Page 55 of London's Calling: Part 1
“Hey…Ice Queen, miss me?” He winces as he rests back on his heels, sweat pouring down his face, and I can finally see where the blood is coming from as it oozes between his fingers.
“Jesus!” I gently grab his hand, moving it aside and lifting his top to get a better look. He hisses and I quickly place his hand back to stem the blood. He’s already lost too much. “We need to get you to the hosp?—”
“No! No, fucking hospitals.”
“Mickey, I’m not a fucking doctor. This is deep and I don’t know what damage it’s done internally,” I implore.
He grasps my hand, sticky with blood, and squeezes, ensuring I’m looking at him. “No, hospitals, Roni.” He releases my hand and pushes himself to his feet, wobbling slightly and swaying on legs more like spaghetti. “I’ll be fine. I just need you to patch me up.”
“Mickey—” My protest is forgotten as he takes a step and stumbles into the wall with a pained cry. “This is fucking ridiculous,” I grumble, then wrap an arm around him, taking his weight and guiding him to the bedroom. “Don’t you fucking die on me, Mickey. I swear to god…”
He chuckles. “Don’t worry, Ice Queen, if I die, you get to keep the apartment.”
“Something to be thankful for then,” I deadpan, rolling my eyes. I get him to the bed where he instantly collapses, passing out and leaving me to heave him onto the bed fully.
I have to check his pulse several times as I undress him—cutting his clothes off—and clean him up, cursing the entire time. Within minutes of me bandaging his wound, blood seeps through, soaking the dressing.
“Fuck it!” I race downstairs and grab my phone, already dialling as I return.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Mickey
I pull the collar of my coat up as I walk along Tower Bridge, the wind whipping around me like icy fingers around my neck. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I’m surprised to see the caller ID.
“Ike, thank you?—”
“What do you want, Rawlins? I already told you I’m not interested.”
“Okay, I heard you. But hear me out. What can I do to change your mind?”
His mocking laughter rings down the line. “This smacks of desperation.” He pauses. “I’ll tell you what, give me a couple of days to consider what it is that could possibly make up for the disrespect your father showed me, then I’ll get back to you.”
Before I can say more, the line goes dead. “That went well,” I mumble as I reach the centre of the bridge. At least he didn’t flat-out say no this time. I just hope he comes up with something my father can get on board with—something not completely and ridiculously over the top.
I lean on the side and watch the party boat pass beneath the bridge, and it reminds that I could have been with Priest and Fletch watching a band instead of standing on this bridge and freezing my fucking nuts off. A car horn splits the air behind me, and I spin around to see a limo drive by, one passenger hanging out the top and hollering at the top of their lungs.
I check my watch to see it’s almost ten past ten and still no sign of my mysterious caller. I’m giving it five more minutes, then I’m out of here. This shit is too cold, and I have better things to do. I turn back to face the river as a couple head toward me. Their laughter as they draw nearer has me looking back at them and smiling. I look away as they kiss, shaking my head.
Something hits me in the side, almost knocking me to the ground, and I spin to see a dark figure running down the bridge.
“Arsehole!” I bellow just as a sharp, burning pain tears through my side. Bringing my hand to it, I feel something warm. When I pull my hand away, it’s slick with…blood, glistening in the car and bridge lights. “Fuck! Son of a bitch.”
I try calling Fletch and Priest, but neither of them answer, even my father isn’t answering. I can’t go to the hospital—and I don’t want to—stab wounds draw the attention of the cops, and I have a feeling this is something I don’t want them involved in. This was obviously a set up.
I make my way back to my car, finding a shirt in the boot and tying it around my waist to stem the bleeding, then drive toward home, hoping I can get hold of one of the guys or my dad by the time I get there. Only they still aren’t answering, and I’m certain I’m about to pass out any minute. When I get to my apartment, I know if I don’t get some help, I’m fucked, so I push myself to keep going, climbing two more flights to the fourth floor and into Roni’s apartment.
I thank the fucking lord she hasn’t locked the guest room door again as I make my way down the hall, crashing into the wall, legs barely holding me up.
“R-Roni,” I call, my voice breaking, as my knees give out, and I hit the floor.
“Shit! Mickey, what happened?”
Her voice is like fucking heaven if it were a tangible thing. “Hey…Ice Queen, miss me?”
I hear her mention hospital, but I quickly cut her off. The next thing I remember is her undressing me before everything goes dark.
The acrid and bitter smell of antiseptic floats through the air, burning my sense of smell. A memory of Roni and being undressed causes a groan to rumble from my chest—or maybe it’s the pain on my right side talking.
