by Nic Starr
Finn looked over the roof of the car, his gaze skirting past his brother and the others, straight to the pub. They locked eyes, and Finn’s smile was bright as he saluted in Mitch’s direction, causing Mitch’s happiness to notch up another level.
Mitch glanced away and ducked his head, afraid he’d given away his feelings. He reached for his Stella and took a large gulp of the cold beer while he gathered his thoughts and tried to bring his feelings under control. He was a twenty-nine-year-old man, not a blushing teenager, for Christ’s sake.
What happened next had Mitch forgetting everything apart from the need to get to Finn. A screech of brakes, a loud yell in unison from the men on the street, and high-pitched screams from the women in the beer garden. Oh my God!
Other patrons from inside the pub were drawn to the noise and were making their way to the low brick wall that separated the pub garden from the footpath, joining the onlookers who’d made their way there. Mitch pushed past the small crowd and bounded over the wall, his pulse thundering in his veins. A bike nearly hit him, but he stepped back just in time as Lucky, who hadn’t even dismounted from his bike, roared off down the road in pursuit of a white sedan whose taillights were disappearing around the corner.
Mitch, Rocky, and Stack raced across the road, and it was only when they reached the other side that Mitch understood what had happened: the Commodore had slammed into Pete, who lay in a crumpled heap on the bitumen, with Finn kneeling at this side.
The relief was instantaneous, the weight lifted from his chest.
Finn is okay, he’s not hurt, he’s safe. Finn is fine.
Just as quickly the horror of the situation became apparent, and bile rose in Mitch’s throat. The car had hit Pete with some force, judging from the mangled car door that hung from one hinge. Pete’s head had slammed against the road surface, and a pool of blood seeped in a slowly growing circle around his dark curls. Mitch dropped to his knees beside Finn and carefully checked Pete’s throat for a pulse. It was faint but present. Thank God.
“It’ll be okay,” Finn whispered, gently pushing Pete’s hair back. Pete’s pale, gaunt face was even more colorless, as if life had already left him, and with a wave of clarity, Mitch understood it most likely had, or wasn’t far off. Even if they could repair Pete’s leg, which was bent at an unnatural angle, the chances of them getting him alive to the hospital in order to do so seemed fairly slim. Mitch had seen enough death in his line of work to know it didn’t look good. He shook his head. But it’s not hopeless! While there was still a pulse under his fingertips and Pete took a breath, no matter how weak, there was still a chance.
“Be careful touching him, Finn. Here.” Mitch ripped his T-shirt off and thrust it at Finn. “Take this and use it to stop the bleeding at his head. But be careful not to move his neck. Hold the T-shirt against the wound on the side of his head with one hand and use your other hand to stabilize his head so he can’t move.”
Finn’s blue eyes were wide with shock. “I….” His voice trembled.
“Now, Finn.”
Finn jumped at the command in Mitch’s tone and bent to place a palm on either side of Pete’s head, the folded T-shirt staunching the flow of blood. Mitch let out a quiet exhalation when Finn met his gaze and nodded. Giving Finn something practical and important to do had curbed his panic and distress.
Mitch looked up to Rocky. “Call the ambulance.”
Rocky stood and stared, features unmoving and his mouth in a hard line. He made no effort to reach for his phone.
“We need to get him help, Rocky. Call the ambulance. Now.” The authoritative tone didn’t work as well on Rocky, who looked indecisive, glancing between Pete on the ground and Stack, who stood beside him. Mitch finally lost his temper. “For fuck’s sake!” He fumbled in his pocket before remembering his phone was in his jacket back at the pub, then another voice cut in.
“I called triple O. They’re sending an ambulance and the cops.”
Mitch nodded his appreciation to the stranger and focused back on Pete. There was nothing much he could do, as Finn seemed to have it under control, leaning over and holding the folded T-shirt to Pete’s head while he kept him steady. So Mitch placed a hand on Finn’s back, hoping he’d get the message and know Mitch was there for him too.
“The cops are on their way, Mitch.”
Mitch looked up at Rocky’s statement. “Yeah? I heard.”
“He’s—” Rocky’s voice was low, and he tilted his head toward Pete’s prone body. “He’s carrying.”
It suddenly clicked. Rocky was worried about what the ambos and cops would find on Pete. Drugs, guns. Jesus!
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it,” Mitch said. “You and Stack get out of here. I’ll deal with the cops.”
“What will you say?” Stack asked.
“The truth. Pete and I are workmates, and we were meeting for a drink after work.”
Mitch glanced around and saw the guy who’d called the police had crossed back to comfort the girls, standing with a small group of people who had gathered to gawk at the commotion. He grabbed the chance and turned back to Pete and hurriedly rummaged through his pockets, finding the small plastic Ziploc bag of what he assumed was heroin—Jesus, Pete, how much of the goddamn stuff do you need?—but not much else apart from a lighter. No other paraphernalia, no weapons—thank Christ—and his wallet looked clean.
The sound of sirens rent the air, the familiar noise making Mitch’s pulse race. He glanced at Rocky as he shoved the little packet of heroin down the front of his jeans and into his boxer briefs. Rocky nodded and spun on his heel, Stack following as they crossed the road at a rapid pace.
Mitch turned his attention back to the scene in front of him. Intentionally ignoring the wide-eyed look on Finn’s face, he focused on Pete. Fuck, he didn’t look good. All that blood—too much blood—and his breathing was deteriorating as well. Pete’s chest rose and fell in a way that was way too shallow and slow.
“What are you doing?” Finn hissed, his gaze focused on Mitch’s groin. “The police will be here any second.” He looked panicked as he lifted his eyes, but he didn’t move from his position beside Pete where he held Mitch’s shirt to Pete’s head. Is the bleeding slowing at all?
“And they’ll be focused on Pete and getting him attended to as soon as possible. I want you to go with Pete in the ambulance, and I’ll stay here to deal with the cops.” Finn’s brows pulled tight in a look Mitch had come to recognize. “I mean it, Finn. Just leave this to me. You take care of Pete, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
“But if they search the ute? If they know you’re connected with Pete and that Pete’s connected with the Soldiers….” Finn dropped his gaze to his crotch again, where it was as if the little plastic bag of white powder was burning against his skin.
Before he could say anything else, the ambulance pulled up, and two paramedics jumped from the vehicle. Within moments they were dealing with Pete—stabilizing his head and neck, checking his vitals, inserting a cannula, dealing with his head wound, and preparing him for transport.
Finn stood and moved to Mitch’s side as soon as the ambos gave him the go-ahead to let go of the T-shirt and took over staunching the flow of blood. Mitch wanted to reach out and drag Finn to him, to hold him and offer comfort, but couldn’t, not when a cop car was pulling up in the middle of the street behind them. No doubt there’d soon be press on the scene too. So instead of taking Finn into his arms, Mitch gave him a gentle touch on the shoulder and took the bundled T-shirt from his shaking hands.
Seeing someone so gravely injured before your eyes was traumatic enough, let alone someone you were close to. Mitch had seen some gruesome things in his time, due to the job, but he had a feeling that Finn, even though he was attached to the club, hadn’t dealt with something like this close-up. And how close are Finn and Pete?
Pete.
They loaded him onto the stretcher.
Even though his feelings for Pete had long since fa
ded to something he couldn’t entirely put his finger on, it tore him up to see him like this. For all his faults, Pete had tried to beat his addiction, and Mitch understood it was the drugs that had torn their relationship apart. Mitch swallowed past the lump in his throat.
“Go with them.” He nudged Finn. Finn remained silent, but he nodded before walking to the back of the ambulance. He spoke to the paramedics, then climbed into the ambulance. Mitch got one last look at his stricken face before they slammed the doors closed and the ambulance pulled away in a sharp burst of siren noise.
“Sir?” Mitch became aware of someone speaking his name. “Sir? Let’s get you off the road, and we’d like to have a word with you and any other witnesses.”
He nodded, giving one last look at the already congealing scarlet pool on the bitumen, and moved onto the footpath next to Pete’s damaged car. He could see another police officer across the road, talking to the small group that was gathered outside the pub.
“I’m Officer Ted Johnson. I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Sure.” He gave the young officer his full attention and kept his voice low. “Listen, this is important. I’m Detective Mitch O’Neill, working undercover as part of an antibike operation. I need you to contact Detective Ross Sloane and Superintendent Sutherland. They can back me up. You’ll find drugs, a small bag that I assume is heroin, down the front of my jeans. There could be drugs and weapons in the HiLux. I can’t be 100 percent sure, but it’s likely. The guy who was hit is Peter Crowley—aren’t you going to write any of this down?”
The officer flicked open his notepad and hurried for a pen. His professionalism finally seemed to kick in, and he ignored the pen and hovered his hand over his weapon instead. “Are you armed?”
“No, not on me. I have a weapon—police issued—in my car. A Range Rover parked around the corner. Keys are in my jacket pocket, which is on the back of a chair in the beer garden of the pub over there.”
“ID.”
“Not on me, and not in my real name.”
The guy frowned. “And this incident, this hit-and-run, is involved with your case?”
Mitch nodded. “Peter Crowley is a new pledge to the Soldiers of Fury. He’s pretty close to Rocky Cummings. Acts as a runner and general dogsbody. I can’t be certain, but the hit-and-run could have been a deliberate attempt to target the Soldiers. There was a definite attempt on them recently—a drive-by shooting outside the home of Rocky Cummings.”
“I heard about that.” The cop glanced across the road at his colleague, gesturing to get his attention and beckon him before turning back to Mitch. He only had his eyes off Mitch for a second, and his hand didn’t leave his weapon. “I need to check up on your story. Stay right here and don’t move.”
The two policemen chatted for a bit, the younger one gesturing toward Mitch. He finally returned to the police car, obviously radioing for more info and to validate what Mitch had given him. The murmur of the crowd reached his ears, along with the sound of more sirens. He glanced at the place where Pete had lain. Mitch bit back the bile and fought down the emotions. Now wasn’t the time to let his personal involvement get the better of him, but he still couldn’t help the tinge of sadness at the thought of Pete in the back of the ambulance, and the ache in his heart at the sense of helplessness that had risen at the sight of Finn’s distress.
He closed his eyes for a moment and squeezed his hands tight as he tried to bring himself under control. The coppery scent of blood filled his nostrils. Pete’s blood. He opened his eyes, taking in the twisted and stained T-shirt. He dropped the shirt and stared at his bloodstained hands, then leaned over and promptly vomited into the gutter.
Yeah, keeping his professional and personal lives separate sure wasn’t happening.
Chapter TWENTY-FOUR
THE HOSPITAL was bloody awful. The cold, sterile waiting room brought back unwanted memories of the hours Finn had spent waiting to hear how his dad was after the accident that saw his bike wrapped around a tree. Then there was more time spent at the hospital praying for Carl to recover. And all he could think about was how both those times turned out.
Thankfully Pete was still fighting, but it looked like he had a long battle ahead of him.
The only thing that helped lighten the darkness in Finn’s heart—the darkness the memories and watching his friend nearly get killed had stirred up—was the sight of Mitch’s car in the driveway when he arrived home. Finn jumped from the Uber and nearly flew into the house.
He rushed through the house until he came across Mitch in the kitchen. The sight nearly tore his already vulnerable heart apart. Mitch was standing in front of the kitchen sink, his palms on the benchtop, staring out the window into the backyard beyond.
Finn hesitated at the doorway, suddenly unsure how to approach. Their relationship was so complicated. Too bad they could never have a proper relationship—Rocky would kill both of them—and too bad Mitch wasn’t one of the good guys. Finn’s head warned him to keep his involvement with anyone even remotely attached to the Soldiers at a minimum, but it was too late for that. And the strange thing was, no matter how much Finn tried to apply reason and logic, his heart saw something in Mitch that represented goodness, caring, and security and drew Finn like a magnet. Finn just didn’t know if he could trust those feelings.
All this rushed through his head in the few seconds he stood on the threshold to the room. His gaze moved from Mitch to the window. Mitch wasn’t gazing into the yard; it was dark outside, and with the light of the kitchen, Finn could see Mitch was actually watching him in the reflection. His brow was furrowed, his jaw tense, and it was then Finn could see the shaking in his shoulders, as if Mitch were gripping the benchtop for grim life.
Fuck it!
He needed Mitch. He needed to feel close to someone, to be held, and not feel so alone. More than that, he needed to reach out and give Mitch comfort. And if Mitch wasn’t going to come to him, then he was damn well going to Mitch, and fuck the consequences.
By the time he’d taken the five steps to reach Mitch, Mitch swung around, and there was no hesitation in their coming together. They clung to each other, and Finn let the emotions wash over him. The hold was warm and strong, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed so far away.
Finally they separated, and he looked into Mitch’s eyes. “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay.” Mitch’s voice was shaky and his expression pinched. “I’m more worried about you. And Pete.”
Warmth flooded Finn at Mitch’s concern, and he smiled gently. “I’ve had better days, but Pete’s hanging on. There was nothing more I could do at the hospital, so I came home, and they’ll call me if there’s any change. His parents are there. Someone—the cops, maybe?—must have got in touch with them. Thank God, really, otherwise I don’t think I would have found out much about his condition.”
“What did the doctors say?”
Finn was aware Pete and Mitch had known each other for a while, ever since they worked together, but he wasn’t entirely sure of the level of their friendship. The fact he now knew they were both gay, and the looks Finn had noticed pass between them, indicated there’d perhaps been something more than friendship, but neither of them said anything. Although Finn remembered Pete’s words about trusting Mitch: “You can trust him. The rest of them are arseholes, but not Mitch. Mitch, he’s one of the good guys. He’ll be on your side.” Finn bit back the jealousy at the thought of Mitch and Pete together and carefully considered how to pass on the information. Best to focus on the facts and be unemotional.
“He’s got a broken leg, but that’s easily fixed. The bleeding from his head was quickly stopped, and I think they gave him a transfusion to replace all the blood he lost. But they’re worried about his brain. He fractured his skull when he hit the road, so they’re monitoring him for swelling. They were going to take him into surgery and—I’m not sure of the official terms—drill a hole in his skull and insert a tube that connects to a
computer. Supposedly it will detect changes in pressure in his head. If the pressure gets too much, then they’ll take him back to surgery and remove a part of his skull to give his brain room to expand.”
“Jesus.”
Mitch wobbled slightly, and Finn tugged him to him. “It sounds worse than it is,” he said, trying to keep his voice strong and even, hoping his words would calm Mitch. “By taking off some of his skull and giving his brain room, it stops the brain damage that would result from his brain being constricted. The doctors seem hopeful that Pete will make it.” He lowered his voice. “Although they can’t guarantee he’ll make a total recovery because they don’t know how much damage has already been done. They won’t know until he wakes up.”
“He’s been through so much already. His body’s pretty fucked-up from the drugs and his efforts to give them up. Fuck, the last time Pete was in rehab, it nearly killed him. I don’t know if he’s strong enough to get through this.”
The depth of Mitch’s concern and his knowledge of the personal stuff in Pete’s life reinforced in Finn’s mind what he had been thinking. Mitch and Peter are closer than I thought. More than just friends?
Pete’s words echoed again: “There’s stuff you don’t know, stuff I want to tell you.”
Finn shook his head to clear his thoughts and met Mitch’s eyes.
“There’s no point worrying about it now, and nothing we can do. We need to trust he’ll be okay. The doctors are doing everything they can,” Finn said. “C’mon, let’s get ready for bed. I don’t know about you, but I’ve had a long day, and I know I could use some sleep.”
Mitch pulled back slightly and met his eyes, a little of the lost look having disappeared. His lips turned up with a hint of a gentle smile. “You’ve had a shit day too. Sorry to be dumping my crap on you.”
“We all have pasts and the associated baggage. I’m just happy I can be here for you. I’m glad you got my message and agreed to come back here and wait for me.”
