by Zoe York
Meike grabbed her jacket and led her through the crowd. “We’ve got to get out of here before we can deal with your arm. Whatever you do, hold it together until we get to the truck. It sucks that you got hurt, but you did good. Better than good. I don’t know many seasoned volunteers who’d have kept shooting photos while a guy tried to gaff them in the head. I’m just so sorry I wasn’t there to stop it. I was too busy taking photos myself to catch what was going on until it was too late.”
“It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have gone for him. He’s the guy that was an asshole and scared the shit out of me while I was waiting in the truck a couple of weeks ago. Between that and what he was doing to that poor little creature, I didn’t feel I had any other option.”
It took forever, but they finally got through the worst of the crowd. Every bump and jostle was answered by fresh waves of pain and nausea and they had to keep stopping for Biddy to puke. Well, it was really dry-heaving after she’d unloaded all over the asshole.
“Come on, just a little farther.”
Biddy forced herself to ignore the pain shooting through her as she concentrated on nothing more than taking her next step.
As soon as they reached the truck, Meike loaded their gear, then gently helped Biddy into the vehicle and fastened her in. “I’m not even going to look at it. I saw the hit, and it’s off to the emergency room we go.”
She wasn’t really aware of much during the ride to the hospital beyond the jolts of pain with every bump in the road. She let Meike guide her into the ER and settle her into a chair in the waiting room. She gave up on finding a comfortable position for her arm and settled on letting it rest along her leg. What idiot furnished an ER waiting room with chairs that didn’t have armrests?
She stared at the clock and thought about how stupid she’d been for letting spite get the better of her. She focused on the second hand as it relentlessly ticked it’s way around the clock-face. She didn’t bother noting the passing minutes. Pain was something you handled one second at a time.
Meike took the seat next to her and said, “They’re not too busy, so it won’t be long.”
Her throat was dry and scratchy. “Could you hunt me down a drink of water?” she croaked.
“Sweetie, I wish I could, but it’s better if you can wait until they know how bad it is. If they need to operate, then having a drink now could make you have to wait longer.”
Operate? It hadn’t even occurred to her she might need surgery. Fuck. If they had to operate, they may as well let her die on the fucking table, because that would be preferable to death by Honeycunt.
Shit, even if they didn’t have to operate, she could still end up fucked for the tour. She had to calm the fuck down until she knew exactly what kind of freaking out she needed to do.
— NINE —
Biddy stared blankly at the wall, absently fiddling with Doug’s dog tags. She needed to let Owen and her band mates know what happened. She’d decided to send a single email to everyone, but she needed to come up with a good opening. She just had to spin it in such a way that nobody would panic and make matters worse.
The doctors had said she was lucky and it wasn’t serious. It was only a non-displaced ulna fracture, and once the swelling went down, they’d switch her to a functional forearm brace which would allow her the freedom of movement she’d need to play her bass. In the meantime, she was stuck wearing this L-shaped splint that transformed her useless arm into a loser sign.
After supper, she’d had a long conversation with Karen about her options. Leaving early was very tempting, but she could think of no real advantage beyond being in the comfort of her own home.
At least if she stayed until the end of her commitment, she’d be wearing the functional brace. In addition to it being much easier and more comfortable to travel in, the band and Owen would find it less alarming than the loser-splint. Karen had assured her there was plenty she could do one-handed, so she decided to stick it out.
Her other big worry was photos of the incident getting out before she could do some pre-emptive damage control. Fortunately, she and Meike were the only REN photographers when the incident happened and she had readily agreed to hold off posting them online until after Biddy had a chance to warn her loved ones. Of course, that didn’t mean there weren’t others taking photos at the time. She assumed there wouldn’t be any photos surfacing from the locals—it was unlikely they’d be looking for the kind of publicity those pictures would bring. Still, there was an element of unpredictability at play—the island was brimming with tourists, and it was folly to hope there had been none at the beach. Morbid curiosity was just a part of human nature, and the slaughter of an entire pod of whales certainly qualified as morbid.
Ideally, she would have preferred to wait until she was out of the loser-splint before confessing her injury. No—she would have preferred to wait until her arm had been fully healed for a few years so they could all have a laugh about it. Since neither was a viable option, she was going to have to suck it up and get it done.
One-handed typing took forever, and Biddy was in the middle of crafting her email when her phone rang an hour later. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, least of all Owen. She heaved a big sigh and answered with the brightest voice she could manage.
“Hi, Owen, what’s up?”
“What the fuck happened there today?”
There was no question he knew, but it didn’t hurt to play dumb, just in case he was pissed about something else. “What do you mean?”
“You can cut the innocent fucking happy-voice bullshit. I just saw a fucking picture of you taking a fucking gaff to the fucking arm and another of you puking your fucking guts out, and yet another of you coming out of the fucking hospital with your fucking arm in a fucking sling. So I ask again, what happened today?”
Oh yeah, she was in deep shit. He was using fuckingas an adjective. “Here’s the short of it. The bad news is, I got injured and puked from the pain. The great news is, the doctor said it’s not serious and I’ll be perfectly able to play before we start the tour. And now I don’t need to finish the email I was going to send you.”
“The only good news I see is you weren’t recognised and outed as Boots. I might not have even known you’d been injured if I hadn’t been monitoring the media on this whole whale hunt business. Now, get your ass home on the next plane. I want that arm checked out by a real doctor, not some colonial back-woods quack who got a medical degree from some fly-by-night correspondence school. What if they’re wrong? You could end up permanently disabled.”
“Calm down. It’s my arm. Nobody has a more vested interested in its well-being than I do. If I had even the tiniest suspicion he’d made a mistake, I wouldn’t hesitate to get a second opinion. As it is, he showed me the x-rays and I could barely even make out the break.”
“I’d still feel better if you came home now. You promised me faithfully that you’d stay out of trouble.”
“What’s done is done. I’m not coming home before I’m ready. And try this on for size. If I travel while wearing this big-ass splint, I’m going to get stared at. And every time I get stared at, I risk being recognised. And if I’m recognised wearing that brace, somebody, somewhere is going to connect the dots. Do you see where this is going?”
“Unfortunately, I do.”
“Good. I need a week or so for the swelling to settle down, then the doctor said he’d switch me to a smaller, less cumbersome brace. As soon as that’s taken care of, I promise I’ll head straight home. And just to reduce your blood pressure, I’ll get my arm checked by my own doctor within a week of getting home. Okay?” He didn’t need to know she already had an appointment for her yearly check-up. Like he always said, it’s all in the spin.
“Fine.”
“One thing. Can you please tell Honeycunt and the others what happened and assure them it’s all going to be fine? You’ll do a better job of convincing them than I will.”
“Dammit, Biddy. I shouldm
ake you do it, but you’re right. It probably will go over better coming from me.”
“Thanks, Owen. You are all the awesome.”
“And don’t you forget it. Now whatever you do, stay the hell out of trouble and let that arm mend. Got it?”
“Got it. G’night.”
She disconnected the call and dropped her phone on the bed. That went better than expected. She was still glad there had been thousands of miles between them for that conversation, though. Actually, it was probably just as well she ended up talking to Owen. He’d do a much better job at smoothing things over with Honeycunt than she would. She had no doubt Honeycunt would call, but she hoped to get some sleep first.
— TEN —
Biddy’s final week at REN House wound up being closer to two by the time the swelling went down enough to get the splint changed. Most of her time was spent going through the photos she’d taken. She hadn’t realised how many there were until she’d started to categorise them.
The majority of the pictures were of the landscape. She was a competent photographer, but she didn’t feel she’d done the scenery justice. There was a beauty here she couldn’t quite capture.
Her shots of the town were better, but she was happiest with the candid photos. People were so much more photogenic when they were unaware.
When she came to the series from the whale kill, she fished Doug’s dog tags out from between her breasts and held them against her cheek for comfort. She fought the bile rising in her throat. Damn, she seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Especially when there was spaghetti for dinner. Tomatoes had never been a favourite, but they had never made her feel sick before. It was probably something psychological connected to seeing all that blood during the whale kill. There were plenty of other foods she enjoyed more than tomatoes, so once she returned home, she’d happily do without.
As much as she wanted to delete the obscenities as they appeared on her screen, she forced herself to sort and label the pictures. The closer she got to the photos she’d taken of her attacker, the tighter her chest got, and the more she wanted to puke. She had been so lucky. Even though she’d been the one who was attacked, there had been rumblings of her being charged with interfering in a whale hunt. And if that had happened, she had no doubt in her mind she’d have been convicted. In the end, the authorities chose to let them both off with a warning. Unfair, but it beat the alternatives.
The morning after Biddy traded in her loser-splint, she was headed for home. Karen drove her to the airport and stayed with her until she was ready to go through security.
“Thanks for everything, Karen. I’m sorry I was such a burden.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You were a joy to have around. I’m just sorry you got injured. I completely understand if you don’t want to make a return visit. But I’d be thrilled if you did.”
Biddy half-smiled. “I wish I could. Truly. Unfortunately, the craziness that ensued after that kill almost sandbagged my career. I can’t take a chance like that again.”
Karen nodded and pulled her in for hug. “Promise you’ll keep in touch, Boots.”
Biddy pulled away and looked Karen in the face. “How long have you known?”
“Since the moment you walked into my kitchen for breakfast that first morning.”
“How?”
“I have an excellent eye for detail. My niece is a big Tainted Pearl fan and I’m the cool aunt. I’ve been to more than a few of your concerts.
“Who else knows?” The panic in her belly was rising to her throat. Her career could be fucked after all.
“Relax kiddo, I’m pretty sure it’s just me. There isn’t much that goes on in that house that I don’t know about. And if anyone else had the slightest inkling there was an incognito rock star in our midst, it would have been all over the island in under an hour.”
“And Doug?” Biddy reached for his dog tags. She selfishly wanted to keep them—a small reminder of her adventure. Well, it was more of a banging holiday than an adventure.
“Clueless, sweetie. He films the news. He doesn’t follow it. Besides, it’s not like your face is ever on the front of a supermarket tabloid.”
“Good.” She awkwardly pulled the dog tags over her head with her good hand and held them out to Karen. “He left these behind and he should have them back. Can you return them for me?”
“No. He would have kept them if it wasn’t important to him for you have them. That reminds me.” Karen reached into her pocket and pressed a folded piece of paper into Biddy’s hand then pulled her in for another hug. “Safe journey and take good care of yourself.”
“You’d better let me know the next time you’re coming to a concert so I can make sure you get the VIP treatment.”
“Will do. Now get going.”
The plane was taxiing to the runway when Biddy remembered the piece of paper she’d hastily shoved into her pocket before clearing security. She unfolded it and a tear trickled down her cheek when she saw Karen had printed Doug’s email address and mobile number for her.
She ripped the paper to shreds and stuffed it in the air-sick bag so she wouldn’t be tempted.
— EPILOGUE —
“I’m pregnant.”
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Honeycunt was incredulous. As if a busted arm wasn’t disaster enough, Biddy was going to have a baby? She reined in her frustration when she saw the tears welling up in her friend’s eyes.
“I’m sorry, sweetie. I should have handled that better. When did you find out?”
“About an hour ago. I came straight here from the doctor’s office. I went in for my yearly and to get my arm checked over and came out pregnant.”
“I thought you had an IUD.”
“I do. We even used condoms, but one broke and I didn’t think anything of it because it only happened once and I thought I was covered.”
“I always knew you were one in a bajillian. I guess it’s a bit early for you to have made a decision on how to handle it, then.”
“I’m keeping it.”
Not what Honeycunt wanted to hear at all. “What about the father?”
Biddy shot her a pointed look. “There is no father.”
How the fuck were they going to manage a pregnant bass player? Or worse, what if Biddy decided not to do the tour and they had to find a new bassist on no notice?
“Okay. We’ll make it work.”
Actually, their manager would make it work. And there was nothing that could stop her from being in the room with Owen when Biddy broke the news.
Fuck, the entertainment value in that would be more than worth the price of a rug-rat running around. Besides, she was warming to the idea of a little kid calling her Auntie Honeycunt in public. Wouldn’t that just get some old-lady knickers in a knot.
“I’m so sorry, Honey. I’ve totally fucked this tour up and I’ll understand if you want to replace me.”
“Not on your fucking life. Yeah, we’ve got some complications to work around, but we’ll manage just fine. When are you due?”
“End of April. At least we’ll be finished touring by then.”
Honeycunt let out an evil laugh. “You are going to be as big as a house by the time we play that last concert.”
“Oh shit. How long do you think we can keep this under wraps?”
“Why?”
“Because this is private and I want it to stay that way as long as possible. Maybe if I stay out of the spotlight on stage, adjust my wardrobe, and avoid public appearances, maybe nobody would notice?”
“I have no idea how a little bit like you could successfully conceal more than four months of baby belly. But, if that’s what you need, I’ll do what I can. If anyone asks, it’s a benign abdominal tumour and you’ll have it removed after the tour is over.”
The look of horror on Biddy’s face was priceless and Honeycunt only felt a little twinge of guilt. “No!”
“Relax. I’m not thatmean. Not to you, anyway. We’ve got some time to fi
gure this out. The first thing we need to do is rejig your wardrobe so it looks like it was done specifically for the tour.”
They spent the rest of the day planning Operation Hide the Jellybean and by the time Biddy went home, Honeycunt was half-way convinced the band might get through the tour relatively unscathed.
She’d just seen Biddy out the door when she received a text message with a photo of her and Biddy sitting on the sofa. Now she was scared.
—THE END—
SADIE'S NEWSLETTER
ONE GOLD HEART (DOMINANT CORD, BOOK 1)
ONE GOLD KNOT (DOMINANT CORD, BOOK 2)
ONE GOLD TRIQUETRA (DOMINANT CORD, BOOK 3)
ONE GOLD RING (DOMINANT CORD, BOOK 4)
THE DUKE OF AMBRA
LYN BRITTAN
Website | Facebook | Mailing List
GENRE: Action Adventure Romance
DESCRIPTION: Mercenaries of Fortune Series
When treasure hunter Kent Avery ends up partnered with Swedish military officer Elena Haaland in search of a stolen Russian artifact, he’s not expecting love. Guns? Sure. Fist fights? No problem. But love? Well that’s the one danger he’s just not prepared for.
Turn the page to begin reading The Duke of Ambra, or click here to return to this anthology’s Table of Contents.
— ONE —
Center of Operations: Castle Church
Leicester, Massachusetts
Kent grabbed the coffee and winked at himself one last time in the rearview mirror before hopping out of his silver Jaguar XJ. He’d parked it at the end of the garage, the last in a line of a couple-dozen others just like it. Well...perhaps not just like it. All knights of Ambra had been given a choice in color. Somewhat. Silver or black. Their douchebag director wasn’t much for individuality.
Kent pushed the sunglasses to the top of his blond head as he opened the massive doors separating the parking garage from the clanging metal of the working garage.
