“The messages!” I shouted. “They’re in the trolley.”
The twins hurriedly got the bags of food and put them in the boot of the car.
“Nico, your car is parked—”
“I’ll come back for it later, we need to get you to the hospital.”
I nodded, mutely.
“I can’t believe that just happened!” Bronagh stated, and she buckled her seat belt. “All because we told that creep that we weren’t interested in workin’ for ‘im. Fuckin’ ridiculous.”
I grunted. “Can you believe he asked us to come and work for ‘im as prostitutes? He was dead bloody serious when he asked us that, Bronagh.”
“I know!” she said, amazed. “He even promised to make us wealthy women from it.”
We were silent for a moment, then we laughed again. I only stopped when I felt how rigid Damien was. I looked at him and found his gaze was locked out the window, and his hands balled into fists. He was still mad; there was no getting around that. I wanted to ask him if he was okay, but I had to spit, so I grabbed an empty fast food restaurant cup from the cup-holder next to me and spat into it. Damien looked at me, then at the cup, and then at my face.
“Put your tongue against the wound,” he said. “It might help with the bleeding.”
I attempted it but screeched when a burning hot pain filled my cheek.
“Hurts,” was all I could say.
Damien reached over and grabbed my hand. He didn’t seem to care that I still had blood on my skin; he squeezed my hand reassuringly, and I was pleased to find that it helped me relax massively. I spat into the cup again a few minutes later and began to sniffle as the pain became bad. Under my eyes throbbed, my scalp felt like it was on fire, and my cheek stung like hell. I knew, at that moment, that I would never be able to make it as an underground fighter like Nico once was. My pain tolerance was zero.
“We’re nearly there, Alannah,” Nico said softly when my cries could be heard.
Bronagh reached her hand back and touched my knee, the gesture comforting me.
“I can’t believe this happened.”
“Thanks, Alannah,” Bronagh said in response.
“For what?”
“Defendin’ me,” she answered. “Babe, they were goin’ to hurt me, and you threw yourself at them so they wouldn’t.”
I blinked. “You’re me best friend.”
“I know, and I love ye’.”
“I love ye’ too.”
Silence lingered for a moment until I said, “If that situation didn’t scare that baby out of you, then I’m afraid nothin’ will.”
Bronagh laughed. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to block out all the pain that seemed to hit me at once. I focused on Damien.
“How are you here?”
“Dominic pulled up at the shop, told me what was going on, and I jumped in Alec’s car.”
My heart squeezed.
“This really hurts.”
“I know, baby.”
We arrived at the hospital ten minutes later, and as soon as we entered the A&E Department and checked in, I was taken straight to the back and put inside a cubicle. Damien accompanied me while Nico and Bronagh had to wait outside. I was given a cardboard bedpan and told to spit into that whenever I had to. Damien grabbed plenty of tissues and dabbed at my mouth whenever blood dribbled out of my mouth before I could spit.
“Me eye feels bleedin’ huge.”
“It’s swelling,” Damien said through gritted teeth.
I stared up at him. “Are ye’ mad at me?”
“No,” he answered. “Just mad that this happened to you.”
He moved closer to me and put his arms around my body. I pressed my face gently against him and waited. We stayed like that for at least twenty minutes. Damien didn’t move away from me; he remained standing and held me to him. He held the bedpan under my mouth so I could spit when I had to. When a doctor came and saw the bedpan, he asked Damien to step aside so he could examine me. He asked me to lie back on the bed and open my mouth, and when I did, tears instantly fell from my eyes with the pain.
“You’ve got yourself a sore one.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice.
“You’ll have to have stitches.”
I tried to get up, but Damien held me in place, so I began to cry harder.
“Stop,” he said and placed a kiss on my shoulder. “I don’t want to hurt you, freckles. Stop.”
I couldn’t help it. My fight or flight reaction kicked in, and I wanted to run away.
“We’ll sedate you,” the doctor assured me. “You won’t feel a thing.”
“Sedation?” Damien repeated. “It’s a cut on her cheek. Why does she need to be sedated?”
“The angle of it is difficult to stitch while she is awake,” the doctor explained. “If I tug and move the needle around while she is conscious, it will hurt her greatly, and she would undoubtedly move and most likely injure herself further. This will take me ten minutes to do with her asleep. She’ll be snoozing, then stitched and awake all in half an hour this way.”