experiencing this kind of pain. By the look of his back, he had endured pain far beyond what anyone else had.
“Where did you learn to fight like that?”
“I lived in a rough neighborhood.”
* * *
T en minutes later she was done. She tossed the bloody rags into the bowl and cleaned up while he observed her handiwork in a tall mirror.
“Why do I get the feeling you’ve done this before?” he said before taking a gulp from the bottle.
She never replied. He was right. It wasn’t the first time she had tended to an injury. At first her need was out of necessity, and then out of fear. For reasons she rarely spoke about, having surgical suture on hand prevented people in the town from talking.
“I guess you’re wondering about the scars.”
“No.”
She feigned disinterest. Without a doubt she was curious, but she barely knew him and time had taught her that it was better to ask few questions. When she returned, she handed him a denim shirt.
“You look about Matt’s size.”
She took in the sight of his chest and abs. It was solid muscle. He was no overdone fitness type, but it was clear that he took care of his physique. She forced herself to look away, not wishing to make him feel uncomfortable. He took the shirt and slowly slipped into it.
“Thank you.”
“It should be me thanking you. What you did tonight…” She paused while washing away the stained water. “That could have turned out a lot worse.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but instead continued buttoning up his shirt.
“I’ll put you up in the spare room at least for a couple of nights.”
“Oh, you don’t need to do that. I’ll be fine.”
“Those bandages will need changing. It’s the least I can do.”
He seemed to hesitate a moment before nodding in agreement. In all truth, combined with a dose of guilt over everything that had transpired since his arrival, the thought of having him around for a few more nights gave her a sense of security that she hadn’t felt in years. She didn’t expect the bikers to return, but that didn’t prevent thoughts of retribution churning over in her mind.
Chapter 17
E ARLY SUNDAY MORNING , Jack had been up long before the rest of the house. It wasn’t because of the pain he’d suffered through a large portion of the night, but purely out of habit. Contrary to what most might have figured, there were only three opportunities to shank or gut another inmate without the use of bribes: first thing in the morning, last thing at night, and in the prison courtyard. All of which meant staying vigilant and surviving on little sleep. He stood on the back porch, smoking a cigarette, as the sun rose slowly. Apollo stretched out on the ground beside him. He enjoyed the quiet; however, the gentle rhythm of the stream among the pines mixed with a chorus of birds did little to alleviate his anxious mind. The sheriff would be showing up soon, fishing for answers, and that was the last thing he needed. The whole situation had become even more complicated. Not knowing where the money was hidden was tricky enough, but having some cop nosing around and running a check on his background wouldn’t be good.
He made a quick phone call. Groggy and barely awake, Roy picked up on the other end.
“We’ve got a situation.”
Roy groaned on the other end. Jack brought him up to speed on the events that happened the previous night.
“Shit.” Jack heard a match strike on the other end of the line, and Roy exhaled deeply. “This rule of yours, Jack, is getting old fast.”
“What did you expect? Let her get raped?”
“I don’t give a shit. I don’t like this one bit. I expected you to get in and get out. You are getting too close to this.”
“I just need a bit more time.”
“And the cop?”
“I’ll handle it.”
He sighed on the other end of the line. “You’ve got a week, Jack. If you don’t find the money…”
“I know.”
Gafino didn’t need to finish what he was saying.
“Where did you learn to fight like that?”
“I lived in a rough neighborhood.”
* * *
T en minutes later she was done. She tossed the bloody rags into the bowl and cleaned up while he observed her handiwork in a tall mirror.
“Why do I get the feeling you’ve done this before?” he said before taking a gulp from the bottle.
She never replied. He was right. It wasn’t the first time she had tended to an injury. At first her need was out of necessity, and then out of fear. For reasons she rarely spoke about, having surgical suture on hand prevented people in the town from talking.
“I guess you’re wondering about the scars.”
“No.”
She feigned disinterest. Without a doubt she was curious, but she barely knew him and time had taught her that it was better to ask few questions. When she returned, she handed him a denim shirt.
“You look about Matt’s size.”
She took in the sight of his chest and abs. It was solid muscle. He was no overdone fitness type, but it was clear that he took care of his physique. She forced herself to look away, not wishing to make him feel uncomfortable. He took the shirt and slowly slipped into it.
“Thank you.”
“It should be me thanking you. What you did tonight…” She paused while washing away the stained water. “That could have turned out a lot worse.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but instead continued buttoning up his shirt.
“I’ll put you up in the spare room at least for a couple of nights.”
“Oh, you don’t need to do that. I’ll be fine.”
“Those bandages will need changing. It’s the least I can do.”
He seemed to hesitate a moment before nodding in agreement. In all truth, combined with a dose of guilt over everything that had transpired since his arrival, the thought of having him around for a few more nights gave her a sense of security that she hadn’t felt in years. She didn’t expect the bikers to return, but that didn’t prevent thoughts of retribution churning over in her mind.
Chapter 17
E ARLY SUNDAY MORNING , Jack had been up long before the rest of the house. It wasn’t because of the pain he’d suffered through a large portion of the night, but purely out of habit. Contrary to what most might have figured, there were only three opportunities to shank or gut another inmate without the use of bribes: first thing in the morning, last thing at night, and in the prison courtyard. All of which meant staying vigilant and surviving on little sleep. He stood on the back porch, smoking a cigarette, as the sun rose slowly. Apollo stretched out on the ground beside him. He enjoyed the quiet; however, the gentle rhythm of the stream among the pines mixed with a chorus of birds did little to alleviate his anxious mind. The sheriff would be showing up soon, fishing for answers, and that was the last thing he needed. The whole situation had become even more complicated. Not knowing where the money was hidden was tricky enough, but having some cop nosing around and running a check on his background wouldn’t be good.
He made a quick phone call. Groggy and barely awake, Roy picked up on the other end.
“We’ve got a situation.”
Roy groaned on the other end. Jack brought him up to speed on the events that happened the previous night.
“Shit.” Jack heard a match strike on the other end of the line, and Roy exhaled deeply. “This rule of yours, Jack, is getting old fast.”
“What did you expect? Let her get raped?”
“I don’t give a shit. I don’t like this one bit. I expected you to get in and get out. You are getting too close to this.”
“I just need a bit more time.”
“And the cop?”
“I’ll handle it.”
He sighed on the other end of the line. “You’ve got a week, Jack. If you don’t find the money…”
“I know.”
Gafino didn’t need to finish what he was saying.
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