Hot Revenge Box Set 2

James

And now, for the first time, I push the door, quiet as I can, looking in.

Mitch is there, a pad on her lap, sketching. She sits by Charlotte; sleeping, so pale.

No, not pale; pallid.

What they did to you…

But she’s clean and warm and comfortable. And by the side of the bed, within touching distance, also sleeping…

Cara…

My daughter…

And in a chair by the window, a hawk-eyed nurse.

What’s been happening?

Mitch smiles, holding up her pad: a half-drawn sketch, in pastels, of mother and baby. Then she looks me up and down, pulling a face.

?

I mouth silently. “What?”

She nods me to the mirror and I see myself.

Oh, My God…

Even though I changed, brushed my hair, I can’t let Charlotte wake up to see me like this. Or Cara…

The eye is not a pretty sight. It’s not so swollen now and it’s beginning to open again, but the colour, a kind of reverse rainbow in blue, green and sickly yellow, is enough to put anyone off their… milk… There’s not too much I can do about the bruising, but at the least, I should clean myself up.

I stoop, kiss Charlotte’s cheek. She stirs, mumbling something soft. I can’t make out the words, but sleeping, her lips are curving.

I stroke Cara’s tiny face, and eyes-closed, she blows a bubble.

Then, with a nod to Mitch, I turn to leave. And Michael’s there. He too holds the pair in his gaze, then with a tap to my chest. “Let’s let them sleep.”

Mitch follows us out, picking up a baby monitor en route and popping it in her pocket.

*****

A hot shower and I feel more myself. Then Richard snags me, bullying me through to where the doctor I saw is waiting.

“I’m sorry… What’s happening?”

Elizabeth went into premature labour.” He holds up palms… “It’s settled and she’s fine, but under the circumstances, for the sakes

on 24/7 call should we need them. Meanwhile you…” He levels a finger at me… “…are going to let Doctor Polinski examine that eye. Along with any other damage you might

*****

the kitchen, I pull my

gets a look at me. “Well, if it ain’t my old friend Capt’n Bluebeard.”

“Please don’t.”

place at the table. “It suits

when I can take the bloody thing off.” The tang of onions rides up my sinuses and I try to rub my nose, then realise my

don’t have to cook for me, James. I’ll be happy with a

enjoy cooking. It helps me relax. I could do with some relaxation

enough.” Klempner turns, grunting as he

pins him with her eyes. “Larry, why are you moving like that?” She looks closer.

at himself, seeming surprised. “Oh! Must have done. Um, yes, he

you forgot something like that. Let me look…” She plucks at the top he's wearing, Michael's, and the fabric gapes open at

are soaked

face. Klempner watches her, apparently unconcerned by the damage to himself. Quite the opposite. He

she says. “Let me

up, fingers tugging at the bottom

me.” Mitch hooks fingers

fabric peels away from the gash underneath; a wicked slice, six inches long, scored from shoulder to chest. At the edges, blood crisped dry resists, plucking at the wound as she peels away the garment. But liquid blood, dark and red, dribbles from the

a doctor. I’ll go get him…”

calms, then apologising with his eyes, says, “They have an

warm water into a bowl, dumping bowl, soap, clean rags and a tube of antiseptic cream on the table.

Klempner's naked chest is smeared in blood, red by the wound, black at the

it is,” he comments. “My clothes... Sorry... Your clothes... soaked up the blood

starting at the outer edge, working in, she wipes and cleans, squeezing the cloth into the bowl

only a minute or two, silently, Michael fills another bowl with fresh water and replaces

but slicing deeper. Mitch slaps a pad of clean cotton over the top,

replacing it with

though you've done this before…” She halts in mid-sentence, staring at his chest. “Good God, Larry. What have you been doing the last few years?

weighs in. “Or

of any trace of flab, apparently constructed from whipcord and leather, Klempner’s chest is crisscrossed with scars, slices and punctures. Some deep and red, some fine white lines. Trying not to be obvious about it, I steal

Mitch, just dress it and then I can get some clothes

“Not in these clothes, you won't. I'll

stitches,”

peers close. “Stopped by the breastbone from going any deeper. It does need stitching, yes.” He presses pad and fingers back into place.

forehead. “You telling me he keeps sutures

I shrug.

with a small tube; hands it to Mitch. “Superglue. Use a dot wherever you would stitch but keep to

at the tube. Bites a