Page 61 of Avenging Devil: Part 2

“How’s Mary?” I ask, fast.

“On bed rest in the hospital. They’re doing everything they can apparently.”

Grumbler. Poor fucker. I did wonder why Dart hadn’t mentioned him. Seems I’ve got my answer now.

They don’t deserve this. They don’t deserve to lose their baby. I rest back my head, mentally listing all the problems I’ve woken up to. My foot is smashed, repaired, yes, but it will be awhile until I can use it again, and the jury’s still out on whether I’ll regain full movement.

Duke’s still alive. On one side, that’s good, I still get my chance to wreak vengeance, on the other, if he doesn’t believe the Crazy Wolves were taken out by a mafia hit, he could join the dots and come up with the Satan’s Devils.

Add in Grumbler, and losing their baby will hit him hard. Damn that I’m laid up. I should be there, supporting and covering for him.

And there’s Cyn’s role in all this. What it actually was, I need to find out. Susie, I’m presuming, died in the raid on the clubhouse. Or did she? What did the Wolves do with their whores? Could she have been saved along with the trafficked women? Would anyone know? I can see the wisdom in leaving them to the cops and having the authorities deal with them. No one’s to know the Devils were ever involved. But where does that leave us if she’s still around?

Damn it to hell.

“You’re thinking hard,” Saffie observes, quietly. “Do you want me to go?”

Never.And now I’ve more than one reason to want her beside me. If I have my way, she’ll never be out of my sight. She’s still married to a motherfucker who’s alive and breathing.

My heart rate speeds up.

“Niran?” She comes over and rests her palm on my forehead. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” I rasp out through gritted teeth, then add the excuse I know she’ll believe, “I’m just worried about Grumbler.”

“It’s so sad.”

When her eyes start to water, I realise I’m an ass, reminding her of what she’s only recently been through. Gingerly, I move my hand, inch it over the bed and lie it on hers. There are no words of comfort I can offer, but I’m making a silent promise. I’m here for you, Saffie.

The door opens and a man in a white coat wearing a stethoscope like a badge of honour enters. Saffie moves as if she’s going to give me some privacy, but I wrap my fingers around hers.

“You can stay.” Old lady or friend, she has as much right to know what my likely prognosis is. Maybe I shouldn’t make her stay if it turns out I’ll never walk again. Nah, I’m too selfish. I’ll crawl after her if I have to.

The doctor begins by greeting me pleasantly, nods to her, then starts going over my vitals. Impatient, I hurry him on.

“My foot, Doc. Will I be able to walk?” What I really want to know are my chances of riding again.

His face is unreadable as he glances down at the notes in my chart. I suck in air, preparing myself for the worst, getting ready to hear I’ve got to build a new life for the third time. Once I escaped to the Marines, then I became a Devil. Without my cut, without my bike, I have no idea where I’d be. I hold my breath until he starts speaking.

“In layman’s terms I’d describe it as a jigsaw puzzle which we had to piece back together. But lucky for us, all the pieces were there. We’ve done as good a job as we could. It might not look pretty, but in time, you should be able to walk. You’ll need to keep the cast on for a few weeks and keep all weight off it.” He pauses, then puts delicately, “Considering your other… ahem… problem, you’ll be confined to a wheelchair.”

Damn it. At least when I lost my leg I was able to get around on crutches. I need to be mobile to search for Duke. What help would I be confined to a fucking chair? I get out my next words through gritted teeth. “What if I get a new prosthesis? Can I use crutches then?”

The doctor shakes his head, but his words are a cautious yes. “Mr. Rogers, your leg isn’t the problem. The fracture in your tibia was a clean break. It’s your foot I’m worried about. The cast will keep the bones in place, but any jarring will disturb them. You’ll have to be careful. If we need to operate again, I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to save your lower leg. For now, it’s best that you’re patient, and take the utmost care.”

My hands clench as I realise how much my independence means to me.

The hand I’m now holding too hard pulls away, but as I tense, it’s only for her to turn the tables, and place hers on top. Now it’s hers squeezing mine. “It’s not forever, Niran. We’ll manage. I’ll… I’ll stay with you until you’re mobile again.”

Stay, why? Out of misplaced guilt that she’s the reason this happened to me? Or maybe, pity? I turn my head to face her. Her face shows not only compassion, but determination. But that magical pronoun she’d used, we, hadn’t bypassed me, and whatever motive she has, I’ll cling to it, to keep her beside me.

“How long do I have to stay here?”

“I don’t see why you can’t be released tomorrow,” the doctor says. “You’ve not got any infection, and it’s just a case of rest while you’re healing. I’ll get a physiotherapist to come talk to you about how to cope with a chair, and what you need as you’ve not got a weight-bearing leg. Of course, you’ll have to have suitable accommodation…”

“Leave that to us,” a gruff voice says. A man who’d entered the room so silently, I hadn’t realised he was there. Bolt meets my eyes a little sheepishly. This is a conversation he shouldn’t be privy to, but it looks like he doesn’t care. “Just tell us what he needs, Doc, and we’ll make sure he has it.”

The doctor, also startled at Bolt’s quiet approach, recovers quickly. Apparently having run out of things to say, he bids me goodbye and leaves.

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