Fever

by Joan Swan

  With her little emergency wallet holding her identification still in the pocket of her scrubs, she balled up the thin garments and stuffed them into the corner behind the toilet.

  “Good try.” Creek’s voice made her jump. “Pick them up. We’re taking them with us.”

  Like a hungry crow, he’d snapped up her bread crumb. As she bundled the clothes into the bag, he waved her over, the cuff key in his hand. She hesitated only a moment before stepping forward, hands outstretched.

  “Doesn’t look like Taz’s woman did as good a job picking clothes for you.” Creek frowned as he settled the metal on her wrists, looser than the first time. His warm fingers lingered on her skin, rubbing the red welts there. A gentle, relaxing heat flowed through her wrists just before the lines started to fade. Right in front of her eyes the red swells turned pink, then melted into her own flesh color. Alyssa squeezed her eyes shut in disbelief, but when she opened them again, the marks were still gone. “How’d you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  She darted a look at his face to gauge his expression. He was calm and serious. “That. Take away those red marks?”

  “You don’t have any marks.” He released her hands with a disgusted grunt. “Women. Always milking the situation. Give it a rest.”

  Had she imagined those rings on her wrists? Had she imagined his intense body heat? Maybe St. Jude’s had finally driven her over the edge. Or maybe this whole thing was one big nightmare she’d wake from, shuddering like a child.

  A muffled shout sounded outside the door. Teague straightened and turned. More voices drifted in. Men’s voices. Not just Taz’s. Hope sparked. Alyssa had to fight back the urge to call out for help.

  “Creek,” Taz yelled, clear and sharp. “Get your ass out here.”

  A wall of heat blasted off Creek and hit Alyssa with the force of a desert wind.

  “Creek!” Taz’s voice rose with urgency.

  “Shit.” Teague grabbed the chain between Alyssa’s cuffs and yanked her close.

  The heat was definitely back. She might not be able to explain the science behind it, but there was no mistaking the hot current traveling through that metal.

  “You stay behind me,” he said. “Understand?”

  She nodded, her thoughts already sprinting toward the anticipation of bolting into the arms of police or F.B.I. or C.I.A. or whatever the hell agency handled kidnappings.

  Creek tugged her close at his back and opened the door.

  FOUR

  During their time in the bathroom, dusk had turned to night. The area streetlights now cast an eerie yellow hue over the gas station. Everything beyond hid in the deepening shadows.

  Alyssa peered around Creek’s arm, hope welling so fast her throat ached. She swore she could taste the sweetness of freedom on the back of her tongue. But what she saw filled her mouth with bitter fear.

  Four black men stood in an arc around Taz, blocking his path to the car. Instead of the uniforms she’d hoped for, they wore low-slung pants, unzipped oversized sweat jackets with the hoods up, two with no shirts underneath. Black bandanas covered their foreheads and hung over their eyes.

  “It’s about fucking time.” Taz’s eyes cut between Creek and the other men with a wild edge, one Alyssa read as part excitement, part fear. “These fucking porch monkeys say we’re in their territory.”

  The twenty-somethings shuffled closer, shoulders back, chins up. The tallest gave Teague a one-sided superior grin. “These ‘porch monkeys’ gonna pound your cracka faces into the pavement.”

  Creek pulled on the chain between Alyssa’s hands, forcing her fully behind him. She gladly curled into his bulk, hoping to disappear.

  The guy with dreadlocks craned his neck to see around Creek. “Ooooowee. Whatcha got there, wigger?”

  Alyssa cringed. She scooted closer to Creek and wrapped her fingers around the wrist of the hand holding her cuffs. Just like that, they were on the same team again.

  She peeked around his arm and found three of the four making noises of interest as they inspected her. One remained between Taz and the car, where Alyssa assumed Taz had left the gun he’d stolen from the prison guard. Judging by the bloodthirsty look on Taz’s face, if he’d had the weapon on him, she had no doubt all four of these men would be dead.

  “Ni-i-ice.” Dreadlocks laughed as if he’d found some hidden treasure. “Whatch you doin’ with these honkies, pretty? Come on over here with us. We’ll take good care of you.”

  “These white boys ain’t got half of what we got.” The stocky one cupped his crotch. “You know what they say ...”

  “Once you’ve had black,” the tall one finished, “you never go back.”

  All four hooted with laughter. Dreadlocks tipped his head and waved her forward. “What do you say, baby? Wanna taste of black meat? It’s an all-you-can-eat buffet.”

  Alyssa’s stomach flipped and twisted. Her airway constricted. She pressed her face into the furrow between Creek’s shoulder blades, curled her free hand into the back of his shirt and tightened the fingers wrapped around his wrist. This time, the intense heat radiating from his body reassured her. Gave her hope he might just be able to get her out of this.

  “We don’t want trouble,” Creek said. “Just stopped to use the bathroom. We’re leaving.”

  “There’s a charge for use of the facility,” one of them said. Alyssa didn’t know which. Her forehead was still buried against Creek. “Leave her and we’ll let you go.”

  Oh, Jesus, no. She shook her head against Creek’s back in a silent plea. She’d never imagined choosing to stay with convicted criminals, but she had no doubt in her mind that if he abandoned her here, she’d be gang-raped and left for dead.

  “Dump the whore,” Taz said. “Let’s get the hell out of this dive.”

  “She’s not up for negotiation.” Creek’s voice dropped in warning. “We’ll just leave and it will be like we were never—”

  Shhhhh-click.

  Everyone went silent.

  Creek stiffened. A shot of heat traveled through the cuffs and snapped at Alyssa’s skin like a firecracker. The pulse at his wrist picked up another twenty beats per minute.

  Alyssa looked around Creek’s thick bicep. The stocky gang member stood ten feet away, twisting the handle of a knife, the blade glinting in the light from a distant street lamp.

  “No one’s going anywhere until we say so, white boy.”

  “Look”—Creek pushed her back and to the right, angling her away from the guy with the weapon. “We don’t want any troub—”

  The attacker lunged. The knife sliced the air. Teague dodged, dragging Alyssa with him. She stumbled and lost her balance.

  “Come on, man,” the attacker’s groupies jeered. “Stick ’em.”

  The look in the attacker’s eyes as he twirled the knife and maneuvered for position was something Alyssa had never seen—not even in the angriest or most insane patient. Something that made her stomach chill. Something malicious, vicious. Animalistic.

  She struggled to get into sync with Creek as he dodged, but her mind was muddled with fear.

  The man stabbed again. Creek leaned. Twisted. But Alyssa was too slow. The rip of fabric met her ears before the stab of pain enveloped her right side. She wasn’t sure whether or not she screamed. If she did, she didn’t hear it. In fact, she heard nothing. All sound ceased. Her mind shut down. Her legs lost strength. She broke from Creek’s grip and hit the pavement on her butt, jarring her tailbone and knocking the air from her lungs. Fire engulfed her ribs.

  The smack of flesh on flesh drew Alyssa’s gaze up as Creek nailed his fist into the attacker’s jaw. The blow rocketed the gangbanger back five feet. With restricted use of her hands, Alyssa pressed her elbow to the injury and struggled to a sitting position. Sticky warmth pumped from the wound, but she didn’t have time to assess the damage. Taz still circled with the tallest gang member, while the remaining two pulled knives similar to the one that had cut her. They angled towa
rd Creek from both sides.

  Alyssa searched the ground for something, anything to use as a weapon. But any substantial pipe or board was secured to the building or the ground. Three feet away, the concrete gave way to a pea gravel border. She pushed to her knees and crawled to the rocks. With her teeth gritted against the pain, Alyssa scooped up a double handful of gravel and heaved it toward the men going for Creek. Pain ripped up her side. A cry burst from her throat.

  The men shielded themselves as they swore and looked at each other in pissed-off confusion. Alyssa sucked in a breath and scooped again. Just as the men turned their menace fully on her, she hurled another double fistful of rocks as hard as she could. Like BB’s, the little rocks peppered the men. Falling back a step, they shielded themselves once again, cursing.

  “You goddamned bitch!” One of the men started for her. “I’m gonna tear you apart.”

  If she thought she’d seen the worst expression on a man’s face a moment before, she’d been wrong. The eyes aimed at her now were ruthless, ferocious. The saying “tearing her limb from limb” didn’t seem at all clichéd in the moment.

  Alyssa scuttled backwards, but didn’t have the coordination or the strength to run. Her body was as incapable of responding to commands as her mind was of making them. She backed into something, or someone. A bite of fear ripped at her belly. She looked up. Found Creek pointing a gun at the men.

  “You’re not going to touch her.”

  She darted a glance at the car. The back door stood open. Relief pushed the air from her lungs. Pain rushed in, all her senses coming back online as the adrenaline seeped away.

  “You heard him, monkey meat,” Taz said. “Get the fuck out of here before he shoots your ugly black faces clean off.”

  A siren sounded somewhere close. All four gang members looked around, and made a collective decision to bolt. As soon as their backs were turned, Creek swooped in and picked Alyssa up, one arm behind her back, one under her knees.

  “Back here,” Taz yelled from beside a Dumpster.

  Creek jogged that direction, each step stabbing pain through Alyssa’s torso. She gripped the front of his shirt with both hands and jammed her head against his chest for stability.

  He dropped to one knee behind the Dumpster and looked down at her with those clear, sharp eyes. But something new floated there—obvious, serious concern. Maybe even an edge of guilt. “How bad is it?”

  “I need a hospital.”

  “No fucking way,” Taz barked.

  Sirens drew closer. Louder. Creek tightened his arms around her and drew her into the support of his chest. Despite the situation, Alyssa found the gesture unnervingly tender and ... compassionate. She rested her forehead on his shoulder, wincing at the heat radiating through his shirt, wishing she had the strength to hold her head up, praying those sirens would stop, boots would hit the pavement and the words Freeze, police! would jump out of a dozen different mouths. But her luck stayed true to the day. The cops kept going and going and going, until the sirens faded entirely—along with Alyssa’s hope.

  Her muscles went lax and she softened against Creek’s bulk. Tears leaked from beneath her closed lashes. The warmth on her cheeks felt foreign and awkward. She rubbed her face on his shirt.

  “I’m bleeding a lot,” she tried again. “I really need a hospital.”

  Taz scoured the area and hoisted himself to his feet. “How ’bout if I just kill you and put you out of your misery? If I have to listen to one more word, I’ll put a Glock in your mouth.” He turned to Creek. “I’ll wait for you in the car.”

  Alyssa’s skin rippled and the fine hairs on her arms rose. She realized this was one of the first times Taz had spoken directly to her, and she discovered she preferred him speaking about her as if she wasn’t there.

  Creek pulled away and yanked at Alyssa’s clothes. “Let me see how bad it is.”

  “Don’t.” She shoved at his hands, but might as well have been pushing him with a feather.

  “Stop moving, would you?”

  He nudged the warm, bloody fabric out of the way. Cool October air licked at her skin and sent goose flesh over her torso. She glanced down at the gash—six inches long, four to five millimeters deep and still oozing fresh blood. And, damn, it hurt, a combination of throbbing ache, fiery burn and deep, stabbing pain.

  “I need to stop the bleeding.” Creek coiled and flexed his fingers. Every time she’d seen him do that, he’d subsequently touched her.

  “Wait ... What ... ? Don’t ...”

  He pressed the full length of his hand to her side.

  She sucked in a breath at the immediate burn along her skin. The first thing that zipped through her mind was in fection. “Don’t ... don’t ...”

  The heat penetrated her skin, sinking into muscle. The throb eased to an intense ache. The ache melted into a dull twinge. Her mind softened around the edges. Don’t what? She couldn’t remember. Couldn’t think about anything other than the instant pain relief his touch offered. But how? How? Her brain grasped for answers. Counterpressure. Had to be the counterpressure.

  Only counterpressure had nothing to do with the way another type of heat kicked up in her body when the pain receded. Or the way that heat traveled to other parts and created other sensations. The way her chest filled with an entirely different ache that made her breasts tingle and her nipples tighten. The way her pelvis felt warm and heavy and made her want to rub her thighs together to ease some vague need.

  Her forehead grazed his chin as she let her head loll forward. Let her face press against his neck, her mouth against his throat. He was rough and soft at the same time. And so warm.

  “You need stitches.” His voice sounded low and unsteady, vibrating against her lips. She was just about to open her mouth against his skin. Just one little taste of the forbidden. He abruptly put space between them, yanking her out of this luscious lull he’d tempted her into.

  She gave her head a swift shake, and didn’t even attempt to quell the automatic duh in her tone when she said, “That’s why I mentioned the hospital.”

  He avoided her eyes. “You know I can’t do that.”

  “You can do anything you want.”

  “This isn’t just about me.”

  “What? You mean that perverted asshole? His needs are more important than mine? I’ve never committed a crime in my life. I’ve dedicated my life to helping people.”

  Screw this. She struggled out of his grip and set her feet on the ground. As soon as she broke contact, she looked down at her wound and the dark blood crusted along the incision. The bleeding had stopped.

  Counterpressure, one piece of her mind reassured while another nagged, I’ve never seen counterpressure work that fast. The pain crept back, and she found herself craving his touch again. The proximity between them had become too comfortable. She needed to remember who she was with and why.

  “Forget it,” she said. “Like you give a damn.”

  “Hannah—”

  “I said, forget it. Can we just get to where we’re going? Get this whole stupid game you’re playing over with? I have a really screwed-up life to get back to.”

  Still crouched behind the Dumpster, Creek dropped his head, rubbed his face with both hands, then repositioned his ball cap. He paused to rest his elbows on knees, as if he was thinking about something deep and all-important. She would have walked away, but she didn’t want to be alone with Taz. She sure as hell didn’t want to run into those four lowlifes again, either.

  When Creek stood, took her arm gently and led her to the car, she didn’t protest.

  Taz looked up from his spot crouched near the rear passenger side tire. He pushed to his feet and started straight for her. “You fucking bitch. This is all your fault.”

  “Back off.” Teague smacked a hand against Taz’s chest and stepped between him and Hannah. “We’ve got more important things to think about.”

  Taz’s edgy eyes cut into Teague. “Yeah, like how the fuck we’re get
ting out of the hell hole that bitch got us into now that those niggers jacked our ride.”

  Teague’s gaze fell to the rear tire. Flat. Then it jumped to the front. Flat. Taz pushed against Teague’s hand as he reached for Hannah again. “I’m going to fuck the living shit out of this slant-eyed cunt.”

  Teague had heard enough racial slurs for a lifetime. He shoved Taz so hard the other man stumbled back and hit the trunk of the car.

  Taz’s dark eyes narrowed on Teague. “What’s wrong with you, man? Why is this bitch so important?”

  “Not your business.”

  “It is if she gets our asses thrown back in the hole.”

  “That won’t happen.”

  Taz leaned forward and pointed a rigid finger in Teague’s face. “If it does, you’re mine.”

  A dark film inked Teague’s stomach. The threat reminded him of exactly why he would die before he went back to prison. It was the fear he’d lived with day in and day out at Quentin—the fear of being gutted, strangled, stabbed, beaten, raped or worse. He was convinced the twisted severity of his crime had kept the other animals at bay so far. That and the fact he benched more than three of them put together. Teague didn’t work out obsessively to kill time. He did it to stay safe. To stay alive.

  “Where the fuck we getting another car?” Taz’s arms flew as they typically did when he was on the edge of “throwing a nutty.” Bad things always happened when Taz wigged, things like death and dismemberment. “Look around you, Creek. We’re in the middle of fucking mud country.”

  Teague scanned the surrounding industrial area, devoid of pedestrians and traffic. He doubted there was civilization within two miles. Besides, Hannah couldn’t walk that far. He might have stopped the bleeding for now, but too much movement, too much pressure could break open the wound.

  “There.” He tightened his grip on Hannah’s cuffs and started for a parking lot two blocks away where three U-Haul vans sat alongside a building. “Come on.”

  Hannah resisted when he pulled her forward. He swung toward her without any effort to hide his annoyance, but she didn’t cower.