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?”

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

to argue. I 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

*****

kitchen, I pull my ingredients together. Prawns, ginger,

inspects my work area and Hmmms, then grins as he gets a look at me. “Well, if it ain’t my old

“Please don’t.”

a smile from her place at

The tang of onions rides up my sinuses and I try to rub my

looks over my shoulder. “You don’t have to cook for me, James. I’ll be happy with a

cooking. It helps me relax. I could

Klempner turns,

are you moving like that?” She looks closer. “You're bleeding. Did

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

plucks at the top he's wearing,

are

of panic on her face. Klempner watches her, apparently unconcerned by the damage to himself. Quite

“Let me have a

reaches to pull them up, fingers tugging at the bottom hem, then hisses, eyes rising

me.” Mitch hooks fingers under,

sodden 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

of looks. “That needs a doctor. I’ll go get him…”

Klempner calms, then apologising with his eyes, says, “They have an annoying habit of wanting to know who you are. Just dress it. I’ll

dumping bowl, soap, clean rags and a tube of antiseptic cream on the table. Then he rummages through drawers before producing gauze,

bloody tops removed, Klempner's naked chest is smeared in blood, red

comments. “My clothes... Sorry... Your clothes... soaked up

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

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

seen as a clean slit, starting shallow, but slicing deeper. Mitch slaps a pad of clean cotton over the top, pressing it in place with her hand. “It

it

staring at his chest. “Good God, Larry. What have you been doing the

weighs in. “Or

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 a look to the rear. His

growls. “I'm not a bloody circus show. Mitch, just dress it and then I can get some clothes

fleece. “Not in these clothes, you

needs stitches,” insists

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

forehead. “You telling me he

I shrug.

to Mitch. “Superglue. Use a dot wherever you would stitch but keep to the edges. If it gets

the tube.