Chapter Twenty
JULIE
I fell asleep in that position, my back against the bath, my trousers discarded, blood drying on my thigh. I woke with a start, wondering what had disturbed me. As I moved, my thigh started to sting, and I remembered that I hadn’t cleaned up after me. I groaned, moving up off the floor awkwardly, because the chill, and the curled-up position, had left me stiff.
Firstly I had to tidy up the new cuts on my leg. I took a cleaning wipe from the first aid kit, and swiped it carefully over each new line, cleaning away what little dried blood had collected, partially sealing each cut. The pain erupted anew, as they started to well up again, just little dots of blood at first. I used the wipe to clean up the dried blood on my skin, while I watched each wound bleed a little again.
Then I grabbed a fresh wipe, and cleaned them up again, so I could stick a large rectangular dressing over all three. I cleaned up the sink, wrapping the used blade in the wipes, and dropping it carefully into the bin. Then I used a further wipe to clean the blood from the floor, where it had dripped while I slept. This too went into the bin, and then I tied the bag, so I could dispose of it in the morning.
Slipping my fleece pants back on, I switched off the light, and climbed back into bed.
A ping from my phone announced a message, so I took a look. It wasn’t just one. There were four. Plus a missed call. Maybe that had woken me. They were all from MyBiker.
MyBiker: Don’t hide from me, Julie. I want to be there for you.
MyBiker: Will you please just answer, so I know you’re okay?
Then there was a missed call from him.
MyBiker: Julie, you’re starting to freak me out. Call me, please.
MyBiker: I’m on my way back into town. I’m coming straight to yours unless you say otherwise.
I stared at the time on the message, and the time now. It was sent fifteen minutes ago, give or take. It had taken me that long to clean up after my… therapy.
Me: Sorry, Adam. I fell asleep. I’m fine. Please don’t worry. I’m going to bed now.
There was no reply for so long that I’d fallen asleep, and was woken by his response.
MyBiker: Let me in, little angel. I’m outside.
ADAM
That bombshell that Jeff had dropped on me, was a fucking brainfuck and a half. I had him send the picture to me, and then I messaged the Bennett assholes, to let them know I needed to stop by urgently. I didn’t want to. I really fucking didn’t want to, but things had just become very serious.
I received a rather abrupt response, so I took it as a tacit invitation, and headed their way. I had to grab fuel on the way, and that slowed me down, but as soon as I pulled up at their place, one of them opened the door, and then walked away, leaving it open for me.
I locked the car as I hurried across the gravel to the open door, wondering why the fuck I bothered locking my piece of crap, out here where there was nobody around, and they seemed to have eyes everywhere.
The kitchen was warm, even with the door having been left open for me, and it was a welcome break from the outside.
“Wow… been for a nose job, mate? It’ll really do wonders for your face.” One of them said snarkily, as he looked at me from the sofa in the corner. He wore only a pair of jeans, and to be honest, I was getting fed up with seeing men’s nipples all the time. It really didn’t float my boat. The other one was dressed, and pouring himself a drink at the breakfast bar. He sat on a stool and looked at me.
“So… what was so urgent that you needed to come and see us in the dead of night? And by the way, give my regards to Marco’s fist.” Bastards. They all fucking knew already.
I shrugged. “Just a little love tap. All good. What’s not good is what Jeff Clarke just fucking showed me though.” I opened the image on my phone, and held it up for bastard brother number one to look at. He cursed solidly for about ten seconds, then glanced at his mirror image, lounging on the sofa.
“Seb, you really need to see this, bruv. Fuck. This complicates things.” Understatement of the fucking century.
Seb groaned, lurching up from the sofa and striding over to us. He took the phone, frowning at the screen.
“Jesus… Harv, you little prick.” The image he looked at was the postcard that Harvey had sent to his dad. Probably hoped it would save him, and maybe it would have, if it hadn’t been lost among a neighbour’s mail for weeks. He’d written a very short message on it.
Dad, I’m in trouble. If something happens to me, it was the Bennetts. Harvey.
I stared at them. “Thought you guys were the type to cover all bases?”
Samuel looked at me, as Seb handed my phone back.