Blood Sport (6 page)

The Sarge came back around to my side of the car, watching me anxiously. “Are you still bleeding?”

“Yeah, but I’m okay. It’s just a flesh wound,” I insisted, but I did want to sit down all of a sudden. I fell heavily sideways onto the passenger seat of the car, my legs sticking out of the open door, leaning up against the back of the seat even though that was pushing on my wound.

“Let me look at it,” he insisted.

I shrugged uncaringly, eyes shut. He leaned into the car, unwound the towel, peeling it away carefully. The blood spurted out from my arm.

“Tess! This isn’t just a flesh wound. You’ve been shot right through the arm!”

“Oh. That explains why it hurts so damn much,” I mumbled. “I thought I was going soft.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but I didn’t hear anymore as I slid off the seat and into darkness.

Chapter 3

I flitted in and out of consciousness, quick dioramas imprinting themselves in my mind – the Sarge leaning over me, face grim, wrapping my arm tightly in the towel again; him arguing heatedly with someone on the police radio about an ambulance; me lying in the back seat of the car as it sped along a road, lights flashing and siren blaring; the Sarge carrying my limp body into the emergency department of the Big Town hospital, yelling out in his loud voice for urgent assistance, both of us dripping water and in my case, also blood, onto the clean white-tiled floor.

The next time I roused I was lying in a bed, very groggy. I half-opened my eyes to look up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Where on earth was I and why did I feel so wasted? It must have been a hell of a party. Why didn’t I remember it?

A movement at the door drew my attention in that direction and I slowly rolled my eyes towards it. A flash of wavy golden hair jolted me awake, jerking me upright in bed, screaming and reaching in vain for my knife. Red Bycraft was in the room with me and I couldn’t find my knife!

The Sarge burst through the door, gun in hand. Red turned around to face me, but it wasn’t Red at all – it was Jake. My beautiful boyfriend, Jake. I collapsed back onto the pillow, heart pounding, breathing heavily, adrenaline racing through my veins.

“Oh God, Jakey! I thought you were Red for a second.” I was no longer groggy.

He came to my side and kissed me on the lips, smoothing back my hair. “I don’t look anything like Red,” he pouted. “I’m taller, my hair’s shorter and I’m twenty times better looking than him.”

Despite my fright, I smiled at his well-deserved narcissism. He
was
twenty times better looking than Red.
And
taller.
And
had more muscles.
And
was smarter, nicer and more successful. “Sorry, honey-boy, I was only half-awake. You know I wouldn’t usually mix up any of you Bycrafts.”

We hugged tightly and I winced when I moved my left arm. I looked down to see a thick bandage around my entire upper arm and also that I was now hooked up to an IV.

“What happened?” My eyes swivelled from Jake to the Sarge.

“Red Bycraft shot you in the arm, Tess,” he said, cutting Jake an unfriendly glare. In his view, Jake shared the guilt of everything the Bycrafts did to me because he was related to them. “You passed out and I raced you here, to the hospital in Big Town.”

“Red escaped,” I reminded myself. “Big Town called off the chase.”

“That’s right.”

“I was angry.”

He smiled nicely. “A little.”

“You threatened to make me one of your heavy, stomach-churning, unauthentic omelettes for breakfast.”

He smiled again. “
Oui, ma ch
e
rie. C’est vrai.
”

I giggled. “
Une autre heure, mon ch
e
r?
” And that pretty well exhausted my terrible schoolgirl French.

“
Mais oui, ma belle.
”

“Settle down, you two,” warned Jake, regarding us both suspiciously and tightening his arm around my shoulders. He had left school when he was fifteen and consequently hadn’t learned any French.

I patted his thigh in assurance, before addressing the Sarge again. “Did you see that gun he used? It had a
pink
handle! It’s embarrassing to be shot by a weapon like that. It’s like something your grandma would own.” Well, maybe his grandma, but not my Nana Fuller – her weapon of choice had always been her favourite double-barrelled shotgun, despite the fact that it was almost as long as her. “God only knows where he got it from. Or more likely, who he stole it from.”

“You should be grateful that he stole a grannie gun and not a weapon with a higher velocity,” the Sarge censured gently. “It saved your life. The bullet passed straight through your arm and didn’t hit any veins or bones. And apart from the small entry and exit wounds, it caused surprisingly little damage. You’ve been very lucky today, Tess.”

“Luck’s my middle name,” I smiled up at him.

He rolled his eyes. “There’s not a lot more they can do for you here, so you can probably come home tomorrow. They want to keep you in overnight for observation though, because you lost a fair bit of blood.”

“Tomorrow?” I complained and shifted in the bed to move closer to Jake. I noticed as I did that I was completely naked except for the thin hospital gown I was wearing.

I stared at the Sarge accusingly. “Where are my clothes? And who undressed me in the first place? I had clothes on when you brought me here!”

“It wasn’t me, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he laughed. “It was probably one of the nurses. You were soaking wet, remember?”

“You’re all dry. And in your uniform.”

“I’ve been back home, had a shower and changed. You’ve been out for a while and when Jake turned up to sit with you, I took the chance to dry off myself. There are some fresh clothes and toiletries for you in that bag over there. Your father packed it for you.”

“Thanks, Sarge. I want to change right now. I don’t like these hospital gowns – they’re such an ugly colour and their cut is so unflattering.”

The men rolled their eyes as I threw my legs over the edge of the bed.

“How are you going to change when you’re hooked up to the IV, Tessie?” asked Jake laughing.

I thought about it, then flopped back on the bed again. “Bugger!”

Jake leaned over to kiss me and we smiled at each other. He was a beautiful man in every way – tall, well-muscled, wavy golden hair, honey-brown skin, a gorgeous smile and startling amber eyes. He was good-natured, friendly and popular, not to mention breathtakingly sensational in bed. He was almost the perfect man. But for me, his one major flaw was that he was a Bycraft and I loathed the Bycraft family. With very good reason.

Normally a man like Jake would be a real catch for any woman, but I would never marry him, no matter how much I loved him. It wasn’t just because he was already married, never finding the time or energy to divorce his demanding wife, Chantelle (sister of Red’s girlfriend, poor battered Sharnee), from whom he’d been permanently separated for over six years ago after a brief, stormy marriage. It would be unthinkable for me to marry him because his family had caused mine so much grief through the years. I could never join his family of demons and become a Bycraft.

In a sensible world, Jake and I would never have even considered having a relationship, but love was rarely sensible and we’d fallen hard for each other when I returned to town a couple of years ago. And apart from my ongoing troubles with his large family, our relationship was happy and loving.

I decided to visit the bathroom to freshen up even though I couldn’t change. I shuffled over to it, one hand pushing the IV trolley, the other clasping the back of my gown, making sure it wasn’t going to flap open embarrassingly. Jake carried my bag into the bathroom for me and closed the door behind him when he left. I slipped on some panties to regain a modicum of modesty, moving my injured arm carefully. Then I brushed my teeth and combed my long, straight dark-blonde hair. Examining myself in the mirror, I couldn’t believe how pale I was and wondered exactly how much blood I’d lost. It had been a long ninety minute drive to the hospital and that was after I’d already been bleeding for a while.

When I returned, the two men were chatting in a desultory manner. Jake laid on my bed, arms behind his head, his long legs stretched out, while the Sarge sat on the sole visitor’s chair. They weren’t crazy about each other, but they were both civilised men and tolerated each other for my sake. Jake had finally, if reluctantly, accepted the fact that I would be spending a lot of time with the Sarge and it was inevitable that we would develop a close bond. In fact, it was critical that we did. Our lives depended on us being able to second guess each other in every situation. But there was no doubt that Jake had been happier when I’d been partnered with the nearly-retired, married Des, who’d been a lazy and neglectful boss.

Being the sociable, open man that he was, Jake tried hard to be cordial to the Sarge, even inviting him to play football at the low-security prison outside of Little Town where he worked as a prison officer. One night a week the prison officer team played against the prisoner team, most of whom were low risk or nearing the end of their sentences after displaying exemplary behaviour. Jake lived at the prison with free bed and board in exchange for being on-call at all times, and was the team captain for the officers’ side. He was always on the lookout for good players, because it was a matter of pride to him to beat the prisoners.

The Sarge, who was of a similar height and muscularity to Jake, had accepted the invitation and joined the team. Jake justified his inclusion on the basis that, although not a prison officer, the Sarge was a police officer and that was close enough. But unfortunately, it hadn’t helped thaw their relationship much. One of my deepest wishes was for these two important men in my life to become friends. Or at least friendlier.

“Jakey, can you strap my knife on again, please?” I asked, standing in front of him. It had been packed on top of my clothes in the bag, the first thing I’d laid my hands on.
Thank you, Dad!
It was my spare knife, but as I currently had no idea where my favourite knife was, I was grateful for the substitute. He sat up and with his lovely eyes locked on mine the entire time, Jake pushed his hands under my hospital gown and slid them up my right thigh, slowly wrapping my leather sheath around it in a very sensuous way that had me gripping his shoulders and holding my breath.

The bed creaked as I sat on it next to him and leaned over to kiss him. Which only reminded me.

“Red stuck his tongue in my mouth,” I complained, pulling away and screwing up my face at the unhappy memory.

The Sarge’s tone was sharp. “You didn’t tell me you were that close to him.”

“We slipped over together on the wet pavers while we were fighting, Sarge. I was going to sit on him till you turned up, but he was being so disgusting that I escaped as soon as I found the chance.” I turned back to Jake. “He wanted to know why you should have all the fun with me. He reckons that you’re not good at sharing your playthings.”

“He was just being a tool as usual,” Jake dismissed, lying back on the bed again, reaching up to play with my hair.

“He
shot
me, Jake! And he slogged me one in the jaw. That’s not just being a tool,” I snapped, my dark gray eyes blazing into his amber ones as he twirled my hair in his fingers. “He waited in the dark on the off-chance of finding me alone, so he could attack me. That’s not just being a tool either.”

He sighed heavily. “I know, Tessie, but what am I supposed to do? I’ve told him to leave you alone. I’ve begged him. I’ve bribed him. We’ve even had fights about it. He won’t listen to me because he’s completely obsessed with you. He’s becoming even worse than Denny.” Jake was almost squirming with discomfort as he spoke because he hated talking about anything too serious, such as his family’s intense hatred of me.

Denny Bycraft, Jake’s younger brother, had stalked me relentlessly since we were kids, teasing me at primary school, tormenting me all through high school and peeping on me as an adult. I was forever yelling at him to leave me alone. He was mostly harmless, but he did keep Jake up-to-date on what I was doing, especially when I was over at the Sarge’s house. Jake, normally so easy-going and untroubled by negative emotion, had become markedly more possessive since the Sarge had arrived in town. I’d grown bored of telling him to stop being ridiculous, because the Sarge was engaged to a very pretty woman who was currently overseas. As if he’d bother to look twice at me. As if I even wanted him to. We were friends and work partners and that was all.

Jake was saved from any further unwelcome brushes with reality by my phone ringing. I recognised the catchy little tune that I’d chosen as my ringtone, but the problem was I couldn’t see it anywhere. I followed my ears to the bedside table and opened its top drawer to find my phone and my good knife and sheath stowed neatly inside. Grabbing the phone, I answered, not checking the identity of the caller first as I usually did.

“Tess Fuller.”

“Hello, Tessie. You took a while to answer. Were you doing something important? Like bleeding to death?”

I shot a meaningful glance at the Sarge. “Hello, Red,” I said, unnaturally loud.

Both men immediately shot upright, eyes glued to me. I made a writing gesture with my hand and the Sarge jumped up to pass me his notepad and pen, standing close and watching me intently. I wrote down the phone number showing on my screen.