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My head was pounding. The walls of this room were strange. Panel wood, with a white plaster ceiling and an iron chandelier. Were those real candles on the chandelier? The window was also made of small diamond pains and kept out a gray afternoon. At least I assumed it was sometime in the afternoon. The light burned my eyes.
“You okay, kiddo?” I moaned in satisfaction and smiled, tilting my head in the direction of the voice.
“Hey.” I said, softly. My voice was hoarse.
Brett got up from his seat and came over to me. He picked up a glass of water on a wooden nightstand. He took the white straw and put it to my lips. I drank gratefully.
“What happened?” I asked. “Did you knock me out in training?”
This was the only logical explanation. He leaned over me, his lips in a small smile.
“We found you with a bullet wound, lying between three guys in various shades of dead.” He told me. “You were with Alastair Green.”
He was looking at me with accusation and concern. He could be mad at me and worried about me at the same time. That warmed and hurt me in equal measure.
“Care to tell me how your lover boy, and a knife with his initials, ended up in a bratva member’s head?”
I had no answer. I wasn’t even sure that I could remember anything correctly. It was dark. I was bleeding. I was scared, and hurt, and fighting for my life.
“He’s not my lover.” I said, not wanting to admit that moments before, I had lain in his arms with his seed dripping from inside me.
“Right, Juju.” he said, his tone frustrated. “You don’t have a father, and he’s not your lover.” He shook his head. “I love you, kiddo.” He said it almost tragically. “But you have a terrible habit of not seeing what the hell is right in front of you. Your blinders are going to hurt you one day.” He came to loom over me, his shadow falling across my blanket as I lay helpless on the bed. “Now tell me what happened withAlastair Green.”
The name sent a shiver up my spine. I couldn’t tell if it was pleasant or not, but it made my blood pump faster.
“I don’t remember.” I said, narrowing my eyes, trying to recall what happened. “I got jumped by three guys.”
“That’s right.” He encouraged me, trying to coax more information forward.
“I think they were after the reward. They mentioned money.” My voice was becoming hoarse, and I felt myself becoming weary. “I dislocated one of their arms.” I remembered the fight, step by step. “Another tried to hit me with brass knuckles, and I took him down.” The memories were coming to me as if my mind was finally waking. “There was the young one, and he had a gun. He tried to shoot me, but his hand was shaking.” I could still hear the crack of the shot in my ears, sharp and echoing. “I took him down and took his gun. Knocked him out with it. Pistol butt to the head.” I groaned. “I stabbed the ring leader. The one with the arm.”
“Yes. He’s still alive,” Brett shrugged. “But barely. I’m disappointed that it was the ringleader. I would have liked to question him.”
“When did Alastair get there?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.
“He was the one who found you. When I got there, he was putting pressure on your wound.”
Did Alastair save me? He didn’t go back to his blonde? I thought he had washed his hands of me.
“We’re at their house now.” Brett told me.
Shock must have registered on my face. I looked around. Was this the Caledonia Security mansion?
“Yourboyfriendinsisted.“ He said. The word dripped with a special kind of emphasis, as though daring me to refute it.
“He’s not my boyfriend…Dad.“ I tried to roll my eyes, but even my eyeballs were tired.
“You’ve been shot, kiddo.” He chuckled to himself. “But thankfully, the bullet went through nothing but skin and muscle. No real organ damage, just stitches. But we’re not letting you walk for a while. So, get up, get in the wheelchair.”
“Who is ‘we’?” I asked, skeptical.
Brett pulled the blankets off of my legs, and I got a look at what I was wearing. I had an oversized t-shirt, flannel pajama pants that were, in a word, excessively large, and socks so big that the heels started somewhere near my calves.
“You’re wearing that bastard’s clothes.” Brett said, putting an arm under my shoulder, and another under my thighs to lift me bridal style. “And he and I are in a small truce for now.”
“I bet you love that.” I was surprised that I was able to smile.
“I’d rather take a cheese grater to his pretty face.” He said tonelessly, as if that was something he had really pondered. I laughed as he lowered me onto a wheelchair, my socked feet on little foot rests. He took a woolen blanket, and lay it across my lap.
