Page 17 of Road Rash

She shoots me a weak smile. At least she’s trying. Trying being the operative word in this fucked up situation. I know she’s scared and I fucking hate it. I walk over to a bookshelf where I keep a large first aid kit stored. We get a lot of fights welcoming so many different clubs every summer and when you bring alcohol into the mix… I learned basic triage skills real quick.

I open up the package of alcohol wipes and gently as I can start wiping down her feet. I’d go gentle if I could but it’s not only one or two open wounds. The whole bottom of her foot looks just shy of hamburger. She winces, her foot jerking in my large hand. When I search her face, she’s got tears in her eyes, but she’s not crying. She’s so damn strong.

“Clyde’s a good-looking guy,” she says and I accidentally press too hard on a cut. She jerks and winces again.

“Sorry, baby.”

Jonesie doesn’t say a word about that continuing on, “but he needs to get rid of that seventies porn stache.”

I can’t help it; I bark out a laugh. “That’s the ugliest mustache I’ve ever seen,” I admit.

“And his hair’s too long. It makes him look shorter than what he is. Hair that long works on some people, but not on him.”

That’s my girl. I don’t care to throw my friend under the bus, but if laughing at his looks keeps her mind occupied enough to let me get through patching up her feet, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.

When we’re done with the bandaging portion of the evening, I pull a pair of ugly-ass slip-on sandals out of the bottom desk drawer, kept there because sometimes the women get puked on. No one wants to work in puke shoes. I slip these ones on her feet. They’re black, red and white Nike. She looks ridiculous yet still sexy as hell.

“I think we should talk to the sheriff in here,” she says.

I wrinkle my brow at her. “Why?”

“Because I had a flashback when we passed the scene of the attack.”

“What’d you see?”

“A man. Short darkish hair. Not gray or blonde. I think he might’ve been as tall as you. It’s not much but…”

“But it’s a start. We need to get you over there again without anyone realizing that’s what we’re tryin’ to do.”

There’s a sharp knock on the door before the sheriff pushes through. “Old Man, Jonesie,” he greets us. Speaking of stupid mustaches, he’s wearing one of those thin ones that makes him look like a taller, thinner version of the sheriff from that old movie Smokey and the Bandit. “I already got statements from Mad Man, Steph and Specter. Now why don’t you tell me your account.”

“Dane got called away. I was resting in bed. Then I heard a bike drive up. Dane took his truck so I knew it wasn’t him. I walked to the kitchen to peek out the back window and saw someone trashing the trailer where I normally stay, before Dane and I got together.” She clears her throat. “I think he hurt Burk, our hound dog. But I’m not a hundred percent on that.” She clears her throat a second time. “But he started for the main house. I couldn’t tell what he looked like because I took off to hide. While whoever it was kicked in the backdoor, I snuck out the front door and ran into the woods.”

I see her visibly trying to lock down the emotion and I give her hand a squeeze for support.

“Eventually he left after what sounded like trashing the house, too. Then I made my way to the street hoping to wave someone down. That’s when I ran into Mad Man and Steph… oh, and Specter.”

He wrote down every word she spoke. “You sure that’s all?” he asks, then.

Jonesie shakes her head, biting her lip with her eyes shut. The look on her face says she’s trying to glean the courage to give him the rest. The moment her eyes open, I know she’s found it. “When we passed by the spot where I was attacked…” she sucks in a breath. “I got a flashback of a man with short, darkish hair. Not gray or blonde. It doesn’t narrow the field down too much, but it gives you something.”

The sheriff nods once, bringing his arm up to pat her shoulder. “Good job, Jonesie. You think of anything else, call, okay?”

“I will.”

“Got deputies headed out to the house to look around, see if we can pick up any fingerprints or anything,” he says while turning toward the door.

We wait for the sheriff to leave before I press my forehead to hers again, this time gripping her hair. “Don’t know how bad I want to fuck you, babe.”

She sucks in another breath.

“Fuck you every day to remind myself that you’re here. That whoever this bastard is didn’t take you from me.”

“I’m here, Dane,” she whispers back. “Not letting some asshole take me from you. Not now. Not when we have so much to live for.”

“Be diligent, baby.”

“I’ll be diligent.”

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