Chapter 15 #4
He takes me through a series of movements, shining a light into my eyes and asking low-voiced questions, but all my attention is on Mac, and I’m so grateful that his is on me.
He never loses my hand, and it’s like a lifeline in the dark.
He hovers nearby, getting in the doctor’s way, but the doctor lets him be and works around him, treating my cuts and scratches.
Finally, he sits back. “He’s okay as far as I can see. No signs of concussion. He’s banged up, and he’s going to hurt for a few days.”
“Should we take him to hospital?” Mac asks.
“No,” I say immediately.
Mac turns to me. “Sweetheart, you should go,” he says.
I shake my head, wincing at the sore muscles. “I’m fine. I know I am,” I add firmly. “I don’t want to go to hospital. I’m just so cold,” I say and shiver again.
“That’s shock,” the doctor says and smiles at me. “If you’re set on not going to the hospital, I’m going to request that someone stays with you tonight.”
“I will.” Mac’s determined voice startles me.
“You don’t like that,” I protest, too overwrought to be careful with my words.
He winces. “Please don’t say that.”
“Well, it’s the truth.”
He strokes one finger down my cheek. “That was the truth. I’ll stay.” He turns to the doctor, his manner all business. “What should I do?”
The doctor talks him through it in a low-voiced conversation. They try to include me, but I’m drifting again.
There’s a sound to my left, and I look up to see Julian. He has a mug in his hand. “Tea,” he says, his face white and set. “The doctor recommended you drink this. It’ll make you feel a bit steadier.”
I try to take the mug, but my hands are shaking. Julian bites his lip, worried, and he crouches beside me. “Let me,” he says gently. I nod, and he holds the mug to my mouth like I’m a child.
I take a sip and wince. “Too sweet,” I say hoarsely.
“The sugar’s for the shock. Drink it, and you’ll feel better.”
Mac steps over to us. “The doctor’s given me a prescription for a painkiller, and one of Fox’s staff will get it filled.”
The doctor, who’s in the process of packing his bag, looks up and nods.
“You’re going to hurt tomorrow, Wes, so I recommend you take it.
The dose will be on the packet. For tonight, I’m sorry, but I’m just recommending a light over-the-counter painkiller.
Mr Reilly is going to stay with you to keep an eye on you. ”
“I haven’t got a concussion,” I tell him. “I’ve had one before, so I’d know.”
“Just to be on the safe side. He needs to watch for any worsening symptoms such as vomiting or a worsening headache.” He huffs. “I’m making a strong suggestion that the police should be called but I’ll doubtless be overruled. I know the club rules.”
“No police,” I say immediately. “Absolutely not.”
Mac jerks. “Are you sure? I’ll make that happen in an instant if it’s what you want.” Julian looks at him in astonishment.
“No police,” I say firmly. Mac hesitates, looking at my face for a long moment. Then he reaches out and touches my nose gently and turns to the doctor. “I’ll abide by Wes’s wishes.”
The doctor inclines his head in resignation. He pats my shoulder. “I do feel everything is fine, and apart from a few bruises, you should be fine, Wes. However, you will need to talk to a professional about this incident. Assault is not something to be taken lightly.”
“I’ll get someone to see him,” Mac says immediately.
“I don’t need to,” I say.
He looks haggard in this light and years older than he did a few hours ago. But his eyes soften as he gazes at me. “It’s up to you, but let’s see how you feel later,” he says gently. “Are you okay to stand up?”
“I’m fine,” I say stoutly.
“I’m sure you are, sweetheart, but humour me.”
I stand up, relieved to find my legs feel a little bit more like they belong to me. I feel a little better from the tea—less shaky and empty.
Mac is instantly at my side but hesitates before taking my hand. “Is it okay for me to help you up the stairs?”
“Where are we going?”
“Fox put a room at our disposal for the night.” He hesitates. “Would you like to go home instead?”
“I just want a shower and to sleep. I don’t care where that is. And what do you mean, is it okay to help me?”
“I didn’t want to do that unless you say it’s okay,” he says stubbornly.
I edge into him, feeling his body’s heat and strength with a sigh of relief. “You have my permission and do me a favour—please don’t ask me that again. I’m fine.”
He nods and slides his arm over my shoulder, his grip perfect. “Let’s go up. You can have a shower.”
“That sounds lovely ,” I say fervently.
Julian pats my hand. “I’ll see you later,” he murmurs.
I’m relieved to find no one outside goggling at us. In fact, the whole place seems deserted.
“Where is everyone?” I ask.
“Fox sent them away. The club is closed.”
I nod and focus on getting one foot in front of the other. The stairs are slow-going, but Mac doesn’t show irritation when I insist on managing them myself. He helps me along and patiently waits whenever I pause.
At one point, I have to rest against the balustrade, and I gaze into his quietly concerned face. “You’d make a good dad.”
“I think that might be the first time that’s been said to me.” He stares at me. “You ready to move again?”
“Absolutely.”
It seems like an eternity, but eventually, we get to an open door. Fox is there waiting, and he hands Mac a plastic bag with a chemist’s logo. “Doc’s prescription,” he says and gives me a gentle smile. “How are you feeling, Wes?”
“I’m not sure he’s up to much conversation,” Mac warns. He helps me into the room.
“I just need to know what you want to do, Wes.” Fox says, following us in.
“About what?” I ask.
“Should I call the police?”
“You would do that? Isn’t it against club rules? Won’t it impact your business if the police are involved?”
Mac huffs and looks at me fondly. “Get used to the multitude of questions, Fox. They’re a regular feature of keeping company with Wes.”
Fox offers me a wry look. “I know too many secrets about coppers for this to impact me. And I never met a rule I didn’t want to break. I’m more worried about you. Do you want him charged?”
“And what would that do?” I stop to rest against a chest of drawers, waving off Mac’s attempts to help and hissing in pain when I lean on my hip.
“I’m okay,” I say to him. I turn back to Fox.
“The police won’t do anything. If they find out what I am, they’ll have zero sympathy, and in the end, I’ll be the bad person. ”
“What do you mean, they’ll find out what you are?” Mac echoes, looking confused.
I grimace. “I’m a whore, Mac.”
“Do not ever use that fucking word about yourself.”
“Why? It’s the truth. We can sugarcoat it, but the police certainly won’t.”
“I’m not the police,” Fox says steadily. “And I have a powerful rage. Do you trust me to handle this?”
“You’re not going to kill him, are you?” I ask anxiously. “I hate him, but I don’t want him dead.”
He stares at me in stupefaction. “No, of course not. Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Where I come from, when someone says, ‘I’ll handle this,’ they mean violence.”
“Do you come from a Guy Ritchie film?”
Incredibly, I hear myself laugh and wince when my ribs protest. “What will you do?”
“I’m kicking him out of the club and then I’m going to ruin him financially and socially,” he says with relish. “That’s worse than death to him.”
“Can you do that?”
“Oh yes.” His serene certainty is disturbing and comforting at the same time. I shelve that thought for another time.
“Maybe don’t do too much.”
“Wes, he tried to rape you.”
“Yeah.” I consider my feelings. “Do what you think,” I finally say. “Maybe I should be the better person, but I’m too tired and jumbled up tonight.”
He nods and touches my shoulder gently before leaving and shutting the door behind him.
“I hate that,” Mac mutters, crossing to the huge bed and pulling the duvet back neatly.
“Hate what?”
“The word whore. That’s not you.”
“To be honest, it is. I mean, escort is better, but that just sounds like I’m helping you find the way to Buckingham Palace.”
“You entered this arrangement because of your brother’s troubles. Everything I paid you went to debts that were his fault. If I had known, I’d have…”
“You’d have what?” I ask almost idly as I start to take off my clothes. I grimace when my side spasms.
He darts to my side to help me then pauses, his hand midair.
I frown. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t want to presume it’s okay to touch you.”
“Well, you can definitely presume. I’ll accept help gratefully. I’m starting to feel every bruise and scrape now.”
Together, we strip off the last of my clothes. His touch is very gentle, but his eyes are turbulent as he looks at the marks that are stark on my skin.
Finally, he speaks. “I’d have given you the money.”
It takes a second to register he’s finishing his earlier sentence. “You’re not a registered charity, Mac. Would you have not slept with me if you’d known what I needed the money for?”
He doesn’t say anything, and when I glance up, he looks almost stunned. Like he’s had a revelation.
“I would always have slept with you,” he says.
I’m too tired to analyse the strange tone of his voice. The bed is big and looks so inviting I could cry. I collapse into it, feeling the mattress sink under me. Gentle hands I would recognise anywhere lift my legs onto the mattress.
“Thank you,” I mumble.
“What about a shower?”
“Not now.” Sleep is waiting to tug me under. “Just want to sleep.”
He hesitates. “Okay, but I’m going to be making sure you’re okay through the night, so don’t get grumpy.”
“When does that happen?”
“Never.” My eyes slide shut as he strokes my hair back. “You’re my sunshine.”
The sentiment surprises me, and I want to look into his eyes, to see what he’s trying to tell me. But they won’t work, and everything is darkness.
It seems like only five minutes have passed when I’m gently shaken awake. “Leave me be. I won’t be late for school,” I mumble.