by S W Vaughn
Gabriel’s alarm increased, temporarily cresting his pain. He sat up with a wince and strained to see beyond his feet.
Doc had fallen silent again.
Anguish poured through his wracked body as he manipulated his legs over the side of the bed and clenched handfuls of sheet. Air hissed through his teeth, in and out. He tasted blood with every breath. “Doc,” he gasped. “You alive?”
A hand gripped the footboard with a thud that shook the bed. Fresh pain jarred a whimper from Gabriel. Doc hauled himself to his feet and extended the bottle toward the bed. It shook violently in his grip. “Take this a sec.” The raw whisper had lost some of its slur. “Please. Now.”
Gabriel made an awkward grab and caught the bottom of the bottle. Doc let go and took off for the bathroom at a stumbling run. The door slammed. Violent retching followed and lasted for almost a minute. A flush broke the ensuing silence. Eventually, Doc rustled around in the room, and the shower turned on.
An inch or so of whiskey remained in the bottle. Maybe it would numb his screaming nerves, just a little. Enough to get him on his feet. If Slade hadn’t done anything to Lillith yet, he had to try and stop it. He could promise to earn more than ten million. Or take whatever Slade intended for her. Even if it was rape. Anything.
Would Slade force him to watch? He couldn’t bear it.
With effort, he brought the bottle to his lips. The first taste stung several cuts inside his mouth. He forced it down and drank the rest without stopping. The burn coated his throat and bloomed in his stomach. He waited a minute, two minutes, while the shower droned in the next room. Three minutes. The liquor had little effect. Even Doc’s so-called good shit couldn’t douse the fire in his muscles, or ease the agonizing weight in the bottom of his gut.
He dropped the bottle, gripped the edge of the bed and stood. His legs promptly collapsed beneath him. Dizziness blurred the room and made everything gray. The curtained doorway seemed so far, and Lillith even farther. He drew a shuddering breath and dragged himself across the floor, inch by painful inch, wondering vaguely how he’d get down the stairs.
It didn't matter. He’d figure it out when he reached them.
As his fingers brushed the hem of the curtain, the bathroom door opened and Doc vaulted out. He ran and dropped beside him, and put a hand on his shoulder.
Gabriel flinched. Tried for the curtain again.
“Stop, damn it!” Doc slid the material from his lax fingers. “You’re going to kill yourself. What the hell are you doing?”
“Lillith,” he murmured into the carpet. “I lost. He’ll hurt her … stopping him.”
“Jesus. Jesus Christ.” Doc ran a hand through his damp hair. “Kid, you couldn’t stop a snail right now. Come on. Bed.”
“No. Lillith. Hurt me instead.”
“No one is going to hurt you any more. Not today.” Bright fury laced Doc’s voice. He stooped and put an arm around his shoulders, and Gabriel’s gasp climbed into an anguished sob. “Come on,” Doc urged. “We’ll do this fast. Can you bear any weight?”
“Please take me downstairs…”
“Gabriel, listen to me. If you move around much more, you’re going to black out, and you’re not going to come around for a long time. Maybe never. Do you understand that? You’re no help to Lillith this way.”
A low moan escaped him. He managed a nod.
Somehow, he and Doc reached the bed. He fell across the surface, and his legs hung down the side. No muscle would respond to further attempts at movement.
Doc shifted him carefully onto the mattress. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle Marcus.”
Gabriel barely heard him. The void loomed, and swallowed him whole.
Doc sat at the desk in his office, a second bottle of Jack unopened in front of him. He hadn’t intended to drink them both tonight, but then, he hadn’t expected any of the fighters to arrive so early. Or so thoroughly broken.
In Gabriel’s case, broken was putting it mildly.
How long had the kid been here? Someone must have brought Gabriel in — no way he brought himself like that — when he’d gone to the liquor store. Which meant he’d sat here feeling sorry for himself, getting completely shitfaced, and the kid had been in the next room the whole time, damn near dead.
Some doctor he was.
A knock sounded at the door. He stowed the bottle in a drawer and opened up to Lucien, who was at least still on his feet.
“Hey, Doc.” Lucien flashed a tired smile and limped into the room. A few bruises stood out darkly against his paler-than-usual complexion, made ghostlike by his dyed black hair. “Got any of the good stuff left, or did you give it all to Angel?”
“Sit down and shut up.” He pointed to the bed. Slade didn’t want the details about the so-called deal he’d struck with Gabriel to get around, but that didn’t make it easier to keep from snapping at Lucien. The fighter’s ignorance allowed him to joke about Gabriel’s condition.
Doc enjoyed no such luxury.
“Damn. You’re touchy tonight.” Lucien crossed the floor and sat. “Sorry, man. I don’t mean to make light. They fed him to a Prometheus bruiser, did he tell you? Duke wiped the floor with his ass. Is he all right?”
“He’s unconscious.”
“Oh. Probably the best thing for him to be right now, huh?”
“Yeah. Right.” He avoided direct eye contact with Lucien, unwilling to let the fighter see his rage. He opened a cabinet. “How bad are you?”
“Leg hurts a bitch. Got a killer headache, too.”
Boo fucking hoo. He slammed the cabinet closed. Giving the fighters prescription drugs for a goddamned sore leg only encouraged more of this stupidity. He stalked to the desk, pulled the drawer open and grabbed the full bottle of Jack. “Here. Catch.” He tossed it to Lucien with a wry grin. “Dr. Stephens’ remedy for a killer headache. Knock yourself out.”
“Sweet! This’ll do.” Lucien stood and brushed his shirt smooth. “Thanks, Doc. Didn’t know you kept this kind of good stuff around.”
“I don’t. It’s just your lucky day.”
“Hell, yeah. You want a shot?”
“No. Just take it.” He moved around the desk. “Ice that leg down every few hours, and let me know if it gets worse.”
“Sure.” Lucien limped to the door. “Hey, Doc. Angel, he’s gonna be all right, isn’t he? I mean, Duke really worked him over. Dirty shit. Kicked him in the balls twice.”
A shudder went through him. He hadn’t known about that. “He’ll make it,” he said softly. The horrific vision of Gabriel dragging his shattered body across the floor renewed his shame, and his fury. The kid would come back from the grave for his sister, and Marcus Slade knew it.
“Good,” Lucien replied. “That’s good. Angel’s hell in the ring, you know. He damn near took Duke out anyway. He just doesn’t stop.”
“No shit.” Doc stared at the curtain. He’d heard nothing from inside, but he expected that. Gabriel would stay out for a long time.
Behind him, he heard Lucien open the door and pause. “Hey, boss. How’s it going?”
“Lucien. Is Seth in?”
Doc’s hands clenched, and his fingers dug into his palms. Slade, callous son of a bitch that he was, never stopped in after a fight. He didn’t give a shit how busted his fighters ended up.
He’d come for Gabriel.
“Yeah, he’s here,” Lucien said. “I was just on my way out.”
“All right. Stop by and see Apollo before you go. He’ll pay you.”
“You got it.”
The door closed, but Doc didn’t turn around. He wasn’t sure he could stop himself from decking the bastard — and that would be a mistake. He knew Slade still packed the same punch that won him the organization’s annual tournament two years in a row.
“Where is he, Seth?” Slade’s tone dripped with frost.
He whirled to face him. “He’s down at the King Spot having a beer. Where the fuck do you think he is? Passed out, damn it. And he�
�s staying there.”
“Wake him up. He has an appointment.”
“No.” His gut performed a long, slow roll. Slade planned to turn the kid over to Jenner. “Marcus, you can’t—”
“I can, and I will. The boy lost. He’s been warned of the consequences. And you are interfering. Again.”
“Yes, I am. Are you paying me to take care of these clowns or not?” He fought to keep the fear from his voice. If Slade sensed it, he’d go through with this insanity out of spite.
Slade glared at him. “I’m not paying you to make management decisions for me. He will not go unpunished.”
“He’s been punished enough for tonight.” Doc folded his arms to stop the trembling in his hands. “He knows he screwed up, and that he’s in for it, and his sister is too. He can’t stand, so he tried to crawl to you so he could beg for mercy.”
“Did he?” Slade’s smile sent his stomach flipping again. “Well, it’s a start.”
“I’m telling you now, Marcus. If you bring him to Jenner in his condition, there’s a good chance he’ll die. Just leave him alone for a few days. Let me fix him. He’ll torture himself enough trying to figure out what you’re going to do, and when.”
“A good point. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“So you’ll leave him here?”
Slade frowned. “I didn’t say that. Let me see him, and then I’ll decide.”
“I told you, he’s out. He won’t be able to talk to you.”
“I said see him, not talk to him. I want to know how bad it is.”
Doc managed not to roll his eyes. “You’re not a doctor, Marcus. There are internal injuries you can’t see. And I still haven’t checked his … groin. Lucien said he got kicked.”
“I know.” Slade’s features twisted in disgust. “A stupid, amateur mistake. He’s going to learn not to let that happen again. Take me to him now, or I’ll have Jenner come up here for a visit.”
“You…” Wouldn’t, he nearly added. But he would. What Slade wanted, Slade got. Shoulders slumped, he drew the curtain aside. “Come on. He’s in here.”
Against his better judgment, he let Slade enter first and slipped in after him. Gabriel lay where he had positioned him, on his back to avoid further damage. Gashes and scrapes scored his bruised ribs, likely the marks of heavy rings. His face looked like someone had tried to use it to saw logs. The boot-shaped bruise on his side wasn’t visible, though he'd seen it when he turned him over.
Slade shook his head. “You’re a sorry sight,” he muttered.
“Satisfied?”
Slade favored him with a frozen stare. “Two days. Don’t waste your breath asking for an extension. I want him then, and no excuses. I’ll see myself out.”
Doc nodded as Slade stalked from the room, and he didn’t exhale until he heard the office door close.
Chapter 22
Gabriel woke with Lillith’s name on his lips.
Slivers of light to his left revealed that he was still in Doc’s room. The pain had eased, and a bone-deep ache replaced it. He flexed a hand. At least he could move something without losing consciousness.
Panic drove him to sit up too fast. The vertigo sent him reeling. He slumped to the side, lost his balance, and tumbled from the bed in a tangle of sheets. A sharp pain in his arm and a corresponding clatter from the opposite side indicated he’d been hooked to the IV again. How long had he been out this time?
Too long, he decided. Too long already when Doc kept him from going to Slade.
The light snapped on before he could right himself. “I’m going,” he called weakly, aware that Doc had entered the room. “Don’t try to stop me.”
“No, you’re not.” Doc crouched at his feet and began to remove the sheets. “You still have one more day of grace, and you’re going to rest. Even if I have to drug you.”
“Grace? What are you talking about? Have to get to Lillith. Who’s Grace?”
“Oh boy. Come on, kid, up we go. And in bed, damn it.” Doc helped him up and settled him on the edge of the bed. “You pulled your IV out. You have to stop doing that.”
Gabriel groaned. He couldn’t even lift his head. “Did he … hurt her?”
“No.” Doc’s tone was clipped, reluctant. “Like I said, he gave you a grace period. You slept through the first day. Welcome to day two. That’s all you get.”
“What’s he going to do?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me.” Doc ripped open an antiseptic wipe and swabbed at the blood dribbling from the IV site. “I’m sorry, kid. Did my best. He was going to bring you to Jenner yesterday.”
Jesus. Did Slade plan to have his lieutenant torture him—or Lillith? “I can’t. Can’t let them hurt her … can’t watch. Bastards. I’ll kill them.”
Doc eased his legs onto the bed. “You’ve got to calm down. Getting all worked up will only make you worse. I’m completely serious about the drugs, Gabriel. If you don’t relax, I will put you out. Don’t make me do that.”
He released a heavy breath, fell back against the headboard and closed his eyes. I lost. Visions of the fight with Duke returned, and he recalled the telltale bulge of the weight concealed in the other fighter’s fist. “Wasn’t fair,” he murmured. “Asshole cheated. I would’ve won.”
“It’s never fair. They all fight dirty.” Doc taped a folded square of gauze over the weeping hole in his arm with swift surety. “There are no rules, remember?”
“No weapons.”
Doc froze. “What?”
He grunted, straightened a bit and opened his eyes. Things were a little less blurry now. “The guy I fought, Duke.” He spoke carefully, attempting to regain control of his tongue. “He used a weight. Handheld one, like Apollo has. No weapons allowed, right?”
“Jesus. Are you sure?”
“I saw it. And I sure as hell felt it.”
“Have you — no, you couldn’t have. You haven’t been conscious. Damn it.” Doc paced a few steps, stopped and ran a hand through his hair. “That explains why you’re so fucked up.”
Gabriel laughed, but a strenuous protest from his ribs cut him short. “Is that your professional diagnosis?”
“Something like that.” Doc smirked, and then fixed him with a solemn stare. “You have to tell him.”
“Slade? I don’t know. Do you think he’ll change his mind about whatever he’s going to do to me?”
“I really don’t want to answer that.”
“You just did.” Gabriel frowned and dropped his gaze. “What happens if I do tell him?”
“Maybe nothing. Or maybe Mendez gets called out. Which he does deserve, but no one ever catches him or his fighters being bastards.”
“Called out?”
“Yeah,” Doc said. “The rest of them’ll get together and give him a stern lecture or some such crap. They’ll tell him if his fighters break another rule, they’ll be temporarily banned from the events. And supposedly, the third time they’ll be out for good.”
“Great. So if I tell Slade about this, all of House Prometheus will want to kill me.”
“Pretty much. See why no one ever catches them?”
“Yeah.” He grimaced. Making enemies was not high on his to-do list. Still, something that resembled pride insisted he bring the incident to light, if only to erase the smug smile from Duke’s face. Besides, he wasn’t going to stick around here permanently. Once he earned Lillith’s freedom, they would relocate somewhere far from New York. Like Australia, or the moon. “All right,” he said. “I’ll tell him.”
“Good. Mendez needs his nose rubbed in his own mess for once.” Doc rummaged in the drawer beside the bed and produced a new IV needle. “Now this had better stay in. Two frigging days isn’t even close to what you need, but it’s what you have.” He reattached the line, reset the machine. “Rest, kid. I’ll bring you something to eat in a while.”
Gabriel nodded. His heavy eyelids closed, eager to follow Doc’s command. Sleep came silent and fast.
&n
bsp; Chapter 23
Full night had fallen when Gabriel woke to silence. He felt like shit — which was a step above his last bout with consciousness. At least he could move. He took advantage of it and sat up.
Doc had disconnected the IV at some point and left a tray on the nightstand next to the bed. More bland food — crackers, broth, applesauce. A pitcher of water stood beside the tray. Next to an empty cup, a shot glass held three small brown pills. There was a scrap of paper beneath the glass with something scrawled on it. Gabriel slid it out and read.
It’s Advil. Take all three.
Smiling, he poured some water, downed the pills and ate methodically. He refused to think for the moment. Thinking would lead to speculation about what he’d have to face when he left this room.
Finished, he stood carefully and scanned the dim room. He didn’t see his shirt or shoes anywhere. Maybe Doc had brought them out to his office. He headed for the curtained doorway, moving slowly in deference to the dull, full-body throbbing that flared with every step.
Beyond the curtain, he found Doc asleep at the desk. Guilt needled him. He’d taken over the man’s room, and his bed, more often than he cared to recall. He reached across and touched Doc’s shoulder.
Doc bolted up with a sharp, indrawn breath and stared. “Christ. Who told you to get out of bed?”
“Looks like you need the bed more than me right now.” He wavered and put a hand on the desk to steady himself.
“Right. You’re in great shape.” Sighing, Doc pushed his chair back and stood. “Would you sit down? You’re making me dizzy.”
A deliberate knock sounded at the office door. Three measured raps. “Damn it,” Doc said through clenched teeth. “Sit, Gabriel. I can stall him for a few minutes.”