“Is she okay? Your ol’ lady?”
Mace grins now. “Shay’s fine. I won’t say she doesn’t still have nightmares at times, but I remind her she’s safe and she’s mine.”
He’s made me think. I’d assumed it was going to be easy. Get Cat here, tell her I’d never let anything hurt her again, hold her in my arms and everything will be right. Mace has shown me it might not be as easy, and that I’ll need to be patient. Patience, though, is something I’m not known for.
When I’m ready, Mace brings over the wheelchair.
“I’ll use the stick.”
“Don’t be a stubborn ass,” he snaps. “You know why Pip called the doc? Because you were overdoing it. What good are you going to be with Cat if you don’t look after yourself?”
After that, when he brings the wheelchair closer, I slide into it without further argument, but I stop the wheels with my working hand. Turning my head, I look at him over my shoulder.
“I appreciate this, Mace. I don’t know what to say to thank you.”
He shakes his head. “I’m just pleased to see you accepting help. Let us in, man. Then one day, perhaps, I’ll be calling you brother.”
Now it’s back to waiting, so I take the chance to interrogate Mace, who’s open enough to tell me how he made headway with his woman. I take mental notes, the circumstances weren’t exactly the same, but some of his suggestions might work. The main result is that he’s got shit straight in my head, my focus needs to be on my woman, and not on whatever relief I feel myself. Patience, kindness and understanding, that’s what she needs. None of his pep talk lands on deaf ears.
When we get news that the plane has landed and Cat’s only minutes away, Mace stands.
“I’ll get back to my woman, leave you with yours. But Stormy, you want to pick my brain? I’m at the end of a phone, remember.”
“Mace? Thank you. You came a long way.”
He shrugs. “Didn’t ride it man, I took a plane. Anyway,” his expression changes and now he smirks, “it’s given me the chance to see the man I’m going to be taking down, once you’re fit again, of course.” When my brow creases, he adds, innocently. “What? You surely didn’t think I was letting you off the hook, did you?” With two fingers he points to his eyes, then my own. “You and I got unfinished business to deal with.”
Great. So once I’m healed I’m facing a beatdown from my brothers, and now another from Mace. It’s also unlikely that San Diego won’t want in on the act.
31
Cat…
I keep my eyes closed tight, concentrating on making my breathing even, given away no sign that I’m starting to wake. Over the weeks I’ve learned waking never holds anything good for me, and the only escape I can get is when I’m asleep.
The bed feels different. There’s a sheet and a blanket covering me, while I’ve become use to being allowed no dignity even when I’m alone. Kept naked at all times, and available for the time when my master needs me.
It’s not only the bed that doesn’t feel the same, I’ve woken without the aching to remind me how much I’ve been abused, and for once I’m not sore between my legs. At least today, I don’t feel dirty and sticky.
Has there been a night when he hasn’t come to me, or directed his men to use me? For the past two weeks since Gun had sold me, I’ve had no relief. It’s not just been the night, but during every day. His one aim to break me.
I want to die.
I should fight. But I tried that, it got me nowhere, now any objection has been beaten out of me.
Am I alone? Listening hard, I can’t hear anything. The room is light, not dark like the cell where I’ve been kept. And my back, well, that’s not stuck to the sheets with blood as it had been.
I’d refused to call him Master. He’d whipped me.
There are other differences today. There’s a scent in the room just reaching my nostrils, something tantalisingly out of reach but which seems familiar.
I’m dreaming that I’m awake. Or, maybe I’m already dead. I’d known it wouldn’t be long before he went too far and killed me. If I’m dead, I’m not sure what I expected from the afterlife, but it’s heaven lying covered in a comfortable bed.
My mind circles back to the last thing I remember. Strangers. Men, who the master would give me too, and a woman, hell, she was trying to trick me. I fought, I remember. Maybe that’s what killed me? I should be covered in bruises, maybe broken bones, but my body doesn’t feel sore, all the pain is in my head.
If this is death, it’s better than being alive.
What do I do now? Maybe I should risk opening my eyes.
Cracking them open, I can see I’m in a bedroom of some sort. My first thought is that it’s utilitarian, a closet, a desk, a chair in front of it. White painted walls. Well, white fits with the afterlife, doesn’t it? Maybe I should stir myself and get out of bed. It’s funny, I never believed in a hereafter.
Someone clears their throat beside me. My body freezes, but I manage to turn my head. When the figure comes into focus, I heave a sigh of relief, and a smile curves my lips. I’d never thought to see him again, but it’s Finn. He’s sitting beside it.
That confirms it. I know he’s dead. Gun showed me his body. There must be a benevolent God, and now we’ll spend eternity together.
Finn’s hand touches mine. I jump, snatching my hand back. It’s Finn. No. It’s a man. It’s my mind playing tricks.
“Cat, sweetheart, look at me.”
I squeeze tight my eyes. Demons can change their shapes, can’t they? This may be another ploy.
“Cat, darlin’,” he pleads.
“You’re dead.” I state the obvious.
He snorts. “I’m very much alive, darlin’. Hey. Look at me.”
“Gun showed me your body. He told me he’d killed you.” The words come out on a monotone. I’d collapsed at the sight, I hadn’t cared what had happened to me, seeing the man I loved beaten and bleeding, the limbs that used to go around me, broken and awry, a deep stab wound bleeding out. Gun had kicked him hard, and Finn hadn’t flinched. There had been no doubt in my mind I’d lost him.
At that moment I hadn’t cared what happened to me. It had been easy for Gun to take me away. I’d been compliant, thinking the worst had already happened to me. I’d been wrong.
“Cat,” he pleads again. “Look at me.”
When I do, my first thought is why I am feeling no pain after whatever punishment I’d taken to kill me, when he… His face is taut, stitches across his cheek and on his forehead. His nose is not the shape I remember. Continuing my assessment I notice one arm is in a cast, and he’s not in a normal seat, he’s in a wheelchair. As my eyes continue a downward journey, it’s easy to see why. One of his legs is stretched out in front of him and covered with yet another cast.
Why heal me and not him? It doesn’t make sense. Unless this is his purgatory.
The shorn side of his head is stubbly, it’s a strange thing to note.
“I’m not dead, sweetheart.”