by Nicole Fox
He fired.
The bullet flew through the air, pierced through Wolf’s Head’s hand, and struck the glass liquor bottle. Flame burst from it, combining with the existing inferno and bursting in a small but super-heated explosion. Wolf’s Head cried out and tumbled back in agony, his hair and clothes aflame so thickly that it seemed as if the fur of his very wolf tattoo was burning.
Thunder and I flung up our hoods and leaped, up and over the inferno. The flames licked on our pants and jackets, and melted the texture of our boots, but we emerged unharmed.
Thank God for black leather.
Now, once again, we were on the run.
Whether Wolf’s Head was dead or not, I couldn’t say, but he was certainly out of the fight for a while.
“There’s only three left,” Thunder panted, as if reading my mind. “I say we take them.”
I glanced at the gun in my hand. I had only used a couple shots, and I had plenty more to go.
“Agreed,” I said. “But from where?”
We both looked around, and Thunder pointed. Up ahead, a loading crane, perched upon a crate. It would offer massive cover, and still, a means of escape if things turned bad. If I was going to be shot to death, I would rather it be done in an open firefight, rather than chased down a hole like a rat. I nodded to him, and we made for it.
DING! Just as we emerged, a bullet bit into the metal of the shipping crate beside us. I ducked, and Thunder cried out, but we kept running. We were far enough away that unless they were incredibly lucky, their shots would go amiss.
CRACK! Concrete ten feet the left of us exploded. WHOOSH! A bullet flew overhead. It took all my self-control not to turn back and laugh at them. Now was not the time for taunting.
Jump! Up to the ladder of the crate, scurrying up like a lizard, Thunder close behind. I grabbed a handle on the crane and flung myself up and over, just as a bullet shattered the glass of its windowpane.
Thunder landed beside me, the two of us now safe in cover. His breathing was harsh and ragged, and his skin pale, but otherwise he looked okay.
“Poor guy,” I thought. “He’s getting too old for this.”
“You ready?” I asked, reloading my gun to full. He nodded, his fingers trembling as he slid the bullets into their chambers. I clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry,” I said. “Soon, more than their fucking jaws will be crooked. Ha!”
I leaned over our makeshift bulwark and fired.
“Argh!” One of the approaching Jaws cried. I’d hit him in the shin. He was down, but he could still aim a gun.
BOOM! Thunder fired. His bullet clipped the bicep of a second Fang, but he kept coming.
Now, they fired.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
We ducked. The bullets clanged uselessly against the outside of the crane. I saw Thunder shudder, but I put it off to fear.
“Again!” I cried, and leaned up to fire.
I took injured-shin guy down with a single shot. My second shot struck the shoulder of another, who hit the floor but was still moving. Thunder finished him off with two of his rounds.
There was only one guy left, who was now looking at us not with bloodlust, but with terror. He dropped his weapon, and raised shaking, trembling hands.
Thunder leveled his weapon, readying for the kill.
“No!” I said, cutting him off. “Let’s leave the one.”
I looked over the bulwark, just enough so he could hear me speak. “Go back and tell your masters, hound,” I called. “What happens when you mess with Broken Spires!”
BOOM! I shot my gun into the air as he turned with his tail between his legs, and sprinted away.
Thunder sagged against the crane, his gun falling from his hands.
“You did good, old man,” I laughed, patting him on the shoulder. He nodded, then pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it with a trembling hand. It bobbed in his mouth like a buoy on rough water. Which is when I noticed that it was stained red.
“Thunder!” I grunted, rushing towards him. I seized his hand and saw his palm and fingers smeared with blood. “Jesus, they got you? Where?”
He opened his jacket, struggling with every motion, to reveal the source of the blood: a bullet hole, right where his shoulder joined his torso. His whole left hand hung dead, and stupidly, the first thought that went through my mind upon seeing the wound was how impressed I was that he had made so many of his shots, let alone have been able to lift a gun at all.
The second thing that went through my mind was panic. I allowed it to course through me for three seconds. One…two…three…
And then it was gone. Thunder was my friend, yes. Perhaps the best friend I have ever had. Being scared for him, however, would not save his life. Therefore, with cold, calculating eyes, I ripped his shirt away from the wound and studied it. I even slipped a finger inside.
“It’s just in the muscle,” I told him. “You might have chipped the bone, but I don’t see too much swelling. It’s bleeding but not so much that I think you’ll bleed out any time soon. Here, hold this against the wound.”
I handed him a strip torn from his own shirt, which he balled and slapped against the wound. He grimaced, but seemed fully aware. That was good, for I needed time to think.
Where to go? The Vet would be my first choice, but he was miles away. The cops would be swarming around this place soon. There was no time to get to him.
The next obvious choice was quickly discarded. I could not take him to the doctors. They’d have to call the police, and we’d end up arrested, or worse. All members of the Broken Spires knew the risks. Thunder would rather die than compromise the club.
Then, it came to me––the perfect answer, the solution for all of us: Erica! Her apartment was right nearby. And she had done such a good job fixing me up, I imagined she and I could stabilize Thunder enough until we could get him to the Vet.
I grinned. “There might be other benefits to seeing her again,” I thought. Even at the thought of her, I found my loins stirring. “Down boy. Focus on Thunder first.”
Getting Thunder down from the crate would be a challenge, but not impossible. Mindful of his wound, I grabbed his wrist and flung him over my shoulder. He groaned, and I felt hot blood seeping into my shirt.
“It’s okay, old boy,” I murmured. “I’m taking you somewhere safe.”
With my left hand holding Thunder in place, all I had was my right hand to navigate us both down. I scowled, and focused all of my strength in keeping us balanced. Though I slipped once, I was able to catch us, and we made it to the ground without further mishap.
As we were creeping away, I heard a soft cry.
“Help me….help me…”
I turned. There, lying on the ground, his face bright red and then splotched black from burning, hideous as Freddy Krueger, lay Wolf’s Head. His hand was outstretched towards me in supplication, and the flesh of his neck so destroyed by flames that his tattoo looked like melted wax. I scowled at him, then crouched down.
“Help me…” He wheezed. “Help me. Water. Please…”
I saw, next to his hand, the tattered remains of his sleeve beside a scorched but still-functioning cellphone. I took the rag, dunked it in the water nearby, then plopped it on his face. He twitched, and his sigh of relief was audible. Then, I picked up the phone, dialed 911, and placed it back down on the pavement beside him. He’d get his doctor––and handcuffs to boot.
Now rushed, knowing that the cops would be there in minutes, I broke into a jog. Thunder was heavy, but I could handle it. In fact, the steady pounding of my feet and the rhythmic pulsing of my breath settled my nerves, and set me in a sort of tempo.
I heard sirens in the distance, and I ducked into an alley, just in case. Two men, both clad in leather and covered in blood? We were bound to attract attention. I waited for them to stream past before emerging.
“Don’t worry, Thunder,” I murmured to him. “We’re almost there.”
I could see at last, ac
ross starlit lawns glistening with dew in the early morning, the outline of Erica’s house on the horizon.
We’re almost there.
Chapter Eighteen
Erica
After much restless, fitful daydreaming, half about Dominic in bed with me and the other half concerning a glorious scene in which I told him to screw off, I was finally able to get to sleep.
Not a moment later, I heard the doorbell ring.
“Who the hell could that be?” I thought, wrapping up in my fluffy bathrobe and slipping on some slippers. I really hoped it wasn’t Brian, but if it was, I had the flat side of a frying pan with his name on it. Drawing my face into a scowl, I marched up and answered the door.
“Dominic!” I gasped, my hands flying to my mouth. “What are you doing here? Oh my God. Who is that?”
In my surprise at seeing the very man who was the base all of my fantasies, I had failed to notice the second figure in my doorway, flung over Dominic’s powerful shoulders like a rag doll. As my eyes flew over his limp form, I began to notice something else: both of them were covered with blood.
“Jesus,” I gasped, sagging back against the doorway.
“Erica,” Dominic declared, his voice calm and in command. “This is Thunder. He is a good friend of mine and has been injured in a fight. Will you help us?”
I gazed at them. My first instinct was to ask why they didn’t call the police, but I quickly swallowed it. I knew why, and certainly didn’t want Dominic to think I was an idiot.
My second instinct was to shout at him, for leaving me completely in the lurch when we’d hooked up, but I managed to stomach that complaint, too. Dominic had made no secret about what kind of man he was. Finding an empty bed in the morning was simply to be expected. I knew that.
So, after a long moment’s silent whirring in my head, I simply responded with, “Okay.”
Dominic dragged Thunder inside. Feeling way too practiced at all this, I quickly seized an old bedsheet––the same bedsheet I had used to fix Dominic up, in fact––and flung it across the floor, to prevent staining from the blood. An instant later, Dominic laid Thunder across it. He then proceeded to take off Thunder’s clothes from the waist up.
Meanwhile, I went to the kitchen and tried to gather anything I thought I might need: bandages, paper towels, hydrogen peroxide, even kitchen knives and a pair of tweezers. After tossing these beside Dominic, I went to fetch one of the most important things: a bowl of warm water.
Thunder was shaking. He looked much older than Dominic, and thinner, his skin so white it nearly matched the tattered old bedsheet. His wound looked small––no bigger in diameter than a dime––but the blood was flowing freely, and, at the sight of it, I felt a great fear, so much deeper than the one I had felt when Dominic had been here last.
If we weren’t careful, a man could die in my house. Imagine explaining that to my landlord.
I took a deep, steadying breath, dipped a towel into the bowl, and laid it across the wound, dabbing the half-dried blood away.
His sigh of relief was immediate. The warm water was soothing him.
“Get him a blanket!” I cried to Dominic, who leapt to his feet at once to search out a blanket. I was aware in the sudden, ironic reversal of roles here: me giving the life-and-death orders, but neither of us chose to comment on it.
Dominic returned with an old blanket plucked from the back of my spare couch, and then, quite clumsily, tried to tuck it around his friend. My withering look stopped him, and we swapped jobs. I covered and comforted Thunder, while he dabbed at the wound with the wet towel.
“Do you think we should try to remove the bullet?” I asked, once Thunder was safely ensconced. In my free moment, I hurriedly rinsed out the bowl of water and replaced it, for it had turned the color of wine.
Dominic scrutinized the wound.
“No,” he said at last. “The entry seems clear, and I don’t see any fragments. Nor do I think it hit the bone. The most important thing is, right now, for us to stop the bleeding. Even a lucky shot like this can kill a man if he’s allowed to bleed out.
“Right,” I replied, taking charge. “You keep the supply of towels and water fresh. I’ll apply pressure and bandage the wound. Go!”
Dominic did not blink. He immediately went to obey my orders. “That’s the sign of a good man,” I thought. “Able to give and take orders as needed.”
Soon, all of the dried blood was swabbed away, leaving only Thunder’s clear, pink skin, and the fresh blood that flowed freely whenever I removed pressure.
“I need you to hold this, Dominic!” I commanded, nodding towards the fresh white towel I was holding over the wound. “Then, when I say when, remove it!”
He nodded, and pressed down hard upon his friend. Thunder grunted in pain but did not protest. I prepared the bandages.
“Ready…now!” I called.
Dominic swept the towel away, revealing the circular red bullet hole winking at us like a single, terrible eye. I swooped down with the bandages, and a split second later it was covered. Blood soaked it immediately, but I pounced upon it with another bandage, and another, until, at long last, the wound was sealed, with only fluffy white bandages in sight.
With a great sigh of relief, I sagged back into Dominic and wiped my sweating face with my hands. So tired was I, in fact, that I did not even care that this meant smearing blood all over my cheeks.
Dominic looked at me and smiled. Balling his sleeve up in his hand, he began wiping the blood away.
“You know,” he said, his warmth soothing on my skin. “When I first talked to you, I knew you were sexy and smart. What I didn’t realize was how tough you were.”
I glanced down at Thunder, whose eyelids were flickering beneath my blood-stained blanket. I touched his forehead and was relieved to find that he felt comfortably warm.
“I wasn’t tough, when we met,” I admitted. “But everything that has happened since then… has made me stronger.”
We shared a silent look of knowing. He sensed exactly what I meant.
“It’s funny,” he said after a moment. “We’re like complete opposites, you and me. I started off too strong, too tough, I think. Like brittle, untempered metal. And over time, I have become softer––more flexible, and adaptive. It’s a good thing. And you…you started off meek and soft and timid, and are becoming––”
“Harder,” I interrupted, my eyes glowing. “Yes, I feel it. Maybe, somehow, we can meet somewhere in the middle.”
He turned, and he kissed me. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For saving Thunder.”
“Speaking of which,” a sudden, gravelly voice interrupted. I jumped and whirled around, utterly confused, until I realized that Thunder himself was speaking. I had not, until then, even heard his voice.
“Thank you, m’lady,” he continued like a gentleman. “Is there somewhere I can lie that is more comfortable than the floor? I am awfully tired, and I suspect you two might want your privacy.”
I blushed like a schoolgirl, and Dominic rolled his eyes.
“Of course,” I said. “Dominic, can you help me carry him to the guest room?”
Dominic nodded, and together we heaved Thunder up and managed to tuck him into bed. It was a strange moment: Dominic and I fixing the sheets around this man as if he were a small child. I felt motherly, and saw him as fatherly, as if the two of us were a couple tending a baby–
“Hold that thought, Erica!” I scolded myself internally. “You’re getting ahead of yourself!”
I shook my head, muttering a hurried, “Thank you!” Then, we returned to the living room and kitchen.
“You’re quite a mess yourself, you know,” Dominic said, as we tottered around the house, scooping up soiled towels and mopping up spills. “You should shower.”
“I will. But first I want to get this load in. I’m afraid the blood will set.”
As I spoke, I leaned down and stuffed the wad of red towels into the washer, pouring in extra deterge
nt. Suddenly, I was aware of Dominic behind me. I could feel his hot breath on my neck, and his warmth encircled me. He reached gentle hands around me and fiddled with the dials on the machine.
“Make sure you run it on cold only,” he explained. “That’s the best way to get blood out.”
“One of the many pieces of wisdom a man like you can offer me,” I chuckled, realizing only how harsh it sounded after I said it.
Dominic did not seem offended, however. Instead, he placed his hand on the small of my back and walked with his fingers to the tie of the bathrobe I had fashioned around my waist.
“Yeah, it is,” he said simply, and pulled me towards him.