Page 17 of Hearts Held
I continue wrapping Clint’s hand after stitching the top and setting and splinting the fingers.
“I’ve heard worse,” I murmur.
“It still isn’t right. Hell, even her own mother finds her to be awful.” The words make me chuckle to myself. Then Bobby turns toward the boy. “What happened, Clint?”
Clint stares at me as I work on his hand, carefully wrapping the last gauze.
He pants as he states, “I thought I was quiet, sir. I thought I was good, but someone knew I was coming. It was like they were waiting for me, boss.” He lets out a small cry as he pants in between a few more words.
“They captured me and started punching, kicking me, then they took a rubber mallet and…and…and started pounding mah hand.” The boy starts to sob.
It breaks my fucking heart.
Bobby outstretches his arms, then wraps them carefully around Clint as he shushes him in comfort.
Bobby whispers, “We will find these bastards and make them pay.” Not a simple statement, but a promise.
He sits next to Clint with a pad and pen, writing down their descriptions and any other details Clint can feed him.
Each tear that rolls down Clint’s face feeds the anger that is sizzling under my skin.
For this boy wouldn’t need any revenge and wouldn’t be in the position if it wasn’t for the Adders’ doing.
As my irritation boils, I shove my belongings into my bag as Bobby wraps up his questioning.
After I wipe my hands on a cloth, he realizes I’m about to storm out the door.
I hear his voice behind me. “What’s wrong, baby?”
I turn to stare at him as if he is a complete nutter. Gaping at him with an angered, raised eyebrow, I sneer; “What’s wrong!? Are you kiddingme? Young boys fighting for you. Getting hurt before they can even experience a fraction of their future. Then you brand them for life!?”
He looks down at me with a knowing and compassionate look, then takes in a contemplating breath. “I don’t know how to explain this to ya, baby.”
I snatch my packed medical bag from the floor. “Then who can!?”
Bobby scratches the back of his head. “I don’t know if you wanna find out, love,” he plainly warns.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Bobby, does it look like I give a shit? Take me to who will answer my question.”
He gives a halfhearted smile. “Nope, it doesn’t.” He throws one leg over the motorbike and sighs. “Let’s get on the bike, ma’am, go get yer questions answered by theownerthemselves, but prepare yourself. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”
Bobby drives like hell and takes us to the vast, Gothic-looking gambling hall.
The gambling hall downtown is not only a place where individuals can bet on various events, especially the horse races: it also houses the offices of the Afton Adders.
I haven’t been here but once, and it was only so Bobby could run in and retrieve whatever he needed at that moment.
He slows the motorbike as we approach the front of the steep, haunting building. Gargoyles hang on the edges of the structure, with large marble pillars. Bobby was telling me the history of its development during the ride. The building used to be a government building, but the officials were run out by the townspeople from their neglect after the war and lack of support for the soldiers who came home.
As I sling one leg off the motorbike, a hand pulls on my bag, still slung over my arm.
Bobby tries to stop me, but I pull my bag free of his grasp and begin storming into the building.
“Baby, Bri, stop! Stop, stop, stop! You don’t know where you’re going or who you’re talking to!” He rushes behind me, leaving the motorcycle. “What you gonna do, go in there as a woman and say, ‘Who’s in charge, I gotta bone to pick with ya?’” He is carefully holding my arm, cautiously looking at me and awaiting an answer.
“If that is what I must do.” Malice is seeping through my words.
I rush inside after yanking my arm from his hold.
