by Fobes, Tracy
Suddenly, he felt a foot pressing into his back. It held him down against the broken piece of fence. He twisted hard to the left, intending to swing a fist at the face closest to him, but then he heard a tell-tale clicking of a gun chambering a round. Something cold and hard pressed against his neck. He froze.
“Don’t appreciate the rabbit routine,” a deep, accented male voice said.
Jake heard fabric rustle, and then something hard and pointed connected with his ribs. He cried out. Pain exploded in his side. He curled onto his side, his one leg still caught on the nail, and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Look at me,” the other one said.
His teeth gritted against the pain, Jake turned to glare at the man with the chin-strap beard, the same one Luke had been watching in Rowdy Ray’s. He was holding the billy club by the handle and casually slapping the end of it against an open palm.
“I guess we oughtta introduce ourselves,” the man said, as he reached down to pull the cell phone out of Jake’s back pocket. “I’m Monahan, and this is Mr. Winsome. You might say we’re friends of your mom’s.” Monahan threw Jake’s cell phone on the ground and crushed it beneath his heel.
“Stay the fuck away from my mom,” Jake warned, his voice raspy. He was angry, maddened with pain.
“I’d say you’re in no position to ask for anything,” the one called Mr. Winsome replied and, with stunning violence, delivered another blunt-tipped blow to Jake’s uninjured side.
A fresh volley of agony erupted in Jake’s midsection. He groaned and rolled onto his back.
“No, he’s not, is he, Mr. Winsome?” Monahan said, and then viciously stomped on Jake’s abdomen.
Jake cried out in agony, the sound choked off when Mr. Winsome clubbed him again, this time lower, near his buttocks.
“So, here’s why we arranged this meeting,” Monahan offered.
Jake tried to focus on the man, but his face was swimming above him. He felt himself losing consciousness. He struggled against it. He wanted to see these two men who were beating him. He wanted to memorize every detail on their faces, right down to the lines around their mouths and the furrows in their foreheads. He’d be coming back for them.
“Your mother owes us some money, and she ain’t paying. So we asked her to work for us instead. She refused that too, the ungrateful bitch.” Monahan shook his head. “The people in this town, they’re nothing but trouble, ain’t they, Mr. Winsome?”
The bigger of the two, the one with a face like a hound’s shook his head. “They sure are. Good think I like wetwork.”
“And if I may say so, you’re very good at it,” Monahan said with a smile.
Mr. Winsome beamed.
“But the boss, he ain’t too happy with people who won’t pay what they owe,” Monahan continued, his tone faintly chiding. “And people who won’t even work to pay what they owe.”
Nausea began to roll over Jake in waves. He wondered if one of the kicks had ruptured his stomach. He fought to control it.
Monahan nudged Jake with his boot tip. “He has a particular dislike for people who go to the police. So we’re here to tell you a couple of things. Ain’t we, Mr. Winsome?”
“We are,” Winsome agreed.
“You really are a long-winded prick,” Jake muttered.
Monahan’s lips tightened. “What, I’m taking up too much of your time?”
Jake didn’t reply. He wasn’t able to. Bile had filled his throat.
“Well, let me get right to the punch, then. First, your mother’s gotta pay up.” Monahan lifted his billy club and slammed it against Jake’s thigh to emphasize his point.
Red-hot pain slammed through Jake. He leaned over onto his side and threw up.
“Aw, jeez,” Mr. Winsome said with disgust.
Monahan shook his head. “Second, if your mother doesn’t pay up, she’s gotta work for the boss, or Mr. Winsome and I will come back for her. And you don’t want us speaking to her a second time, believe me.”
Monahan hit Jake in the bicep this time, but the waves of agony in Jake’s midsection and thigh nearly drowned out this fresh stab of torment. Jake groaned and pressed his face into the cool, wet grass next to him.
“And third, if you go to the police again, we’ll kill you.” Monahan slammed the billy club against Jake’s lower back.
Jake stiffened, then curled into a fetal position. He made no sound this time. Rather, he simply watched them through a pain-blurred gaze.
“Don’t go to a hospital either,” Monahan warned, then grunted with satisfaction. “That’s all I had. Just three things. Good things come in threes, don’t they, Mr. Winsome?”
Mr. Winsome shrugged. “That’s what I always say.”
Monahan nudged Jake again. “Do you have anything to say?”
Jake shook his head no.
“Well, then, I guess we’re done here. Let’s go.” Monahan and Winsome started to walk away, but paused after only a few steps. “Have a nice night, Mr. Gallent,” he said, and then he and Winsome disappeared into the shadows.
Jake lay still for a moment. His body was one big mass of agony. He did his best to push the pain aside and collect his thoughts, the same way he had during the war, when an assignment had pushed him to his limit.
Koschei’s goons were gone. They’d delivered their message and had no reason to come back. And while they had beaten him, they hadn’t killed him. Now Jake just had to survive the injuries to his body. Tonight he would recover. Tomorrow he could plan his counter-attack.
A pattern of yellowish light dappled the nearby pavement. He realized that the Mermaid Inn’s outdoor lights were shining brightly enough to penetrate the trees edging the road. Help wasn’t far away. He just had to move from this shadowy spot on the outskirts of the Community Garden to the Mermaid Inn parking lot, and hope that whoever found him wouldn’t insist on bringing him to the hospital.
Experimentally he tried to sit up, but dizziness and nausea immediately assailed him. He fell back onto his side. The heat that had flushed through his body during the beating had started to leak away. He felt chilled. He realized his entire body was trembling. He glanced up at the moon, which shone down on him with a pitiless glow. Its cold, white surface wavered before his eyes.
Shock was setting in.
Using his arms, he dragged himself to the edge of the pavement. Waited a few more minutes for the dizziness to subside. Watched as a car passed by within a few feet of him without stopping. Then managed to get to his hands and knees. There he paused, crouched over, and assessed the injuries to his body once more. His legs ached where they’d hit him, but they didn’t feel broken. He should be able to walk. Slowly, carefully, he got into a crouch, and then straightened to a standing position.
Dizziness and nausea hammered at him. He lurched across the road without looking. Luckily no cars were coming in either direction. Once he made it to the other side of the pavement, he stumbled into the trees and fell down. From there, he half-crawled, half-dragged himself to the Mermaid In parking lot, pausing only once to draw a couple of breaths into his hitching lungs.
The pain had gone from a sharp, stabbing sensation to a dull, relentless ache which somehow felt worse. He realized he wasn’t going to make it into the inn. Instead, he managed to get to a lamp post near the entrance to the parking lot, and propped himself up against it. Long, slender fingers of fog wound its way through the parking lot and the inn’s grounds, and for a moment he was afraid it would conceal him and delay his rescue.
Luckily, though, a couple of sharp-eyed old ladies were exiting the restaurant just as the fog shifted to expose him. One wore a kerchief on her hair, while the other huddled in a dated-looking fur coat. They paused with shocked wonder when they saw him.
“Glenda, do you see that?” the fur-wrapped lady said in hushed tones.
“That man against the post? Yes, I see him,” her friend replied in an equally soft voice.
“He looks drunk.”
“Definite
ly one too many.”
Clutching each other’s arms, the pair took a few steps closer and prepared to pass him by.
He seized upon the excuse they’d offered him in their conversation and waved one hand drunkenly at them. “Evening, ladies,” he croaked.
“Why, you’re drunk,” the braver of the two loudly declared. “I ought to call the police on you.”
“No, ma’am, no police,” he rasped. “Just get my friend. Please.”
“Who is your friend?”
“The waitress named Sophia. Please go get her,” he begged, at the same time silently praying that Sophia was working at the restaurant that night.
“The waitress with the long, dark hair?” the one with the kerchief asked loudly.
“Yes, that’s her,” he managed. “She’ll see that I get home safely.”
“Tsk, tsk,” the kerchief-wearing granny replied. “I don’t have my glasses on, but you look like a nice young man. What would your mother say, if she saw you like this?”
“For shame,” her friend added.
“I’m a soldier,” he choked out. “Just home from the war.”
The fur-coated lady made a sympathetic sound. She tugged on her friend’s arm. “Come on, Mabel. Let’s go get the waitress.” The two of them scooted away.
Jake struggled to keep himself upright and conscious. After what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few moments, the old ladies returned with Sophia close behind them.
“There he is,” the kerchief-wearing granny declared. “He said to ask for you. Do you know him, honey?”
“Yeah, I know him.” Scowling, Sophia put her hands on her hips. “They said you’re drunk, Jake. What the hell?”
“I apologize, darlin’,” he rasped.
Her frown deepened. She looked more closely at him, and then her frown gained a tinge of alarm. “I’ll take care of him. Thank you.”
The two ladies moved off into the parking lot with a few more tsking sounds. Jake heard it as if from far away. Now that Sophia was here, he felt himself caving in.
Sophia hurried to his side. “Jake, my God. What happened?” She glanced down at his body, noted the way he was hunched over. “You’re not drunk, are you?”
He managed a single nod. “No, darlin’. I’ve been in a fight.”
Urgency tightened her features. “I need to get you to the hospital.”
“No.” Using the last of his strength, he gripped her arm. “No hospital.”
“But Jake—”
“No hospital, Sophia. They’ll come back for me if I go. Promise me.”
“Well, all right, but—”
Jake didn’t hear the rest of her sentence. The dizziness that had been hovering at the edge of his consciousness finally overcame him. He surrendered to it and closed his eyes.
Chapter Thirteen
“Thanks, Cyn. I appreciate it.” Sophia threw a blanket over Jake’s sprawled form and turned to her friend. “I’m not sure how I would have gotten him back to my place without your help.”
Her long blonde hair gleaming in the moonlight, Cyn glanced admiringly at Jake’s sprawled form. “No problem, girlfriend. I was just sitting around studying. But I have to ask: What happened to him? He looks more than drunk.”
“Apparently he got into a fight, too,” Sophia replied.
“A fight? Wow.” A little grin curved Cyn’s lips. “Are you gonna tend to his wounds?”
“Not in the way you think, though it’s tempting,” Sophia admitted. “I’ll let him sleep it off here, and then tomorrow I’ll send him on his way.”
Cyn shook her head. “Still thinking about that long-distance boyfriend of yours? My God, Sophia, look at this burning hunk of male love lying here in your bed. This is who you should be thinking about—not that Steve guy who lives halfway across the country.”
“Thanks for your advice,” Sophia replied. “But I’m not into ravaging unconscious men.”
Her friend laughed. “Well, I am. Why don’t you let me take care of him?”
Sophia chuckled, the sound without any real humor. “I’ll call you if I need any more help.”
“All right,” Cyn said. “I guess I’ll go back to the books.” She glanced at the clock on a nightstand next to the bed, and then yawned. “Actually, I’m just going to go to bed. It’s late.”
Sophia nodded. “I’m going to bed too...by myself.” Ignoring a few more teasing remarks from her friend, Sophia walked her to the door.
“Call me tomorrow,” Cyn urged, as she walked out onto the porch. “I want to hear how things are going.”
“Will do.”
They said goodnight, and then Sophia made her way back to her bedroom. She looked at Jake lying there, his face bruised, with one eye already swelling shut; and her heart clenched. Who had done this to him? And why? Even as she asked herself the questions, she thought she knew the answer. Who was behind every evil act this town had seen in the last five years?
Simon Koschei.
She saw that Jake was sleeping by the way his eyelids were fluttering. She heard him moan and knew that his dreams weren’t good ones. Her fingers trembling, she decided to unbutton his shirt, so he’d be more comfortable while he was sleeping. She undid the first three buttons and pulled his shirt apart a little, so it wouldn’t bunch up around him. Almost at once she saw it: a reddish-purple bruise on his left side.
“Oh sweet Jesus,” she breathed.
Her fingers trembling even harder, she quickly unbuttoned his shirt all the way and carefully pulled it off of him.
He had a big welt on his right lower hip, one that looked like a bulls-eye, with a dark red center and lighter purplish-red around it. Another bruise marred his muscular upper arm, not too far from the silver aviator wings tattoo. The one on his arm had already begun to turn black.
She swallowed as her gaze roved over the contours of his powerful chest, which was lightly furred with black hair, much more so than she remembered from their teenage encounter.
He was a man now. A big, strong man who had clearly been beaten nearly senseless.
Tears filled her eyes. “Oh, Jake,” she whispered.
Almost afraid of what she might find, she unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his jeans and then unzipped them. Slowly this time, she worked the jeans down his hips, back and forth, until she had them in her hand. Once again, she examined Jake’s body, and found several more welts where he’d either been kicked or beaten with something like a club. Carefully she palpated the wounds and felt the bones beneath. Nothing felt broken, thank God.
She also didn’t see any signs of internal bleeding: swelling, bleeding from his mouth or ears, or deeply purple skin. Despite his moans, he seemed to be sleeping comfortably, and his breathing was normal. She ran her fingers gently through his hair, looking for bumps or blood. Luckily, his head felt unhurt. And yet, she was no doctor. He really did need a hospital.
He was still wearing his boxers and, with her lower lip caught between her teeth, she considered them. She didn’t know how he’d react to being stripped naked. Still, she felt like she needed to know if he’d been injured down there. After a moment, she decided that they needed to go, too, and slid them down his legs inch by inch, trying to disturb him as little as possible. As she exposed his cock, she swallowed and couldn’t stop herself from staring at it. It lay there quiescent. Nothing appeared swollen or injured.
She continued to study him. Jake’s flaccid cock, she saw, was bigger than the erect cocks of some of the men she’d known. He had quite a piece of equipment down there. She remembered when he’d taken her virginity, all of those years ago. It had hurt like hell—more than she’d been led to believe it would—and now she knew why. She caressed his shaft and experimentally wrapped her palm around it. Her cheeks grew warm as she realized that looking at and touching him like this was making her hot. God, what kind of perv was she, getting all hot and bothered around an injured man?
He shivered a little and groaned softly. His eyelids
fluttered. She grabbed the blankets and pulled them up over his naked form. She tucked them beneath his chin and then went into the kitchen to make some chamomile tea. When she returned a few minutes later, he was shivering again.
Was he simply cold? Or in shock?
She strode over to her cell phone, picked it up, and displayed the phone keypad. Her finger hovered between the numbers 9 and 1. She should call an ambulance.
But he’d said no hospital.
She might be causing him even more trouble if she sent him to Franklin General.
Frowning, she put the phone down and returned to his side.
He moaned softly. To her, he sounded so lost, and so alone, that her heart clenched even more painfully than it had before. She turned off the bedroom lamp and lit a few votive candles that sat on a shelf above the bed. Then, with the candles giving off just enough light for her to see by, she began to take her own clothes off: first her shirt, then her jeans, and finally her bra and panties. Once she was completely naked except for the St. Jude medal he’d given her, she lifted the covers and slid into the bed next to him.
She wanted to comfort him. She needed him to stop shivering. If he kept trembling, she’d have to call an ambulance, his wishes be damned.
His skin was covered with a very fine pelt of hair, yet still felt smooth. She snuggled up against him and realized he did feel cold. Sprawled on her side, she faced him and allowed her breasts to rest gently against his uninjured arm. From there, she reached across and began to trail her fingers lightly, softly across his chest muscles, caressing him and reassuring him, even as her body’s heat warmed him. She inched her fingers across his ribs, up towards his shoulders and then back down, to his furry lower abdomen, a rush of longing exploding inside her at the feel of his skin beneath her fingertips.
She remembered his big body above hers as he poised himself between her legs and then carefully, gently parted her pussy lips with the tip of his cock. He’d slid into her ever so slowly, and she’d been very wet and well-lubricated, but it still had felt like a knife to her guts and she’d cried out. He’d immediately captured her lips with his and kissed her slowly, passionately, until the pain had subsided and a smoldering pleasure had taken its place. Then, later, those powerful hands of his holding her around the waist as she climbed on top of him and moving his cock inside her, slowly, delicately, until he’d penetrated her to the absolute hilt.