Page 16 of Avenging Devil: Part 1

Doing what little I can, telling her to wait until I’m behind her, I go to the SUV, crossing my fingers that junker will make it to wherever it needs to go, and that I’ve not put Grumbler’s old lady in danger.

In front of me, black smoke puffs from the exhaust, and the car seems to jerk each time we start off having been stopped at a light. I get a feeling of dread I’ve fucked up. I will Mary to drive safely, and for that engine to just keep going.Grumbler would have my balls if anything happened to his wife.Fuck, if it did, I’d chop my own balls off.

I should be relieved when we reach our destination, but I’m not feeling easier when ahead of me Mary brings the car to a halt and I pull up behind her. Hurrying to get out to be at her side, I lock the SUV and make a run for the car, scanning the area around me. This is one of the worst neighbourhoods I’ve seen in the city, or possibly anywhere in my life. The apartment block is shabby and uncared for, and under my feet I hear a discarded syringe crunch.

As I open the driver’s side to extract Mary, my intention being to get her back to the SUV and out of here, I hear her saying, “Come on, Saffie, let’s get you inside.” She’s obviously got at least a name out of her on the short journey.

Uh-uh, no way.“You got a husband or boyfriend waiting for you?” I snap, maybe a little too harshly.

Saffie looks shocked at the question, and her flinch makes me feel like an ass. “No. There’s no one.”

Mary releases the seat belt and starts to pull herself out. Automatically, I go to help her and then try to hold her back as her intention is clearly to go help Saffie.

“Go to the SUV, Mary.”

She just glares at me. A glare that has me, a former Marine and biker, stepping back. I open my mouth to object, then see by her expression her mind is set, and the only option I have is to manhandle her and force her into the car which clearly, I can’t. Cursing and mentally apologising to Grumbler, I throw up my hands in defeat.

I’d offer to stay with Saffie myself, and let Mary drive the SUV back home, but from her original reaction, I doubt Saffie would take kindly to me being the one helping her. My stomach rolls as I consider it’s not the colour of my skin that might put her off, it could be my gender. Maybe her baby is a result of a rape? Fuck, I hope not. But the horrors I’ve seen don’t allow me to rule it out. In any case, it’s best if I keep my distance. One thing is for certain, I’m staying. I won’t be leaving them alone.

Reluctantly, I allow Mary, pregnant herself, to put her arm around the devastated woman and follow them into an apartment building the likes of which Grumbler certainly wouldn’t want his old lady to enter. Once inside, we find out Saffie lives on the fourth floor.Of course, she fucking does.And of course, the elevator is out of commission.

Fuck this.“Stay here, Mary, I’ll take her up.”

Without giving her a chance to protest, I sweep Saffie up into my arms and hold her tight so she can’t escape. Then I’m tackling the stairs.

She’s light, which is lucky as hell, though I’m still struggling, placing each step with care, and hoping like fuck my prosthetic leg can take the extra weight. Knowing I’ll suffer for it later, I labour on. The exertion must show on my face, as when she stops writhing to get free, Saffie goes still in my arms.

“I’m too heavy.”

“You’re not,” I refute.

“Your leg okay, Niran?” I curse as I hear Mary puffing her way up behind us, torn between wanting her to wait downstairs and not wanting her left on her own in this neighbourhood.

When Saffie’s swollen red eyes pose a question, I don’t hesitate with my answer. I’ve learned it’s best to be upfront when directly challenged, rather than pretend to be the able-bodied man I’m not. “Lost half my leg. I wear a prosthesis. A fake limb.”

Her eyes widen with surprise, but she doesn’t say more, just holds on tight and seems to be making an effort not to unbalance me. I’m pleased as fuck when we reach a door which she says is hers. By this time, sweat is pouring off my forehead and my stump is screaming like a bitch.

Only now do I let her down and wait a moment for Mary to catch up. Mary’s carrying Saffie’s purse which it seems she’d forgotten. When she hands it over, Saffie takes a moment to find and extract her key, then attempts to place it in the lock. She’s trembling so much it takes her a minute, but I don’t take over. If my earlier thoughts are correct, I’ve got to stay back and from now on, touch her as little as possible.

When finally, she has the door open, she places a foot inside, then turns around. “Thank you for bringing me home.” Her tone is dismissive and unable to misinterpret as anything other than she wants us gone, as she should. Why should anyone let two perfect strangers into her home?

“Honey, you don’t want to be alone, not right now,” Mary states, adamantly. “Is there someone I can call for you? Family, a neighbour or friend?”

“There’s no one,” Saffie replies, then corrects, “I don’t need anyone.”

The way she says it makes me believe the first statement was the only one which is right. She has no one to care for her. But my responsibility is to get Mary home and hope like hell Grumbler doesn’t object to our detour today. My eyes continuously flit left and right, and my ears are pricked for any sounds I don’t like. The hallway is full of rubbish I’d prefer not to examine too closely, music plays loudly from somewhere, and filtering down from the floor above are the sounds of angry voices shouting. While I don’t like leaving any woman here alone, the overriding thought in my head tells me my duty is to get Mary out of here.

But Mary didn’t survive bringing up a teenager without having a mind of her own. The expression on her face should have warned me she isn’t the kind of person who’d just accept being told no, especially when she can see someone is hurting.

With a directness I wouldn’t have employed, Grumbler’s old lady takes the bull by the horns. “It’s the baby, isn’t it? Something’s wrong.”

It’s as if up to that point, Saffie had been more focused on seeing us go than on the reason why we were here in the first place. Mary’s brutal reminder has her falling apart in front of my eyes. She sobs, steps away from the door, lurches to a worn sofa and puts her hand on it. Without waiting for an invitation, Mary steps in, and what can I do, but follow her?

As Mary hugs the woman to her, rocking her in her arms just like she had in the parking lot, I step to one side and taking out my phone, place a call to Grumbler.

Chapter Seven

Saffie

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