Page 6 of Property of Saint

The door slams open, and a heavy thud sounds. Swinging around, I see a case hitting the ground.

“You sent your goddamn daughter down for this?” Shorty gestures to the burden he’d carried into the room. He flexes his muscles to show how even for him, it was no light weight.

Doc’s eyes darken, not liking that he’s being criticised. “Bron can handle it,” he growls.

Yeah, like she probably has to handle anything he dishes out, whether she wants to or not. Shorty looks like he’s going to lunge for him, but a strangled sound coming from Bronwyn stops him in his tracks. When all eyes turn to her, she seems to shrink in on herself, worried eyes flicking toward her father.

I swear if we could find another medical man, we would. But someone like him, with reason to treat us with no questions asked, would be hard to find. For now, he’s all we’ve got.

“What you waiting for, girl?” Doc barks, making Bronwyn flinch. “Get cleaning the blood off and suturing her face.”

I would have gone for him if he was leaving his daughter to do all the work, but while she goes to the woman’s head, he pullsup the sheet and starts to run his hands over the broken leg, assessing what he’s dealing with. From his murmuring and odd grunts, I don’t think he likes what he’s found.

CHAPTER THREE

PHILLIPA

Imust have passed out.

I wake to the sound of male voices, and a recognition that my whole body burns with pain, admittedly, some parts more agonising than others. Not sure where I am nor why—the last thing I remember was driving my car, and that certainly isn’t where I am now—I swallow down the gasp of pain, force myself to stay still, and keep my eyes shut tight.

I analyse whatever I can without using sight.

I appear to be lying on a bed. The mattress isn’t too soft, isn’t too hard, and could be one that I’d have chosen for myself.But it isn’t mine.While I can feel a sheet over me, I can tell there’s nothing else. I let my skin send signals to my brain, quickly surmising I’m naked. Naked! In what sounds like a room full of men.

This isn’t good.

I try to think about how I got here, forcing my aching brain to try to remember, but it’s all mush. I was driving…

A new sensation reaches me.Someone’s running their hands up my exposed leg.Automatically, I pull back, but there’ssomething wrong. My limb doesn’t obey me, and the effort sends such a shooting blast of pain through me that, despite my best efforts, I can’t hold back the cry that comes out of my mouth.

“Easy, girl,” a gruff voice tells me. “I’m just trying to see what I’m dealing with.”

It’s the same time as I hear a feminine voice squeak. Opening my eyes, I first find I’m looking into the sympathetic eyes of a young woman, poised with some kind of cloth in her hand. The strong scent of antiseptic reaches my nostrils. I’ve obviously startled her.

Oh shit.There’s only one thing I can associate with that smell. My throat feels dry. I swallow a couple of times, then when I feel I have enough moisture to speak, I hesitantly ask, “Am I in the hospital?”

It’s not the woman who answers, but that gruff voice that, on first hearing, I immediately disliked, though there’s no rationale why. I suspect he was the one pulling none too gently on my leg. “You’re not, but you fucking should be.”

A wave of relief goes through me, followed by my body tensing up once again. While I’m not in the place where I suspect someone would easily find me, I’ve no idea who I’m with now.Pot or the fire?

The voice continues, “You’ve possibly fractured your skull, your arm was dislocated and put back in at the scene, and you’ve a leg broken in at least one place, maybe more. You need X-rays, and on top of that, there’s a bone sticking out of your skin. You’re likely to die of infection?—”

“No hospital,” I interrupt, which probably should have been followed by the question,where am I? That I don’t ask proves my brain’s not firing on all cylinders yet. Or maybe, I’m equally concerned about the answer.

“Can I clean the blood off your face?” This is asked in gentle tones by the woman. “You need stitches.”

I don’t know why, but there’s something about her voice that reassures me she’s competent. I try a nod, blanching as pain makes me immediately regret my attempt. So, I use words instead. “Go ahead.”

A soothing motion starts, gently wiping my forehead. It’s almost hypnotic. It’s better to focus on that rather than the shooting agony in my leg.

“What’s your name, girlie?” the man who’s manipulating my leg asks.

They don’t know who I am.Inwardly, I sigh with relief, but I’ve got to keep them from finding out. Hopefully they’re just do-gooders who rescued me after…what? A car accident, perhaps? Though I’m relieved that I’m not in the hospital, I have to wonder what kind of people would bring me somewhere else. It worries me that I don’t know where the somewhere else is, or who these people are surrounding me.

I can’t tell them my identity. Depending on who they are, their treatment would either stay gentle or turn far worse.They’ve asked me my name.Quickly, I delve into my scrambled brain and try to come up with one. It’s surprisingly difficult to think of something to call yourself, so I go with my innocuous-sounding middle name. “Jane,” I offer, hesitantly.

“You telling or asking?” a male voice I haven’t heard before barks. He sounds amused.

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