His Fight: The Downing Family Book 5

by Wild, Cassie

  That wasn’t going to happen.

  Even if I made it up there, the floor squeaked like a giant, possessed mouse, and sooner or later, one of them would notice the new car parked out back.

  It was better to just go out front and pay the piper.

  I hoped I’d see Rudy first.

  But it wasn’t my lucky day.

  Jerrel caught sight of me first, and he came out of the chair he lounged in, looking like a big, battered cat, pissed off, hungry and ready to tear something apart.

  His nose was smashed in, likely broken from the looks of it, and one eye was completely swollen shut. He pointed at me with his right hand, showing two fingers that had likely been splinted by either himself or somebody here in the shop. “You. You fuckface. Out back. Now.”

  I thought about ignoring him but decided that wasn’t the best way to handle it. Blowing out a sigh, I turned on my heel and strode forward.

  The minute I passed through the door, I side stepped and half turned, keeping him in my line of sight. He opened his mouth, but I cut him off. “You pull a weapon on me again, I’m going to rip it out of your hand, shove it up your ass and fuck you up so hard, your own mum won’t recognize you.”

  He sneered at me.

  But instead of answering the threat, he demanded, “Where the hell have you been? Have you forgotten you’re supposed to be doing a job?”

  “Far from it.” I gave him a sly smile. “I was out doing just that…the job.” His mouth folded down in a frown. “I was out all night and day working, mate. Tending to the job.”

  “How so?” He eyed me distrustfully.

  I waved a hand and looked pointedly at the car parked past his shoulder. “I’m supposed to be getting close to her, right? Learning all about her? Well, I spent the night doing just that.”

  “Is that a fact?” Jerrel looked me up and down, then took a step closer to me. Judging by the look on his face, it was obvious he didn’t believe me. But instead of outright saying that, he continued to watch me. After a few seconds, he said, “The boss has some…concerns, MacTavish. He’s wondering if you’re not getting too close here. Too…involved.”

  “I’m fine,” I told him. I delivered the lie without blinking or looking away.

  Jerrel’s one good eye narrowed, and he studied me with speculation for a few more seconds. Finally, he turned his back on me and hobbled a few more inches to the door. “You got the shop the rest of the day, and you have to lock up. Rudy was supposed to be off today while you handled it, but since you never showed, you get to cover for him.”

  My stomach grumbled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten a damn thing in hours, but I didn’t argue.

  Once he was gone, I moved through the door into the main part of the shop.

  Rudy, the stooped but powerful-looking figure, caught sight of me, and his scarred face tightened into a scowl. His lantern-jaw thrust forward, and he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, indicating for me to follow him into his office.

  I sighed.

  It was my day to get my ass reamed.

  * * *

  A good two hours passed before I was able to get food.

  The Mexican place across the road delivered, so I ordered a mess of tacos, along with some chips and salsa.

  As I devoured everything in my little space behind the chair, I ignored everything going on around me and thought about Briar.

  At first, the thoughts made me smile.

  But it didn’t take long for my mood to darken.

  I had to figure out what I was going to do.

  The boss wanted certain information. I refused to be a party to hurting her. But I knew if I didn’t provide something, he’d just find a way around me and get the information he wanted another way, and he didn’t give a damn if Briar got hurt in the process. Hell, he preferred it that way.

  There had to be something I could do.

  There had to be.

  But for a man who was used to taking the easy road, or simply fighting his way through the hard road, trying to think of a solution didn’t exactly come naturally.

  Three

  Briar

  The first few weeks of my new job, Raisa had informed me, I’d been working what was essentially a swing shift, alternating between all three shifts, with a day off in between the more extreme changes. It allowed me little chance to adjust my sleep schedule, and I was more exhausted than I’d ever been in my life.

  In Raisa’s defense, she claimed that covering the swing shift allowed me to learn about the various obstacles a new trauma surgeon might encounter. I might have appreciated that better if I wasn’t so tired at the end of it all. Later on, I figured I probably would appreciate it.

  But going through it was just plain miserable.

  On top of my general exhaustion, I’d spent too much of the day wondering about how things now stood with Cormac and me, and my nerves were even more frayed as I was given the information on my final patient of the day, one Jerrel Waddell.

  The big man sat on the edge of the table, a tightly contained mass of raw energy and anger, and he shot a look up the second the curtains opened, his eyes wide in his dark face. When he saw me, some of that energy eased away, and I decided some of his tension was related to pain.

  I took in the few obvious injuries and made the simple deduction that he’d either been in a fight or he’d been the victim of a crime. He could have been mugged or jumped, although judging by the looks of him, it would take several people to do that kind of damage to him, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he put one or several attackers in the hospital.

  He had a vicious sort of look to him, combined with an intelligence that shown in his one good eye. The other was swollen shut, and his nose was also engorged with discoloration that made it look nearly jet black. While several fingers on one hand were taped up in a clear attempt to stabilize them, I could see the others, and the knuckles were bruised, bloodied and raw.

  If I had to make a guess, I’d say his injuries were several hours old, a day at most.

  “So, Mr. Waddell,” I said, putting the tablet down on the nearby tray and approaching him. “Were you in a fight or did you end up at the wrong place at the wrong time?”

  To my surprise, the comment elicited a faint smile from him.

  “Can’t it be a little bit of both, ma’am?” He had a deep voice, but it was oddly nasal. His nose was likely broken.

  “Judging by the look of you, I’d have to go with yes.” I washed my hands quickly, then gestured toward his face. “May I?”

  He nodded.

  Gently, I probed the area around his swollen eye before moving onto his nose. He winced once, but took it rather stoically, overall. “I believe your nose is broken. As to your eye…well, I think you got lucky there, but we need to check to make sure the eye socket isn’t fractured.” I shifted my gaze down to his hand and the splinting that was obviously done with makeshift materials. “Any chance you’ve got a friend who is a medical student or military medic?”

  He grinned at me. “You’re funny.”

  “So I’m told. A laugh a minute.” I pulled a pair of bandage shears from my pocket and started the careful process of cutting away the masking tape that had been used to hold a couple of pieces of stiff cardboard in place. Thanks to my peripheral vision, I noted it as he stiffened. Hoping to distract him, I asked, “How about you tell me about this fight that happened at the wrong place at just the wrong time?”

  “Hell…weren’t much of a fight. I got my ass kicked, and judging by how I look in the mirror, it’s pretty obvious, ain’t it?” He heaved out a sigh. “There’s this new guy who was hired to work at the tattoo shop a friend of mine owns. I only work there a few times a week now, but I’ve been around there…hell, I guess since I graduated. And I’ve known Rudy since I was a kid. He used to be friends with my dad. They were tight, ya know?”

  I nodded, only half-paying attention as I finally managed to cut through all the tape. When he paused, I glanced up at him.
“Hold still for me now, Mr. Waddell.”

  “Jerrel, please.” He grimaced. “You say Mr. Waddell and I go look around for Pops. That was my grandpa.”

  “Jerrel, then.” I refocused back on the task and slowly but steadily eased the materials of the makeshift splint away. A pain-filled hiss escaped him. “I’m sorry. I know this has to hurt.”

  “It’s okay. It’s been hurting since it happened, doc. Anyways…this guy thinks he’s real tough. He’s a first-class bastard, if you don’t mind me saying so. Comes in late all the time, shows up drunk and hung over. He hooked up with one of the girls who works at the shop and got her thinking he was all serious about her.”

  Gathering up the trash, I turned away to dump it while he continued. The man clearly liked to talk.

  “So, she was thinking they had a thing going, and he up and dumps her right in front of everybody, including a couple of customers. I had a talk with him then, told him that ain’t how you treat somebody. Hell, I’m surprised we didn’t get into it. We’d already had it out the first night he came on but after that crap with Melia…”

  He kept talking, but my brain had started to buzz, all but vibrating in my skull.

  Melia.

  It couldn’t be.

  But how common was the name Melia?

  And a big guy at a tattoo shop?

  My face flamed. I needed a few minutes to get my act together. Without thinking, I grabbed the tablet and punched in a couple of orders. When he paused, I said, “Do you have any other injuries?”

  “Yeah. The dude cut me up. I was hoping it looked worse than it was, but…”

  It served as enough of a distraction that I was able to bring my unsteady nerves back under control, and I turned to face him. I couldn’t quite summon up that calm, professional smile this time.

  I studied his black t-shirt. “Did the nurse forget to give you a gown?”

  “Nah. She did.” He flashed me that oddly charming little grin. “I just didn’t put it on. I hate them things.”

  “Well, we need you out of the shirt. I can’t examine you like that.”

  He shrugged, an action that elicited a wince from him. Either that ‘cut’ he’d referred to was more than just a nick, or he might have some bruised or fractured ribs.

  It took only a few seconds to determine that not only was his ‘cut’ more than a nick, he most definitely had bruised ribs and fractures weren’t out of the question.

  It was enough to push my concerns about Cormac to the back of my mind. Both my hands and voice were steady when I started to speak while pulling on a pair of gloves. “How badly do your ribs hurt?”

  “Like a bitch. Sorry, doc.”

  “I’ve heard worse,” I murmured as I started to examine him visibly, then with my hands. When I reached the heavy pad of gauze at his side, I glanced up. “I’m going to take this off. I need to get a look at your injury.”

  His jaw was tight as he stared at the wall. “Okay.”

  The laceration was almost surgically neat. I’d seen my share of knife wounds. The slice bisecting Jerrel’s lower right side wasn’t quite deep enough to have risked nicking the kidney or one of the ureters, but it was close. Nearly five inches long, I knew it would have bled like crazy. While the bandages were clean, the edges of the wound itself already looked angry and red, indicating a possible infection settling in.

  “We’ll need to clean this out and stitch it up,” I told him as I straightened. “Was it a knife?”

  He blinked at me, mouth tight. “Huh?”

  “Were you cut with a knife?”

  “Oh. Yeah.” He nodded, absently lifting a hand as if to touch it. I stopped him, catching his wrist before he could make contact. “We don’t need to introduce any more germs into the wound.”

  “Not like I was going out trying to pick some new germs to meet,” he said.

  I rolled my eyes at him. “Cute, Jerrel. I’ve got some orders in. We need to get images of your eye to make sure the eye socket didn’t sustain a fracture. We’ll also need X-rays of your ribs and your hand. The swelling in your hand is concerning. Even if the breaks are simple, you’re probably looking at minor surgery. If you’d come in immediately, it’s possible the bones could have been set and casted, but the swelling presents some issue there.” I watched his face to make sure he was understanding. Judging by his expression, I wasn’t telling him anything new, so I continued, “The ribs could be just bruised, but I want to double-check. Even if they’re fractured, there’s little we can do. You just have to rest them and allow them to heal. But the first thing we need to do is get you some pain medicine and deal with the wound on your side.”

  He took a few seconds to process what I’d told him, then nodded.

  “Do you have any questions?” I asked.

  “Am I going to be here long?”

  “I do want to keep you overnight. I’d like to get a round of IV antibiotics in you. I don’t like how that laceration on your side looks. Plus, we have to see what happens when ortho takes a look at your hand. Other than that, and if you’re doing okay in the morning, I don’t see any reason why you’d have to stay any longer, assuming there’s no further complications discovered after we review the results from imaging.”

  “You made it all sound complicated, doc.” He offered an engaging grin, then closed his eyes. “Let’s get me doped up. I’m tired and sore as hell.”

  * * *

  I was able to keep my concerns about Cormac’s possible involvement tucked away in the back of my head for the next little while as I issued the order for a short-acting narcotic, in addition to a localized anesthetic so I could clean and close Jerrel’s laceration.

  But once I was done with that simple task, it got harder to not think about Cormac.

  He was new to the area.

  Granted, Jerrel didn’t say anything about his attacker being new to the area, but the guy might not know that Cormac had just arrived in Philadelphia. And for all I knew, that was a lie. I mean, how well did I really know the man?

  The man I knew certainly didn’t shy away from brawling, but would he beat the shit out of somebody for no reason?

  “You don’t know the whole story,” I told myself as I pushed the button on the cafeteria coffee machine. A steaming, vanilla-flavored coffee drink flowed into it, and I was so distracted, it overflowed. Some of the hot brew splashed onto my hand, and I yelped in reaction.

  “Are you okay?” A nurse hovered nearby.

  I put the drink down hurriedly and checked my hand. Ugly red splotches stained the tips of two fingers, but they were small. Annoying but nothing else. “I’m fine,” I said, feeling silly. Hurrying away, I paid for the drink and made my way back to the emergency department.

  What I needed to do was just quit worrying about what had happened.

  I told myself that that was exactly what I’d do.

  But an hour later, after Jerrel was back from X-ray, after I’d put in a call for an ortho consult, I found myself back in the bay where he waited for further treatment.

  “Well, you have two broken fingers,” I told him with faux cheer. “I’d have to agree that you were definitely in the wrong place at the wrong time. It didn’t end in your favor. Does the other guy at least look as rough as you do?”

  “Shit.” He snorted, then grimaced, reaching up to probe at his face. “Damn, this hurts. Third time I’ve had my nose broken, you know that? You’d think a guy would get used to it. But you don’t.” He sighed, then rolled his head on the pillow until he was staring up at me. “That son of a bitch, Cormac…yeah. I roughed him up some, but somehow, I don’t think he’s got a few broken bones, a gash in his side, and blood all caked up in his nose. Asshole.”

  He closed his eyes, an angry sigh escaping him.

  Blindly, I reached out and patted his arm before turning away. “It won’t be long before the orthopedic gets here to evaluate your hand. I also got a heads-up from the maxillofacial group we use. One of their doctors was already in
the hospital, so she’ll be in to take a look at your nose, and you two can discuss options.”

  He grumbled something out.

  But I couldn’t understand it, and just then, I didn’t really care.

  In a daze, I left his bay.

  Four

  Briar

  Part of me wished I hadn’t said anything to Jerrel. I wanted to think it would be better to just not know, and I even managed to half-way convince myself of that as I made my way into the locker room set aside for female staff.

  My head ached, and instead of immediately dragging my things from the locker, I dropped down on the bench and buried my face in my hands. The sharp, astringent smell of the soap we used on the floor flooded my senses, and I groaned, lowering my hands to study them.

  My skin was dry from all the harsh soap, and my cuticles were cracking. I needed a manicure, but my schedule never seemed to work with the hours of the place I liked to use.

  I really needed to commit a couple of days to just me time. I could get a mani and pedi, then lounge around all day and read. Maybe even go over to Dad’s and flop in a lounge chair by the heated indoor pool. I could go to sleep early, or whenever I wanted, and spend half the day lounging in bed.

  Thoughts of bed led to thoughts of Cormac, and I groaned again, trying to banish him from my mind. It didn’t work, and I clenched my jaw in anger.

  It would take a long time to forget Jerrel’s battered face, his hand, that knife injury.

  Cormac was responsible. He’d used a knife on a guy.

  That annoying little voice in the back of my head once more insisted that I didn’t know the full story. It reminded me that Cormac had been more than a little battered himself, and had his own bloody gash, though jagged and far less severe.

  No. I didn’t know the whole story, but I didn’t want to know it either.