I coughed, tasted blood in my mouth. Tough-guy walked away, leaving me there on the ground, on my broken-or-maybe-not-broken-but-definitely-hurting-like-a-biatch arm (one of my ribs was absolutely broken, if not more than one.)
I felt woozy. My vision started to fade. But before it did, I thought of one last thing: I am so going to Fuck. You. Up. Dick.
-3-
The next time I awoke I was being pummeled with fists. Only it wasn't fists. It was water. And I was against a wall.
"Come on, pretty. Boyfriend is coming. Ve need to show him zhat ve have taken care of you. So, clean dat fucking blood off your eye. It look like shit!"
Boyfriend is coming? Conall is not dead!
The firehose cracked me against the wall. Forget soap. Forget anything. It was just me, still dressed, being whipped with a firehose. As it hit my broken ribs I felt my eyes roll back and food come up to my throat.
I forced it down with all the will I had left. (That will was dying fast, and my bravado act was needing bolstering by now.)
And then the room spun, firehose and all. All my tough-girl-atoms disappeared. These guys were just too strong for me. My mind was willing, but I just couldn't fight them anymore physically.
I fell.
The lights went out.
-4-
Snow covered my body. Then angels came down. Then Amy from The Passage by Justin Cronin was next to me, making Snow Angels with me. And the Snow Angels were the Angels of the Sky and it was OK that my body ached because of the cold because that's what happens with Angels, they pick you up when you're coldest, don't they?
An evil insect crawled into my stomach, chewing away at my rib, just one of them. Nibble nibble nibble... It hurt, it hurt so fucking bad. Then there were more of them. They chewed at my ankles and my butt and one of them pulled my shoulder out of place. Not the shoulder that had hit the floor earlier, the other one now.
In my dream, I was sad because I felt I needed that shoulder, the good one, because I'd lost the other one and insects couldn't take the good one because I needed it. And I also needed my ankles. But my butt hurt. It hurt a lot. They chewed and chewed and...
No, it's not insects, no... What?
I woke up.
-5-
Someone had me by the arm, dragging me against the ground. My shoulder yowled in maddening torment. My head hit the floor. My butt scraped against pebbles covered by water and little stones and maybe nails... My heels scraped against the same.
But the pain didn't faze me, it didn't dampen my spirits. What dampened them, finally, was the stupidest, dumbest fucking thing ever. It was when my underwear snapped, and I felt it, as I was being dragged, scrape against my thigh, and get tangled up at my ankle. The bottom of me was nude. I was suddenly angry with myself for having worn thinly strapped lace panties, as if that would have made a difference.
I writhed. I struggled. Burly dickhead basically lifted me and dumped me on a metal table in one fell swoop. It popped my shoulder audibly. The jackhammering drill stamping through my arm and body made my eyes loll back but I willed myself awake, spinning room and all. I knew what was about to happen. I knew it well. And I would be awake for it. I'd fight this motherfucker all the way.
And just make me go down on you, you fuck. Because I swear to god I will chew that fucker off.
Four men held me down on the table, each holding one limb. My legs were wide open. I saw my panties on that right ankle of mine. That was the only thing I couldn't face, the rest I could. I looked away from them. Why had they not just fallen off completely? That would've been better, I thought.
Stinky-Breath stood ahead of me, looking all tough and fucking macho. That's when I thought I remembered him. That guy standing outside The Ritz when Conall and I had visited Alexandra. But, even today, I can't be sure it was him. The mind plays tricks when pain is involved...
How long had they been planning this? Since Conall had done whatever was done to that Mob-Boss that had Alex? Since I'd arrived in the UK? Since Conall and I saw each other for the first time here in England?
Again the pain seared through me. Again I almost passed out. And, again, I didn't. I spat at that fucker. There was blood in my saliva. Of course there was, because you fucking broke my ribs, you twat!
He wiped the bloody spit off his face. He looked at it in his hand now, pointed at me, and said, "You going to fucking pay for zhat, you fucking bi — "
"Hey, dickhead."
Who is that? I know that voice. Where do I know that voice from?
Burly Macho dude turned. He really was an ugly fuck.
The rest happened so fast:
My attacker had a gun behind his back, in his belt. He reached for it. But it was hardly out when I heard the gunshot — not from his gun, someone else's! — and saw the back of Dirty Fucking Scumbag's head pop with redness and blood and squishy shit all over the room and floor!
I screamed.
(Yes, I'd been held down by four men, one ready to do his shit with me, but I only screamed after someone had put a cap in this bozo's head and saved me. Go figure.)
That fucker fell, a sack of potatoes, backwards. Before he hit the ground, his dull head thwacked the table on which I was lying, right between my legs, spattering some blood onto my knees!
I looked up. I was looking at an angel, a real angel. All motion stopped, and only later did I realize that this was the sensation of waterfalls of relief pouring over me.
It was the old man from Smokey's! Still in his denim jacket and tweed flat-cap. The one who'd told me to take care of Conall...
A gun smoked in his hand and he looked at me with all the care in the world. Then, slowly, carefully, and fucking badass as hell, he aimed it up at that first ass-wipe on my right. The one holding my right ankle... (The ankle with those god-awful panties dangling from them.)
"You know I'll fucking pop you if you don't let her go," said the old man. The dude let me go, put his hands up.
But Clint Eastwood here popped him anyway, in the kneecap!
"Sorry, I lied."
Then all hell broke loose:
The other men went fucking wild. They charged for the old man, but they didn't get to him. Then there was Trey! Thwack! A crowbar! Bam! To the head! One guy down! Trey pummeled that fucker so hard that I'm sure I saw brains on the wall. "Doing OK, Leora?" I heard him say as he beat the shit out of one of the dudes.
Doing OK? Huh?
I crawled back, fell off the table and landed on my ass and kept crawling. More guys jumped in. The dude I'd seen outside the gym. Then Smokey! Fuck me, even the guy who'd called Conall "bup" was here! The one with the spiderweb tattoos on his neck — Keith?
There were cricket bats, crowbars, so much swinging, people groaning. More gunshots! I blocked my ears and screamed in fear.
I craned my neck around the table. I saw one of the fucker's faces before something cracked his head. More men came in — bad men! How many of these dudes were there!?
But we were winning! Trey was such a monster, Kung-Fu King or some shit. And that "Spiderweb bup Keith" guy was smiling as he held one loser up against the wall and beat the crap out of the guy's abs. Yeah. Break your own fucking ribs you asshole! The dude bled from his mouth, then dropped like so much lead.
And I felt — goddamn it — I felt fucking good about it!
My mind drifted. Suddenly it all hit me. Now that the threat was dying — As World War III broke out around me, I fell back against this little corner of the room I'd found and I started to shiver. And I was, for the first time since they'd taken me, totally and utterly...afraid.
Where are you, Conall?
That's when the hands scooped me up. His hands. Conall's arms lifted me like a forklift and he walked me out of there. Men being absolutely plastered on either side of us. We eased out of there like something out of a Die Hard movie.
Get the fuck out the way you pricks. My knight is here!
I buried my head into his chest as Trey and Smokey a
nd all the guys who I would, from that point on, call my brothers forevermore, paneled the living bejeezus out of these...horrible, despicable, pieces of shit.
Good, I thought. Good.
-6-
It wasn't over.
Conall put me in the back of a car, covered me in warm, fleecy blankets. Doctor Gehrig was there.
Conall's voice: "Leora... Leora, can you hear me?" He slapped me lightly on my cheek. "Leora, baby, can you hear me?"
No, I couldn't, not really. It all hit, it had all hit at once, the pain, the warehouse, what might have happened. What had happened, actually? The world spun, lights filled my eyes like drunken fireflies.
"Leora, Doctor Gehrig will take care of you, OK? I will be back."
He would be back?
And then he was gone. No! Conall!
I caught his figure in the distance, walking back into the warehouse. Swaggering. Fists clenched.
My eyes closed...
An explosion woke me up again! How long had I been out? A conflagration of flames towered above the once-upon warehouse, and Conall was now walking toward me, away from the flames. Blood on his brow, sweat covering his face, blood on his knuckles, the fire back-lighting his magnificent body as he got closer.
I couldn't hear very well. Shock?
All the men were there now, just outside the car. The men who'd saved me. Little ol' me. One of them lit a smoke, another held a cricket bat to his shoulder with a smile. The old man — Clint Eastwood! — shook Conall's hand. There were lots of nods.
"OK, get the fuck out of here now. I'll take care of the rest," said Trey. "Conall, leave!" Trey hugged him. No, none of that manly shit, a real fucking hug!
"Go!" said Trey. He pointed forcefully to the car, then looked around to see if anyone was there. I saw him get on his phone, but the door closed before I could hear anything.
When Conall got back in the car with me I looked at his eyes.
That was the first time — the only time — I've ever seen him cry.
"I thought I'd lost you," he said, grabbing my hand, tears welling up in his eyes. One of the tears broke loose. Just one.
"Me, too," I said.
-7-
"Did you...kill those men?" I remember asking Conall.
"No," he said, "the fire did it."
CHAPTER TWENTY
-1-
Conall was by the window when I woke up in the hospital. When had I passed out?
He rushed over to me, fear and hatred burning behind his eyes. He clutched my hand and sat next to me on a small stool. "How are you?" he asked.
How was I? Damn it, I hadn't even thought of that. I was just glad to be alive, and glad to see him, and glad to be in a bed...
But his question made me think of it. And then my head hurt, and my ribs, and — oh God — my arm felt like it was ready to fall off. "I've been better," I said. I felt a lump in my throat as I'd said it. My eye felt a bit swollen as well.
I looked away.
"Did they...?" I couldn't finish it, but my look gave it away. I really couldn't remember.
"No. No. We got there in time. They only had you for a few hours."
"A few hours?" The abrupt question made me cough. "God, and I feel nauseous."
"That's just the painkillers. It could've been..."
"What, worse?"
"Sorry, it's callous to say that."
"No, no...you're right." I thought back, the memories too vivid for me to remain comfortable. "It could've been. But you got there in time."
I touched his hand. He pulled it away...
He got up, forcefully, looked out the window.
Uh-oh, here it comes.
"Have you figured out why they took you?" he asked.
"Not fully, but I can imagine. They said something about contacting you so, I guess, ransom of some sort?"
He turned to me, thoughts raging...
"Not some sort. Exactly the sort. You know, if they'd... Even if one drop of blood had fallen on your lips or even on your... You'd have been on antiretrovirals for a month, puking your lungs out — "
"Conall, please." I put my hand up, coughed.
"Sorry, sorry. It's just..."
I could see it. I could practically hear it:
They took you because of me. It's my fault. We need to be apart.
"Don't say it!" I said, preempting. Damn, it hurt my neck to put so much force into my words! "Don't tell me we're better off apart. OK? Just...don't!"
He shook his head, turned back to the window. "Whether I say it or not won't change the truth of it, will it?"
The room spun. My bed crashed. "Conall, I won't say that nothing those bastards could've done would've been worse than not being with you. Because — "
A flashback hit me:
...if Mr. Villiams does not reply to our demands, vell, maybe ve vill have some fun vith you...
I shook my head, tried to focus. "It would have been worse. If those guys had had their way with me, yes, I don't think I would've taken that shit as well as Alex has. But it didn't happen. That's what's important — "
"No, it's not!" His voice was heavy, angry. It was the first time he'd raised his voice to me... "Leora, I'm sorry," he said, gentler now. But the conversation would have to wait...
"Oh my fucking God!" cried Kayla. She ran into the room, quickly followed by Alex and, shit, even Dani was here! Kayla hugged me, and, holy cow, that friggin hurt when she did it.
"Oh, sorry! Are you in pain?" she asked.
I had to laugh at the statement, and even that hurt!
"What happened?"
"My God!"
"And how did you get out?"
"And — "
The girls all spoke at once. Their words were like random tennis shots and, oddly, made me smile. Until I noticed that Conall had walked out. And he wasn't by the window.
The girls kept talking, but I wasn't listening anymore. All I could hear was Trey's voice inside my head:
Conall talks with his fists when he's worried.
-2-
"Love?" said Dani. The other girls had gone out for some coffee, and Dani, mysteriously, had chosen to stay behind. "Look, just so you don't find out later..."
Oh, fuck, here it comes... "Dani, I know already. I figured it out."
"Huh?"
"So you slept with Dorian, it's fine. I figured you would."
She looked disgusted. "Huh?"
"Didn't you?"
"Of course not! He's yours! Well, was, but anyway, I wouldn't. I told you I wouldn't!"
"Damn it, I'm sorry, it's just that, when you called me and asked me all those questions..."
"Yeah, um, well, two things — "
"Dani, am I gonna feel worse than I do already after you tell me?"
"Well, no. I thought you might, but seeing as you thought it would be OK if I slept with Dorian then you probably wouldn't mind that Jackie did."
"Who?"
"You know, the girl who's been covering for us all the time?"
"Oh, right! Ew, isn't she like sixteen or something?"
"Well, that's legal shagging age in this country."
I tried to shake my head, but I couldn't. "Yeah, but she looks fifteen, at a stretch. Urgh, that's disgusting."
"Right, well, Dorian had been hitting on me, like, a lot, and I knew Jackie was into him so, I checked with you. I confess, it had been a ploy to get him off my back and onto hers. So I told her she should go for him when I found out you and Mr. Dreamy had sorted things out."
I laughed. Yip, you guessed it, hurt!
"I can't believe I let that guy touch me," I said.
"Yeah, well..." Her mind drifted. "Let's just say I've done worse. Much worse. Like, bottom of the barrel and into the cellar, worse.
"Anyway, the second thing?" I said.
"Oh brother."
"Yes?"
"Troy and I are dating, just FYI."
My jaw dropped. I stared at her.
"Leora?"
"Um, right, you said Troy, right?"
"Yes..." She blushed.
And, damn it, I laughed! Thank goodness she laughed as well! "I know, I know... Anyway, he's cool. I like him. He's so far from my usual type of guy but...he makes me feel different." She gave a wistful (and a little embarrassed) smile.
I smiled back. "Good for you, sweetie."
"Anyway, the reason for this confession is, well, Troy likes certain things and I figured you need some more time off work. So, unless he doesn't want to continue getting a little you know what, you know where, he'll give you all the time off you need!"
The ensuing laughter slaughtered my neck muscles, and my ribs, and my shoulder. It was worth it.
-3-
When Kayla got back with Alex she was gleaming! She was downright giddy. I knew she was sandbagging on something. "You look like you're about to start jumping up and down and start clapping," I said.
"Maybe..."
Then Conall walked in. My heart sank. My God, how long had he been gone? He had flowers in his hand... And a new cut on his face, his right eye this time. I knew that had zero to do with the warehouse I'd been held in. This boy's been boxing with Trey.
And, yip, Trey kicked his ass. Again!
Kayla's eyes gleamed. "That's our cue!" she said to Alex, looped her arm around the other girl's and walked out. Dani stayed, until Kayla poked her head back in the door and said, "Ahem, Dani, dearie, come along now." Now that had been a good British accent by an American if I'd ever seen one.
Conall plopped the flowers by my side. "For" — he coughed — "you," he said. The gesture had not been very elegant, but it did the trick. For a man who knew how to create orgasmically divine playlists, he sure as hell had little clue about giving a girl flowers when she was lying in bed in a hospital!
East Rising (Naive Mistakes #2) Page 18
