Page 5 of Stockman's Stormcloud

‘No. I’m fine.’

‘Dex, don’t be a dick. You’ve just dropped ten shades of white in front of me, and you’re sweating profusely, which means you’re suffering with extreme pain. Especially if you’ve parked your baby out here on the road like that.’

‘I—I…’ He didn’t have the strength to fight the woman he battled with daily for sport. But as he went to lift his shirt, he lost his balance.

‘I’ve got you, buddy.’ Bree held him, and he let her. He just didn’t have any fight left in him.

‘Pop, open the back of the Kombi.’ Bree was a take charge kind of girl, who Dex normally fought against, but he was helpless now.

The pain made it hard to breathe, and he was seeing stars that were nothing like the stars crowding the blackest of skies overhead. ‘I hate your vehicle. It’s a disgrace to cars.’

‘It’s not a car, but a van, and it has a bed in the back you can lie on.’ Bree helped him to the back of her Kombi van.

‘Are you taking me home?’

Bree laughed.

‘I hate that laugh.’ And he hated how helpless he felt.

‘You sleep on a swag, on a camp bed, inside a tent in a broken shack. You’re a smart lad. What do you think? Or did they bash your brains around a bit?’

‘Please… I…’

‘I know.’ Bree gave his shoulder a tender squeeze. ‘It was a good fight. I won a stack on you.’

‘You did?’ Somehow, a surge of pride kicked in, dialling back on the pain, but only for a second.

With Bree’s help he lay down on the thick, soft mattress. He floated on the damn thing. She then rummaged around in the van’s fridge and produced a cold cloth she wiped over his face.

‘That is so good.’ He covered his entire face. ‘I could do with one of your ice baths.’ His whole body was on fire.

‘Where does it hurt?’

‘Ribs.’

‘That bloke kept jabbing him in the ribs, he did,’ said Charlie, hovering by the back door.

‘I saw, Pop. He deserved the uppercut that planted him on his arse. Amirite, Dex?’

Dex managed a grin of sorts. He had a fan club.

‘Pop, lock up Dex’s car and jump in.’

‘You can’t leave my car here.’

‘Want me to drive it home?’ Charlie asked.

‘No, I…’ He hissed at the pain, as Bree removed the icepack and swapped it for a new one.

The lights flashed on his ute as the locks were activated. He was left with no choice.

‘Hide this.’ He handed Bree his fat envelope of cash and his wallet. And he never did that, because he didn’t trust women. He’d lost faith in them a long time ago, deciding there was nothing good in a woman, swearing to never trust their kind again.

Yet here he was, putting his trust in one. He really must be sick.

‘Don’t worry, Dex. We’ll take care of you,’ said Bree.

Helpless to stop her, he lay back inside the yellow Kombi he’d sworn he’d never get into, to get whisked away to the hospital. This was not how he’d planned to end his fight night as the outback’s undefeated bare-knuckle champion.

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