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?”

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

don’t. “They are staying in the hotel for the next few weeks and are 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 have taken last night. I

*****

the kitchen, I pull my ingredients

gets a look at me. “Well, if it ain’t my old friend Capt’n Bluebeard.” He elbows me in the ribs. “Oohhh, Aaarrr!” Then, slaps his forehead

“Please don’t.”

sucks in a smile from her place at the table. “It suits you. Kind of…

glad 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 damn eye is watering under

cook for me, James.

I could do with

enough.” Klempner turns, grunting as

eyes. “Larry, why are you moving like that?”

himself, seeming surprised. “Oh! Must have done. Um, yes, he did, now I

“And you forgot something like that. Let me look…” She plucks at the top he's wearing, Michael's, and the fabric gapes open at a clean slice. Mine is underneath and it's not much

are soaked

trace of panic on her face. Klempner watches her, apparently unconcerned by the damage to himself. Quite the opposite. He seems gratified

“Let me

the bottom hem,

hooks fingers under,

chest. At the edges, blood crisped dry resists, plucking at the wound as she peels away the garment. But

doctor. I’ll go

thank you.” Klempner calms, then apologising with his eyes, says, “They have an

rags and a tube of antiseptic cream on the table. Then he rummages through

is smeared in blood, red

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

a look calculated to swat flies then, starting at the outer edge, working in, she wipes and cleans,

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

worst of the blood cleaned, the wound can be seen as a clean slit, starting shallow, but slicing deeper. Mitch slaps a pad of clean cotton over the top, pressing it

it with his

in mid-sentence, staring at his chest. “Good God, Larry. What have you been doing the last few years? You look as if someone's

in. “Or

physique bare 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 and

“Not in these clothes, you won't.

stitches,”

the breastbone from going any deeper. It does need stitching, yes.” He presses pad and fingers

scratches at his forehead. “You telling me he keeps sutures in the

I shrug.

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

wound. Looks at the