Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
AMES
Oh my God. I’ve just seen Flynn’s cock for the second time.
Not that I meant to, I was just helping Bronwyn remove his clothes, not expecting he’d gone commando.
And just like when he’d exposed himself in the cabin, for a second, I can’t draw my eyes away from it.
I never expected to find a man’s dick a thing of beauty, but his?
This time I get a much closer look at it.
My mouth drops open as I see it’s not too long, but thick. And I bet he knows how to use it.
Ashamed, when I wrench my gaze away, I feel my cheeks blush. Then Bronwyn returns from the en suite and covers it.
Had he caught me looking? His smirk suggests that he did.
“Cut off my shirt, will you?”
I realise I’m being selfish, thinking only of me. He’s not actually smirking, he’s sporting a grimace, telegraphing the pain that he’s in.
Bronwyn quickly delves into her bag and extracts a pair of scissors.
She makes quick work of slicing up the front of his t-shirt and into each arm, allowing the garment to fall away.
Then she sharply sucks in air, not a good reaction from a seasoned nurse.
Me? I just want to cry at the wounds covering his body.
There are stab wounds still oozing, cigarette burns all over.
His shoulder is at an odd angle. And on his hand his ring finger is missing. I gasp and cover my mouth.
Bronwyn, too, is examining his wounds, but in a more clinical way than me.
“Ames,” she gets my attention. “I don’t like the way this wound’s still bleeding, can you apply pressure here?
” She indicates where she’s holding a bandage to his stomach.
“Rat, I’m just going to feel your ribs, okay?
” I draw in air as he winces. “Right,” she announces, “you’ve got broken or bruised ribs.
There’s nothing I can do for them except tell you to take it easy.
” Gently she feels around his shoulder. “This is dislocated. I can put it back in, but it will hurt…”
“Just do it for fuck’s sake.”
“You sure?”
When he nods, she asks, “Ames?” I glance toward her. “Hold him still.” How the fuck do I…? I lean over him, feeling his overheated skin even through my clothes.
He fixes his eyes on mine. I stare into his and take his right hand in the one of mine that isn’t helping to slow his bleeding.
Out of the side of my eye, I see Bronwyn expertly taking hold of his arm.
Expecting the worst, Flynn starts to tense, I squeeze my fingers…
Then there’s an audible click. Flynn shouts, but after only a moment, his face relaxes.
“Fuck, Bron. You’re good at this,” he tells her.
“Should be,” she confirms. “Else all my training is for nothing. You’ll feel more comfortable now.
Just let me put on a sling. Now I’m going to start stitching you up.
I’ll apply some lidocaine first.” She takes a syringe, and getting me to remove my hand, injects him around his worst wound before encouraging me to apply pressure again.
Then she does the same to the other places where he’s been stabbed.
Having stitched up and applied dressings to everywhere he’d been bleeding, she then starts to look at his legs. “Fuck, Rattler, he did a number on you.” He draws in air sharply, and his face pales further. It’s obvious he’s gritting his teeth. “What did he hit you with?”
“A baseball bat. Think he was getting in practise,” he manages to rasp out.
“Waggle your toes for me, will you?” She pauses while he does.
She sucks in air and blows it out. “Without x-rays, I can’t tell if they’ve broken anything, there are no obvious breaks, but you’ve sure got some nasty contusions.
Short’s still got his crutches somewhere around, you might need to use them for a few days. ”
“His ankle was already sprained,” I point down to where it’s still swollen.
Her cheeks round as she sucks in air. “If it’s just sprained it needs rest to heal fully. And Rattler’s got a lot of that in his future.”
Whether he’s going to protest or not, Flynn raises his head, then groans and sets it back down.
Proving nothing gets past her, Bronwyn asks, “You get hit on the head?”
“Think he thought it was a baseball,” he shrugs, then winces. “He was obviously setting it up to make a home run.”
“Fuck, Flynn, do you have to keep joking?”
His eyes come to mine, and he reaches for my hand as he answers, “Only way I know how to be. Ow, what the fuck, Bron?” He’s rapidly blinking his eyes when she shines a torch into them.
“Yeah,” she pronounces. “You’ve got a concussion. You’ll need watching through the night.”
“I know what to do. Wake him every couple of hours…”
Bron shakes her head. “He’s lucid, he’s not vomiting. He’s not showing signs of wanting to sleep. Just keep your eye on him for the first few hours, then, if he’s not showing any worrying symptoms, he can continue sleeping uninterrupted.”
“I thought…”
As if she knows what I was going to ask, she tells me, “Modern advice is that sleep’s a good healer. And signs of a brain bleed usually show up in the first three to four hours.”
Flynn is looking at me oddly. “How come you know about concussion watch?”
Without thinking, I tell him, “Once, when I was ten, Malachi tripped me and I fell down the stairs, and I knocked myself out. Grandma didn’t want to take me to the hospital, so she watched me at home. She woke me on the dot of every two hours.”
“Babe,” he squeezes the fingers of my hand he’s still holding. “Sounds like she was protecting Malachi rather than you.”
I shake my head. “No, she tried to protect me from Malachi.”
He sighs. “She was, at least, enabling his abuse. How old was he then, twenty?” At my nod, he continues, “Old enough to go to jail for deliberately hurting you.”
No, he’s wrong. My grandmother had always been on my side. Hadn’t she? If she’d acted then, would it have prevented him from becoming the monster he is now? Fuck Flynn for wanting to rewrite the only good memories I have from my childhood.
Bronwyn seems to sense the tension between us.
“What Rattler needs now is rest. He’s got the good shit,” she pauses to wink, “in his drip. Along with saline and antibiotics. That’s all I can do for now.
Freak’s got Trip for the night, so Short and I will be staying here.
If you need anything, or his condition worsens, call me immediately. ”
“I need a fuckin’ beer,” Rattler growls.
“No.” Bronwyn says simply, but firmly. Her tone even makes me a little bit scared of her.
Rattler snorts. “Why did you change from that meek mouse who first came to the clubhouse?”
“I grew up,” she says simply. “And the club took care of the baggage that was tying me down.”
I’m left in the dark as understanding passes between her and Flynn.
“Right,” she stands up. “Now I’ve got to go check whether you put my man’s back out when he carried you up the stairs.”
“I didn’t ask him to,” Flynn grumbles. Then with a glint in his eye, adds, “Always knew those muscles were just for show.”
Bron rolls her eyes. “And I’ll check out the closet in the medical room. I think that’s where we put his crutches when he had no further use for them.”
Flynn catches her eyes. “Just make sure you check the lock works before you go into the closet.”
As I snort a laugh, Bron just stares at him. Then turns to me. “If he starts to sound confused or comes out with more nonsense than he normally does, call me.”
Raising and dipping my head, I confirm that I will. But while she’s oblivious, Flynn has good reason to be cautious about closets and locks, however ridiculous it sounds.
I wait until the door closes behind her.
I’d been so worried earlier, but though he’s clearly taken a lot of punishment, Bronwyn hadn’t seemed worried any of his injuries were fatal or, while clearly painful, life changing serious.
Suddenly it’s not enough for me that he’s here.
I want to know more about what actually happened to him.
“Tell me what Malachi said to you. Why did he take you and not kill you?” Unexpected, a sob rises into my throat. I croak, “I thought because you were forced to marry me, he’d kill you on sight.”
Flynn sighs and relaxes back onto the pillow. I can see his eyes growing heavy and know it’s probably more to do with the painkiller Bronwyn gave him than any serious brain injury. It was only last night when she’d used her magic to knock me out. I personally know how the good shit works.
When I’ve given up on a response, he starts, “Your brother’s clever. The club thought they’d tricked him, but he was one step ahead. We underestimated him. He kept me alive to lure the club into a trap.”
I gasp. “But it didn’t work.”
He smiles a sleepy smile. “Nope.”
“How did the club try to trick him?”
“They made him download a Trojan onto his phone, which gave his location away.”
“Oh, Flynn,” I sigh. “I told you he works in tech. He probably saw that coming a mile off.”
He blows out a long sigh, and grimaces. “Fuck. I forgot. But I think they still would have done it. It was worth a try, and it did actually work. Even though…” His voice trails off.
“Even though, what?” I prompt.
Instead of answering my question, he lets his eyes close, then, when I think the drugs in his IV have taken him, he opens them again. “Get up on this bed and lie next to me, Ames.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” There isn’t an inch of him that’s not been abused by Malachi.
“You won’t,” he states firmly.
I’m still hesitating when he gives my hand a yank.
Last night was a hell I never want to go through again. I’d convinced myself I’d lost Flynn for ever. Even now, I keep looking at him, hoping I’m not hallucinating and that he’s really here, though realistically I know it’s not my imagination, I could never have conjured up such terrible injuries.
I want nothing more than to be close to him, to breathe in his scent — even though it’s tinged with the antiseptic Bronwyn used.
Gingerly, I let go of his hand, go to the other side of the bed, and being very careful not to jostle him, I slide onto it, then pull the sheet up to cover us both.
Knowing I’m now lying next to his arm which is in the sling, I take the initiative, turn on my side, and gently place mine over him.
He sighs, reaching over his good hand to cover mine.
I feel when he gives in to sleep, but I stay awake, happy to just feel his chest rise and fall.
I could have so easily lost him.