“Fuck!”
Yup. That about sums it up.
A rapping at the broken door startles me. Motioning for me to stay where I am―not that I could move easily on any account―Horse gets up and goes to answer it. I hear another man’s voice and make out from their conversation it’s his friend who’s come to fix the damage Horse had caused. Though I’m uncomfortable with yet another man in the house, I’m glad he was quick—the sooner it’s sorted, the faster this strange man will be gone.
I frown as the question only just occurs to me as to who’s going to be picking up the tab? I wasn’t the one who kicked my bloody door down. My pulse quickens and my cheeks grow red. After Horse’s explanation as to why he was here, my fear of him had dissipated, and now my emotion swings back the other way as I start to get incensed all over again.
It’s not long before Horse comes back into the room and stands, regarding me thoughtfully for a moment. At last he asks, a little cautiously having noted my change in mood, “Is it alright if I use your kitchen to make Cut a cuppa?”
Now there are a couple of things you find out quickly once you’ve lost the use of your legs. One is that you don’t have much option to object when an able-bodied person is intent on doing something for you, and the other is it’s a pain in the arse doing even simple things like making coffee for yourself. So, it’s a simple answer. “There’s coffee and tea bags on the side and milk in the fridge. And as long as you make one for me as well, knock yourself out.”
As I hear the sounds of cupboards opening and closing, suggesting Horse is finding his way around my kitchen, I think about the things he's told me. Despite some days not having the will to get out of bed, let alone the desire to continue living, the thought that Ethan could be after me is a chilling one. The sounds of domesticity give me a strange comfort with the massive man in my house. St John-Davies is a nasty piece of work, and now Zoe’s left him again—could she be right to be worried he’d come after me? Suddenly I don’t feel quite as anxious to send Horse on his way. Once more, my emotion trips in another direction, to that of concern and worry. What’s going to happen now?
“Sugar?”
I answer the shouted question, “No thanks, just milk please.”
It’s not long before Horse is back with my beverage and places it on a side table within my easy reach. “Cut won’t be long; he reckons it will only take an hour or so. It’s a standard size, so he’s got a replacement in the back of his van. He’s going to fit a better lock too.” Horse plonks himself down in the armchair again, and I wince on behalf of that poor piece of furniture.
I don’t have too much spare cash lying around. I haven’t worked for months, my sick pay―which is fast running out―is now half my regular salary, and I’ve yet to receive any compensation as the driver of the car that hit me was never found, so money worries me. “How much is that going to cost?” I ask, wearily.
Again he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t worry about it. Cut owes me a favour. And it was me who broke down your door, anyway. Hey, you sure you’re alright after that fall? You took a nasty fucking tumble. I straightened up your table, by the way, and put your things back on it.”
“Thanks. It’s par for the course. I usually use the wheelchair,” I explain, “but stupidly tried to give it a go with the crutches.” I won’t be doing that again.
“Hmm.” He nods and takes a mouthful of his drink―he must have a mouth made of iron, it’s far too hot for me to even sip yet. After scrutinising me for a moment, he asks as I thought he would, “That video, fuck, I’m surprised you survived. How badly were you hurt?”
I shrug. I’ve had time to get used to answering the question, even if I’ll never get used to what I lost. “I’ve lost my lower leg below my left knee, and my right was badly smashed up. They just about managed to save that leg, but it’s weak as hell.”
“Have you got an artificial limb?”
I have, and I hate the darn thing. I hate my stump and everything about it. With a shudder I reply, “A prosthesis, yes, but it’s so darn uncomfortable.”
“So you make do with your wheelchair?”
Another shrug. “It’s easier.”
His eyes glare into mine. “Fuck, that bastard.”
He’s summed it up, there’s nothing else to say. We continue to sit in an awkward silence, then he goes and chats with his friend, Cut, for a while, leaving me to muse about the stranger who’s come to my house. Before, I would certainly have been interested. With that size of body and those hands the size of dinner plates, I’ve no doubts other parts of him would live up to his name. But along with my leg, my sex drive has completely disappeared, mainly, I admit, as a way of protecting myself. Who’d want me nowadays? A cripple in a wheelchair, missing half of one leg and the other full of steel pins and covered in scars? No one in their right mind.
The thought of getting intimate with someone and seeing them turned off when they get sight of my stump kills any arousal within me stone-cold dead. So, I just don’t go there anymore. Leaning forward, I put my head in my hands, rubbing at the growing pain in my temples. After all these months, I’m still unable to come to terms with what happened to me. I still find it impossible to move forward, always looking back and regretting ever stepping out into that road, and regretting I never did more to act on my uneasiness when Zoe first got involved with that fucking Ethan. Her rags-to-riches story always rang a little too good to be true; a stark lesson to lift the lid of the pot to see what’s inside before diving in with your spoon.
Heavy footsteps announce Horse has returned. Once again, he just stands in the doorway looking at me. For once I don’t see pity on someone’s face—his brow is creased, and as he runs his hands through his shaggy hair—I realise he looks like he’s trying to solve a problem. Then his back straightens and he walks across to me, crouching down on his haunches. “Babe, your door will be fixed in a few, but we’ve got to decide what to do about you.”
“You don’t need to do anything about me. I’m not your responsibility. You’ve warned me.” It’s hard to suppress a shiver at the thought that I’ve no idea what I’d do if Ethan came calling. But is there any real likelihood he’d turn up? I can’t decide whether it’s a real possibility or not. Surely, he’s got much bigger fish to fry?
His gaze drops to the floor, and when he looks back up at me his eyes have darkened, and he gives a shake of his head. “Fuck, you don’t get it, do you? I promised your friend I’d keep you safe, and that’s what I’m going to do. You got a spare room I can doss down in?”
No. Just no. Despite my earlier thought that his presence was comforting, I don’t want a stranger actually staying in my house. Narrowing my eyes, I say waspishly, “You need a place to stay? Find somewhere else. I’m not running a bed-and-breakfast service here.”
“What the fuck? That’s what you picked up from today? That I’m taking advantage of you? Shit, I want to protect you!” He pulls away, his eyes flashing.
If I could have stamped my foot, I probably would have done exactly that at this point. “I’ve told you! I haven’t had contact with Zoe for months! There’s no reason for St John-Davies to come here.” Why would he bother about me? He’s already left me in a living hell.
“And how many times do I have to tell you that he could use you as bait?” Horse stands up fast, his hands raking through his hair again as he looks back at me, clearly exasperated. But whatever he was going to say next is interrupted by shouting in the hallway.
“Hey, what do you think you’re fucking doing?”
Christ! What is it about today? Another man I don’t know pushes his way into my lounge. He’s not quite as big as Horse, but at over six feet tall and bulked out with muscles, not someone to be trifled with. His face is scarred and his nose crooked, the kind of injuries that might have come from a boxing career. He’s intimidating in a way that Horse isn’t, and the vibe he’s emitting is evil. Automatically I realise this is not Horse’s friend, Cut.
<
br /> My thought confirmed when Horse immediately puts himself between the man and me. “Who the fuck are you?” he snarls.
Cut, who I’d heard but not seen before, rushes in apologising, “I’m sorry, I was getting a screwdriver from the van and he just walked straight past me.” Cut is only slightly smaller than the man who’s assigned himself my protector, and he comes to a halt just inside the doorway at the intruder’s back.
If I’d been alone, I’d have panicked, but with these two men apparently on my side, my lips purse in anger, not fear, and I want answers. “Good question, just who are you? And what gives you the right to barge straight into my home?”
The stranger draws himself up to his full height. “My name’s Hargreaves.” His voice is full of disdain, and though I already had the beginnings of it before, I start to get an ominous feeling about him now.
“Doesn’t tell us much, man,” Horse gets in before I do.
“I work for Mr St John-Davies,” he continues. “And Mr St John-Davies would very much like to know where his girlfriend is.” His eyes, which I notice are far too close together, seem to burn into me as he spits out the reason why he’s here.
A feeling of dread settles in my stomach like a stone as Horse is proved to be right, and I’m relieved that Zoe had the forethought to send him. Any idea I might have of telling him to get lost disappears now, as I look at Ethan’s man in front of me and realise how dangerous he could be. Tension is rolling off him in waves. Enraged, his hands are curled tight by his sides as though it’s an effort to keep himself under control, his nostrils flaring in barely suppressed rage. The only thing that’s comforting about the situation is there are two other irate men in the room giving off equally angry vibes. At least numbers are on my side.
I’m first to break the silence. “Mr Hargreaves, I have absolutely no idea where Mr St John-Davies’ girlfriend is. I don’t even know who that might be.” As his face grows red and he takes in a deep breath, I continue before he has a chance to speak, “My friend, Zoe, was his girlfriend, but I’ve had no contact with her for months. If that’s who you’re talking about, I assure you I haven’t a clue where she could be or, if she’s left him, where she might go. And I’d be the last person she’d contact for the very reason you’re standing here. She’d know better than to come to me or confide in me.”
Hargreaves is making an effort to control himself. His eyes flick to Horse, and then he glances around him. Cut is leaning up against the doorjamb, his legs crossed at his ankles, looking deceptively relaxed, but the fierce expression in his eyes shows he’s anything but. At the moment I couldn’t be safer. But what would have happened had I been alone?
Hargreaves’ Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows rapidly. When he speaks next, it’s in an even tone that appears to be alien to him. “Mr St John-Davies would like to talk to you in person. He’s anxious about Miss Baker. She’s been depressed lately, and he’s concerned she might do herself an injury. I’d like you to accompany me so I can take you to see him. You might have some ideas of where she would go, so he can catch up with her before she does anything we’d all regret. Miss Weston, will you please come with me?” The way he almost stutters over the wording of his request suggests he doesn’t need to plead very often.
“She’s going fucking nowhere with you.” Horse is adamant. He puts out his hand and rests it possessively on my shoulder.
“Horse is quite right, Mr Hargreaves. I have absolutely nothing to say that would be of help to your employer. Now could you please get out of my house?”
“I believe the lady asked you to leave.” Cut adds his two pennies worth, and steps aside from the doorway, leaving room for Hargreaves to pass through.
It appears it’s not often anyone refuses Ethan’s henchman. Suddenly he drops the mask. “Lady? She’s a fucking whore! That’s probably what you two are here for anyway.” He’s spitting with rage as he addresses the two men, then he turns back to me. “You won’t always have your punters here, and Christ, they must be scraping the bottom of the barrel to want anything from a cripple like you. Or are they just here for a pity fuck?”
My mouth drops open; tears come to my eyes. Trying to tell myself Hargreaves is a despicable man working for an even worse employer, I force myself to ignore the offensive words he’s spouting, but they hit the mark, echoing my own thoughts about my desirability. I manage to speak, rasping out while trying not to let him see how much he’s hurt me, “Just get out of my fucking house.”
“Oh, I’ll leave, but I’ll be back when your clients have gone. Don’t try to run, Miss Weston, you won’t escape me.” He breaks off and sneers. “Oh, hang on, you can’t run, can you? You can’t even bloody walk!”
With a roar, Horse launches himself at Hargreaves. Cut moves quickly for such a large man, and they both take hold of his arms and propel him out of the door. I hear the sounds of scuffling outside, then a car door banging, an engine over-revving and roaring away, and then silence.
Angrily I brush the tears, which are now falling in earnest, away from my face. Even if I had the use of my legs, I’d be feeling helpless after a visit from such a horrible man, but as immobile as I am, I’m completely vulnerable and defenceless. My hands cover my eyes. I’m shaking and can’t stop.
“Shush, it’s alright, he’s gone.”
Lifting my head, I see Horse once again hunkered down in front of me, his large hands coming out to cover mine. Cut hovers behind him, concern written all over his face.
“I’m not a whore!” Why I feel it necessary to refute that accusation immediately, I’m not sure, but it’s the first thing that comes into my head.
“Of course you’re fucking not!” Horse’s immediate forceful assertion comforts me. “But one thing’s for certain, you can’t stay here.”
What? It’s my house, my home, my refuge. I’ve barely stepped foot outside these four walls for months. It’s adapted for me, I can’t just leave and go somewhere else where I’ll have to worry if my wheelchair would get through the doorways. “I can’t go. You mentioned staying in my spare room?”
For the first time, Cut addresses me directly, “Even if Horse stays with you, now Hargreaves knows what he’s dealing with, he could come back with more men. It sounds like this St John-Davies has got a fucking hard-on for you. I agree with Horse—you’re not safe here and you need to go somewhere he can’t find you.”
Horse looks at me for a few seconds, his brow creased as though he’s deliberating, then his features relax. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, nods at Cut, then walks out of the room.
I started today like any other I’ve lived through over the past few months, with nothing to think about other than how to get myself out of bed, then into my wheelchair, onto the sofa, then reverse the process again. With nothing for company other than my books and TV, the only things to concern me are the phantom pain from my non-existent leg and the very real pain from the other one. While I’m unsure whether I can cope with such a drastic change to my lonely existence, I know I wouldn’t have had a chance against Hargreaves alone. He’d have taken me with him. I couldn’t have put up much of a struggle. Eventually, I glance up to Cut. He’s standing, leaning against the doorjamb, legs once again crossed at the ankles, giving me time to process what’s gone on.
“I don’t have much choice but to accept Horse’s help, do I?” I admit in defeat, having failed to come up with any alternative. Folding my arms across my chest, I lean back on the sofa. If these two men hadn’t been with me today, Hargreaves might already have delivered me to Ethan. And even if I don’t much care what happens to me, I have to think of Zoe. If keeping myself safe somehow allows her the freedom to get away, that’s what I’ve got to do, however much I dislike being dependent on others—notably people I don’t know.
Cut nods slowly and the corners of his mouth turn up as he smiles. “We’ve got your back, Sophie. Trust Horse to get you somewhere safe.”
Somewhere safe? I’ve no idea where
that could be. Oh, I’ve googled Ethan bloody St John-Davies, and I know the kind of resources he can bring into play if he truly wants to discover someone’s whereabouts. Especially a person who sticks out like a sore thumb. “There’s probably nowhere I can hide.” My chin drops down to my chest in defeat. “If he wants me, nothing will stop him from finding me.”
Horse has been gone quite a while, but he chooses this moment to return, his features relaxed and smiling. “I should have everything sorted, babe. Just have to wait until I get the nod, but I don’t see it being a problem. Trust me, if it works out, I know exactly the right place. Not only won’t he be able to find you there, he won't even think of looking.”
Chapter Two
Wraith…
Shutting off my engine, I remain sitting astride my bike for a moment, breathing in the winter evening air. Up in the foothills above Tucson, Arizona, I prefer this season’s milder temperatures to the scorching heat of the mid-summer months, and the more predictable weather. Riding can be a real bitch in July when the torrential rainstorms, often preceded by dust storms, can blow up out of nowhere, forcing any sane rider to pull over and stop. Arizona doesn’t have a stupid motorist’s law for nothing—if you’re crazy enough to try to drive through the floods, you end up picking up the tab for any damage caused. Yup, winter’s definitely my favourite season. Sure it still rains, but it’s either a steady drizzle or occasional showers, and nothing like the summer monsoons.
Swinging my leg over the bike, I dismount and straighten my cut. I’m early for church, so there’s no need to rush. I can take a moment to enjoy the fresh air―only slightly tainted by the smells of gasoline and hot oil―and the early evening light. Today has been warmer, signaling spring is on its way. Almost time for the prospects to fill up the pool! I grin. That’s a job and a half to keep it clean over the summer months; you never know what might be found in it after a party. What with the other major task of keeping the brothers’ bikes sparkling, and chains and belts free of the sand which otherwise can literally grind us to a halt, I’m so glad those days of being at everyone’s beck and call have long been in my rearview. I’ve been a patched member for ten years and prospected for a year before that. And those arduous twelve months were quite enough for me, thank you very much!
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