“I haven’t seen him. Neither has Gavin.”
Prickles of suspicion raise the hairs at the back of my neck. “I’ll call him and find out where he’s at,” I tell Marissa, pulling out my cell phone. And find out what the hell’s going on.
I select his number from the recently dialed list and I wait for it to ring on the other end. When it does, I hear a muffled ring coming from the next room. I think for a second it must be one of the burner cells Olivia and I have been using.
Probably that damn Ginger.
But then I hear the ring of the line against my ear again followed directly by another muffled ring in the next room. Taking the phone with me, I walk back into my apartment. I hear the ring again and it sounds like it’s coming from the bedroom. I head that direction.
When I round the corner, I hear the ring tone again. It sounds much clearer. The interior of my bedroom is pitch black since there are no windows to let in even street or moon light. I flick the switch to cut on the overhead light and there, lying unconscious on my bed, is a bloody Nash.
I hear someone gasp behind me. If I had to guess, I’d say it was Marissa. She seems to be in some sort of altered state, probably shock related.
But wouldn’t it be a freakin’ miracle if this whole ordeal unbitchified her?
I turn to see her peeking around me, her hands covering her mouth, her eyes wide and terrified.
“Ohmigod! What have they done to him?”
Much to my surprise, she squeezes past me and rushes to his side. She stands there looking down at him, her head going back and forth as she appraises him from head to toe and back again. But she doesn’t move otherwise. I’m sure, with her upbringing, Marissa has no clue what to do at this very moment. I’m just impressed that she’d even try to be concerned.
I walk to the head of the bed and look my brother over. His face is busted up pretty bad. He’ll look like a damn rainbow in the morning. A puffy rainbow, that is.
His knuckles are in bad shape, too. I can’t help but smile that he probably gave somebody one hell of a fight. It’s when I get to his abdomen that I get concerned. His black leather jacket has fallen away from his side and I can see the wetness staining his black t-shirt. I can also see the jagged slash in the material, revealing bloody skin and a slit in his side beneath it.
“Olivia, take Marissa and go get Gavin. He’s working the bar in your place.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Olivia spring into action. Marissa, however, is still standing beside me, looking like a deer caught in someone’s headlights.
“Marissa!” I shout sternly. She jumps like I startled her. She turns her confused eyes on me. “Go with Olivia.”
She nods almost robotically and turns to let Olivia lead her from the room. I notice as she walks away, she keeps looking back at the bed.
This will push her over the edge for sure. If she’s not already batshit crazy, this ought to take care of it.
I turn my attention back to Nash. I check his pulse, which is strong. I feel a rush of relief. I didn’t want to alarm the females, but when I first looked at him, I wondered if he was dead. I might not have much fondness for this new Nash, but it would still hurt like a bitch to lose him a second time.
As easily as I can, I mash on the bones around his eyes and jaw. Nothing feels broken. It’s a good thing Davenports have strong bones.
I feel around in his hair to see if I can feel any major head wound, thinking that might be why he’s unconscious. I feel a goose-egg sized bump on the back of his head. From what I know of head wounds, though, swelling out is always better than swelling in.
I make my way down to his side. I peel up his shirt from his stomach and examine what looks like a stab wound. Thankfully it’s just oozing bright red blood now, which means it probably didn’t knick anything major, like an artery or an organ.
I push gently on his stomach. It still feels soft and I know that’s a good sign, too. When my fingers get close to his side, he moans and rolls his head.
“You all right, man?” I ask.
I hear the others come back right before Gavin appears at my side.
“Crikey! Someone beat the shit out of ‘im!”
Nash cracks open an eyelid and glares at Gavin. It’s funny that he can convey so much feeling in that one small gesture. “Kiss my ass,” he mumbles through his swollen, busted lips.
“What the hell happened?” I ask him.
“Somebody caught up with me on the bike. I think it’s safe to say you’re gonna need a new one.”
Shit, shit, shit!
“Do you know who it was?”
“Nah. They came up behind me out of nowhere. Wrecked me then beat the fu—” Nash stops himself, cracking his eyelid again and looking at Marissa and Olivia. “Sorry. Beat the shit out of me while I was on the ground. One of those Russian bastards stabbed me and then they went through my pockets, patting me down.”
“What were they looking for?”
“My phone, I think. I keep it in my boot so I won’t lose it, though.”
I hiss through my teeth.
“What is it?” Olivia asks.
“I thought we’d be safe now. Or at least safe-er.”
“You will be. For a while anyway. This was just a warning. We’ve got three days to get them the rest of the copies and they said they’ll call it even. If not, they’re coming after us.”
“But we could go to the cops with it. It could incriminate them!”
“I guess that’s not enough to scare them.”
Part of me had wondered if it would be enough to be effective in keeping them away. Evidently not.
“Three days, huh?”
“Three days.”
“Um, I know whatever you people are involved in is pretty serious stuff, but don’t you think we need to get him to the hospital?” Marissa interjects.
“No!” Nash cries. “No hospitals. They keep records. And they call authorities.”
“Well, we can’t just let you lie here and die.”
“No worries, mate. I know a guy,” Gavin offers.
“A guy?” Nash asks. “I don’t need to be offed. I just need to be patched up.”
“Yeah, this guy can do that, too.”