while the other two got up, leaving theirs behind for her.

  Once again Amalie was struck by how different Nick seemed from the others, and she couldn’t help but wonder how they’d all hooked up.

  “I’ll be with Tug,” Wayman said, and left the room.

  When Nick started out the back door, Amalie panicked. They were leaving her alone with Lou, and from the expression on his face, he was ready to take advantage of the situation.

  Suddenly Nick stopped.

  “Lou, there are two sheds out back. Go see if you can find a saw.”

  Amalie went weak with relief.

  Lou frowned. “I thought you were going.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “Bossy son of a bitch,” Lou muttered, and slammed the door behind him as he left.

  The sudden silence in the kitchen made Amalie uncomfortable as it da
wned on her that now she and Nick were the ones alone. Nervously she began clearing the table of the other dirty dishes, aware that the man was watching her every move. She kept telling herself it meant nothing, and still her stomach knotted and her palms grew clammy. She had accepted the fact that, if they jumped her, she would not be able to fight them. Whatever fate had in store for her next was beyond her control.

  Nick could tell she was struggling with her emotions. She kept biting her lip and blinking back tears. Then she slumped, as if the weight of the world had just settled on her shoulders, and Nick found himself struggling with the urge to take her in his arms.

  “Sit down, girl, before you fall down,” he said softly.

  The tenderness in his voice caught Amalie off guard. Her eyes welled. She hesitated, then moved to the kitchen table and sat down.

  Now Nick was waiting on her. He made her a sandwich and poured her a glass of Pepsi.

  “Eat,” he said, as he slid the plate in front of her, then took a seat on the other side of the table.

  Amalie’s voice was shaking as she blinked away tears.

  “I don’t think it will go down.”

  “Just try.”

  She took a small bite, then stared at her plate as she chewed.

  “So…a teacher.”

  She nodded.

  “What do you teach?”

  She took a drink before she answered. “Art.”

  “You’re an artist? That’s a gift.”

  She shrugged. “I guess. I don’t paint for myself anymore.”

  “Why did you quit?”

  “I don’t know…. Caught up in the job, I guess.”

  “So you could take it up again now that you’re here.”

  “Maybe,” she said, and took another bite.

  She eyed him curiously as she chewed. He was such an anomaly—a bad guy with a handsome face, a hot body and what passed as a conscience.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  He nodded.

  “Are you going to hurt me?”

  Nick hated what she was thinking. In that moment, it took every ounce of resistance he had not to reveal himself.

  “No. I told you we wouldn’t hurt you.”

  “No. You said you wouldn’t let them hurt me. What about you?”

  Her response made him angry, which lowered the timbre of his voice. “I’m not in the habit of hurting women. Bear with us, and we’ll be gone before you know it.”