pdf - Eye of the Storm.PDF (8 page)

"Fuck off, Tweeter. I'm staying," he all but snarled at his friend.

Tweeter's lips thinned, but he said nothing as Vanko entered the room with a standard-issue Marine field medical kit in his hand. The Ukrainian looked from one to the other of them. "Is there something going on here I should know about?"

"No." Both he and Tweeter spoke at once.

Vanko shrugged. "O-o-kay. Here is the kit. It seems to have everything we'll need. I can always go back to Keelulya's very connected supplier and buy additional antibiotics from him, if needed."

Keely's supplier, Bazon, was a smuggler and very likely a former merc himself, but the tough old guy had seemed genuinely upset at the "little golden miss's" illness. He'd even had his son drive them to the hotel—no charge.

"Put the kit on the counter, Vanko." Ren stroked some stray curls off Keely's forehead, his fingers lingered, stroking her pale skin. "Then could you call room service and order us some food? See if you can find Pepsi—and maybe some soup an invalid might be able to drink." He looked away from her pale face to glance at her brother.

"Anything else you think she’ll need?"

Tweeter stared at him as if he were examining a newly discovered species. His face went from angry to a blank mask Ren couldn't read. "Get lots of straws, Vanko." Tweeter turned to shut off the water. "She hates needles and I don't want to start an IV for hydration if I don't have to. She'll drink from a straw even half-asleep."

"She'll get a fucking IV if she fucking needs it," Ren gritted out. "If I have to, I'll fly her to fucking Buenos Aires to a fucking private hospital."

"Take it easy, Ren." Tweeter's demeanor was composed as he moved to unbutton Keely's shirt. "I've seen her like this before. She doesn't do heat well. It's mid-summer here for chrissakes and humid as the lower rungs of hell. She came from freeze-your-ass-off Boston and had little time to acclimate. Plus, she's hurt and needs fluids; even more she needs rest, some antibiotics—and later food."

Ren threw Keely's way-too-nonchalant brother a fierce glare. He shoved the man's hands away and took over the undressing. "Get out of here, Vanko. It'll be bad enough when she knows I've seen her naked."

He heard the Ukrainian move away, then stop. "Let's clear the air, Ren. Are you claiming Keelulya for your own? Because if you aren't, then I would like to remain and you can leave." The challenge in Vanko's voice was unmistakable. Even Tweeter stiffened.

"Just exactly what are you saying, Vanko?" Ren wanted to tear his colleague's heart out through his throat.

"That I would like the chance to care for Keelulya and explore a relationship with her."

Shit, his friend was serious. So? Was he claiming Keely? His head told him it was too soon, but his gut said "hell, yeah."

"Yes." He stared first at Vanko, who frowned, but nodded, then at Tweeter, who still had the damn blank expression on his face.

"I won't have her forced or pressured, Ren," Tweeter finally said.

"I don't force women, and you damn well know it."

Keely whimpered and Ren soothed her with nonsense words and soft strokes of her head while he glared at her brother.

"Yeah, I know that." Tweeter unsnarled some of Keely's curls as they fell over Ren's arm. "But I have never seen you so possessive of a woman and Keely, while smarter than almost anyone I've ever known, is young for her age. We tended to overprotect her as she grew up."

Ren snorted. "I bet." He sighed. "I won't rush her, okay? That's all I can promise. But I plan on being around—a lot—so she can get used to me."

Tweeter's lips quirked. "Well, she already likes you."

"Really?" Ren paused in the act of removing her bloody shirt. He nestled her fragile body against his. "How can you tell? I mean she's opposed me at all junctures so far."

"She hasn't shoved your balls up your throat."

"Why would she? I haven't made a move—yet."

"Oh, yeah, you have. You've had the hard-on from hell since you met her."

Vanko choked, then coughed. Ren shot him a glare. The Ukrainian had the balls to smile.

Tweeter continued, "She allowed you to hold her against you—and your boner. She also let you carry her. Trust me, she's never allowed anyone to do that."

"She'd have let you carry her." Ren figured she was merely treating him as she would one of her brothers.

"No, she wouldn't have. Keely has a lot of guts and a gigantic sense of pride—she would've walked until she dropped before letting me pick her up." Tweeter stared at him, shaking his head. "You are an anomaly, my friend. I've seen her reactions to all sorts of men—me and the brothers trying to protect her, Dad's training recruits keeping their distance under the threat of pain and mutilation, geeks treating her like a buddy, assholes trying to get in her panties, and bullies trying to hurt her. You don't fit into any of those categories." Tweeter laughed.

"What's so funny?" Ren glared.

"You'll have to deal with the whole damn family. Prove yourself worthy, no matter what she says or feels."

"No problem. But first we need to get her well, then home to Sanctuary, and we aren't doing that standing around here shooting the shit." He turned and glared at a grinning Vanko. "You still here?"

"Leaving." The Ukrainian exited the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Ren held Keely as Tweeter ripped the bloody-beyond-salvation tank top over her head. With no bra to impede his view he got his first good look at the bruising—and bite marks. "Fuck, just fuck."

"Oh holy shit." Tweeter took in the infected bites and assorted bruises on Keely's lower breasts. Tweeter's concerned gaze caught his. "Let me give her a loading dose of antibiotics in a shot while she's out of it. Once we cool her off and clean those wounds, I'll help you get some fluids down her. We'll mash any future meds in some applesauce or ice cream until she can swallow them on her own. That's how Mom always got our meds down us when we were little. Keely will eat it like a little bird, I promise. She'll be fine.

Just fine."

His friend sounded as if he were trying to convince himself as much as Ren.

Ren nodded. "Strip her pants off, then take her. I'll strip off and climb in the tub to hold her."

"Ren…"

He sighed. "Don't argue, please. I can't explain it, but I
need
to hold her, to care for her."

"Fine, but you'll have to deal with her outrage and embarrassment, because I won't lie to her."

"I didn't ask you to." After tossing his clothes to the side, he climbed into the tub. His body shuddered at the cold water, but he'd been colder during Hell Week. He'd sit in a tub of fucking ice if that would make Keely well. He held his arms up for her limp body, flushed with fever.

"Here you go. Easy." Tweeter gently lowered Keely into his arms.

He held her against his chest for a second, before maneuvering her around so that her back was to him and her bottom between his thighs as he lowered her into the cool water.

Her body convulsed in shivers as the water hit her overheated skin. She whimpered but remained unconscious.

"Shh, it’s okay. I've got you. You're safe." She quieted and relaxed into his embrace.

He buried his face on her shoulder for a second, inhaling her unique scent. He could find her in a dark room by sense of smell alone. With an arm firmly anchoring her against him, he said, "Hand me a cloth and some soap. I'll start cleaning the wounds."

Tweeter handed over the items, then pulled out a pre-packaged syringe and an ampule containing what Ren knew was a wide-spectrum antibiotic.

"What dose are you starting with?"

Before Tweeter could answer, Ren's attention was caught by a particularly deep bite mark on the lower curve of her right breast. "God-damn-mother-fucking-son-of-a-bitch!"

His fist clenched around the washcloth. "What kind of inhuman bastard would hurt her like this?

Keely's brother knelt by the tub and efficiently gave her a shot in the upper arm. "A dead one. But first, my brothers and I will want a little 'talk' with the fucker." He took another cloth and began to bathe his sister's legs. His hand halted almost immediately.

"Aww, fuck, just fuck."

At the look on Tweeter's face, at the tone in his voice, Ren stiffened. Icy fear traveled his spine. "What?"

"You can't see from there—" Tweeter choked back what sounded suspiciously like a sob. "Between her legs … on her inner thigh."

"No!" He howled the word. Had she been raped?

The bathroom door banged open and Vanko rushed in. "What's wrong with the little one?"

Ren was so upset he didn't even think to order Vanko to leave the room. He just pulled Keely into his arms, laying her across his lap, then gently spread her legs. Bruising on her inner thighs looked like finger marks. He traced the ugly evidence of her legs being forcibly held apart. He scanned every millimeter of her skin up to the red-curl-covered mound. There was a multitude of bruises.

His heart sank as his anger built. He growled continuously now, like a jaguar on the prowl. But it was the teeth marks just above her mound which had him swearing in every language he knew.

"I wish to be on the hunt for the
sukin syn
." Vanko, his eyes a mirror of an inner inferno, turned away, leaving the room and closing the door gently.

Keely began to shiver in his arms. "She's not so flushed now. Take her, Tweeter." He couldn't look Keely's brother in the eye. Couldn't say out loud what he knew they all had concluded—whoever had hurt her, had also probably raped her. The external evidence was there; the internal evidence, possibly long gone since the infection from the bites had time to set in. Only Keely could tell them for sure what really happened, and when, and he wasn't sure he could hold it together to ask her the hard questions.

Now all he and her brother could do was deal with the resulting damage. No wonder she hadn't wanted to talk about her attack earlier. She had to hold it together until they were out of danger. And she had. So much courage in such a small package.

Tweeter pulled Keely from Ren's arms and cradled her as he knelt by the tub.

Bracing her on his thigh, her brother gently began to rub her dry with a fluffy towel, wrapping her in a thick terry cloth bathrobe once he was done.

By then Ren had sluiced off and shrugged on the other bathrobe. "Give her to me.

We'll lay her on the bed. Dress the wounds." He spat the words out like bullets. He was so enraged he wasn't sure how much longer he could contain the anger building inside him. He needed to hit something. No, he needed to kill someone, preferably the man, or God forbid, men, who'd done this to her. Right now, he had to maintain calm for Keely.

"Ren?" Tweeter held his sister close to his heart. "Don't ever hurt her—I'd hate to have to kill you."

Ren nodded curtly, taking her from Tweeter's arms into his. He strode into the bedroom and gently lowered her on the turned-down bed. Vanko had set an ice bucket filled with chilled cans of Pepsi, a handful of straws, and a covered bowl of what smelled like a chicken soup of some sort on the bedside table. He turned as Tweeter brought some antibiotic ointment and bandaging supplies to the bed. "She will tell us who did this, won't she?"

"Oh, yeah. In fact, she might not have to. I'll get on her laptop and plug this flash drive in." He held up a purple and pink thumb drive. "She'll have used the plane trip to write reports. My sister is nothing if not A-type—no matter what happened to her, she will have documented it. I figure she probably sent me a coded e-mail about it, but I don't trust the Internet security here to access my account."

"If it's not on there?"

"She'll tell. I have a feeling it's way more complicated than just her being …

attacked."

"You think her assault has something to do with the trap set for us?" Ren frowned.

He didn't like the sound of that at all. His fingers absentmindedly stroked her hair as it lay like a fiery golden-red wave against the cream-colored pillow.

"Maybe not directly. But knowing my little sister, she opened up a can of worms, reported said wormy situation to someone, and then everything went tango uniform."

Tweeter sat on the opposite side of the bed and gently opened Keely's robe to get at the weeping bite marks. "Keep her still, boss. This stuff stings. I also want to check and make sure the bruising isn’t broken ribs."

Ren cursed softly. His gaze never left Keely's face. He held one of her limp hands in his as her brother doctored her wounds. Small mewling whimpers were the only reaction to Tweeter's probing fingers and the stinging ointment.

"Ren?" Vanko's voice came from the doorway.

He didn't turn around. "Yeah, Vanko?"

"I spoke to the room service girl. There is an in-house doctor if we need him. Also, the young lady knows the local
curanderia
. Maybe I could get some ointment for the bruises and wounds? I have often found that some of the rain forest products are very healing."

"Good idea." He looked at Tweeter. "Do we need the doctor?"

"Yeah, just to be sure that … um, well, you know the … ahh, shit. Yeah." Tweeter looked at his trembling hands. "God, I'm a fucking mess. My baby sister… God, she's Walsh-tough, but she never should have come here without going to a doctor. Shit, just shit. How am I going to tell Dad and Mom? Fuck, Ren, she came to save my hide."

He understood Tweeter's feelings of guilt for what his sister had suffered. Somehow it was all tied together—the trap, her attack in Boston and, goddamit, SSI. His own guilt lay on his heart like a lead blanket. He hoped the flash drive had some insight for them.

He had a driving need to seek retribution.

He closed Keely's robe then pulled the top sheet and fluffy comforter over her. He turned to Vanko, whose face was etched with concern. "Get the doctor. Get the ointments, too. And see if there are any shops open." He glanced out the floor-to-ceiling windows with their glorious views of the mist-covered falls. Dusk had fallen. "Keely will need clothes. We will also—we'll be here until Keely is well enough to travel to Idaho."