Rushing inside, my heart sinks. The redhead is curled in the fetal position on the floor, unconscious, a pool of blood surrounding her head. Just a few feet away, a man’s sprawled out on the floor, a mask covering his face, his arm firmly held in Walter’s jaws. With a large knife clutched in that hand, he uses the other to punch at my dog.
“You motherfucker!” I roar, jumping over the girl, ready to lay a smackdown on the son of a bitch.
“Please,” he cries, pain clear in his voice. “Please, call off your dog. He’s hurting me.”
With blood dripping down his jowls, Walter shakes the man’s arm, pulling him deeper into the house.
Instead of intervening, I reach forward, pluck the knife from the man’s hand, and toss it out of his reach. Now that’s he’s without his weapon, I rear back my foot and land a blow to the side of his head, knocking him out cold.
Walter releases him and moves to the girl. I kneel down to make sure the guy’s truly out before turning my back on him. I need to check on the redhead, but what I don’t need is a knife in my back.
Yep. He’s out.
Spinning around, I shove Walter aside and reach for her. She’s breathing, but it’s shallow. And if the gash on her right temple tells me anything, it’s that she needs medical attention, now.
“Fuck,” I mutter, yanking my phone from my pocket. The last thing I need is any sort of attention from the police. The Black Hoods are in the middle of something big at the moment, and me getting mixed up in this could be the end of all our hard work.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency? Do you need police, fire, or ambulance?”
“Ambulance, now!” I snap, my mind racing over how to handle this. “And police.” Jumping up, I run out to the front porch and give her the address. “A woman’s been attacked. She’s unconscious and bleeding.”
The dispatcher begins her barrage of questions, but I don’t wait to hear them. It’s bad enough they now have my number on record as placing the call, but I don’t want to be here when the police show up. I can’t be here, not with the patch on my back. My club isn’t exactly friendly with LEOs.
Back inside the house, Walter stands over the woman, pushing and prodding at her face with his nose as he whines in distress. Remembering the man had a knife, I kneel down beside her once more, doing my best to check for stab wounds without disturbing her.
I look down the hall behind me. He’s gone. The motherfucker who attacked her must’ve slipped out the back door when I was outside. Do I go after him?
The girl on the floor moans, her head turning from side to side. Fuck. Guess that answers that.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, taking her tiny hand in mine. “You’re safe now.”
Her green eyes flutter open, barely focusing on me before drifting closed once more.
I can’t leave her now. That cowardly fuck can wait, but I will find him. Walter did some damage to his arm, so he’s going to need medical attention himself. When he goes to get it, I’ll be waiting, coiled like a viper, ready to strike when he least expects it.
Blair
They say your life flashes before your eyes in situations like this, but I can tell you for a fact, that’s utter bullshit. I didn’t see my life like a movie reel projecting in front of me. I saw the cold, dark eyes of the person about to take my life staring back at me from my own front porch. I could feel the evil oozing from his every pore when he rushed toward me, pressing his knife under my chin.
The rest was a complete blur. Jinx hissing. Pain. Growling. Screams from my attacker. Darkness. Except, there was one moment when I thought I heard a man talking to me. A peaceful presence in the swirling chaos of the attack until darkness swallowed me down into unconsciousness. He had to be a figment of my imagination. I don’t know anyone around here with my roommates now gone.
Why would there suddenly be a man riding to my rescue like a knight on a white horse? That didn’t happen in real life, and this sure as shit isn't a fairy tale.
The muffled voices of people talking stir me from the abyss, but the pain is nearly unbearable. My head aches like it went a round with a freight train and lost. I try to speak, but only a groan escapes my lips. A consolation prize for still being alive, though barely, if my pain level were the only thing in play. My entire body aches, but my head’s the worst of it.
“Miss Thompson, can you hear me?” a female’s voice calls out to me through the fog.
I desperately want to answer, but a cascade of warmth flairs to life in my veins. Sweet relief comes soon after, calming the drum-like beats inside my skull. They’ve given me something for the pain, or a mallet to the head. It doesn’t matter, as either option would be suitable at this point.
“What do we have?” a gruff male voice questions.
A dozen pair of hands shift, poking and prodding me while I try to force myself to wake. Come on, eyes. Just open. The pleading clearly doesn’t do a damn thing to wake me. The pain medicine is doing its job a little too well.
The woman's voice reports the information. It would be hypnotic if not for the fact that I’d just been attacked.
“Female, early twenties, attacked in her home. Defensive wounds on her hands and arms, and a laceration over her right eye. Blood pressure is slightly elevated, but other vital signs are normal. Patient was unconscious when paramedics arrived on the scene.”
“Let’s get an X-ray of her abdomen and chest, and a CT scan. Sedate her until we can fully assess her injuries.”
“Yes, Dr. Malic,” is the last thing the woman says before I succumb to the darkness once more.
When the fog lifts enough that I can finally open my eyes, it seems like hours have passed. The stark white walls of a hospital room gleam back at me under the early morning sun. Sunrise? How long have I been out? I try to shift in the bed, but the IV in my arm tugs, setting off an alarm in the process. The beeping only serves to intensify the pounding in my head.
“Someone’s awake, I see,” a cheerful nurse says as she walks into the room with a fresh IV bag in her hand. Switching out the bag, she then walks over to the computer terminal next to it. “How’s your pain? Scale of one to ten.”
“Six,” I reply. My throat strains to get out that single word. “Water?”
“The doctor hasn’t cleared you for anything to drink or eat yet,” she explains. “I just sent off a note to your attending physician that you’re awake. I suspect he’ll be in to see you shortly. We’ll see if we can get that NPO order lifted.”
The nurse flitters out the door, leaving me to my own devices. Every movement I make results in a jolt of pain radiating all over my body, like an electrical current hopping from one limb to the next. No matter how I shift myself, I can’t find any semblance of comfort.
Finding the remote attached to the bed, I press the call button for the nurse’s station. I need something for the pain, and now. Heavy footsteps come from the hallway, and then a tall doctor steps into the room with a clipboard in his hands, distracting me momentarily from my discomfort.
“It’s good to see you awake, Miss Thompson. I’m Dr. Malic. We met earlier, but I doubt you remember much of your arrival.” He smiles at me. Funny guy. Great. Exactly the opposite kind of doctor I need right now. He steps closer to my bedside, retrieves a flashlight from his pocket, and shines it into my eyes.