Chapter Nine

 

 

 

A slight vibration in his pocket told Olly he had a text message. Rocky’s focus was on the window and the rather sad, in Olly’s opinion, attempts of the negotiator to get him to communicate. He gave no sign that he’d heard the phone. Olly took a couple of paces and leaned against the wall at the head of the bed he’d put Dr. Sharma in. A pile of pillows and a disconnected heart monitor concealed Olly’s hands from view.

Moving with the tiniest increments, he slipped the phone from his pocket, then accessed the message. When he saw it was from Joe he wanted to shout his joy. He sank his teeth into his lower lip to stop the cry threatening to escape. He read the message. Tears welled and he brushed them away roughly with the back of his hand. He shoved the phone back into his pocket. Joe knew where he was and what was going on. That meant Aiden must be safe, which was a huge relief. It also meant that Aiden and his very scary boss would be doing everything in their power to help. Olly wondered if he should try to risk another message about his suspicions that Rocky was faking his condition. Then the room darkened and an ominous roll of thunder sounded in the distance.

Olly scuttled across to Razor’s bed. He stood next to Nick, who was on his feet, deep frown lines marring his forehead. To Olly’s surprise, Nick moved so he was shielding Olly with his body.

“When I say down, you drop like a stone, understand?” Nick ordered.

Olly trembled. The atmosphere was thick with tension. The thunder started again, building to a crashing crescendo. Olly hated storms. Whoever made up that whole excuse that giants were bowling in the heavens needed to have their stupid heads read. The best thing about wild weather was being able to snuggle into Joe’s arms and know he was safe. Olly decided Nick would make a good Dom. Apparently he had all the protective instincts in spades.

Rocky turned from the window. He stalked toward them, moving the gun in a slow arc, keeping all of them in his sights. Lightning struck and the ward filled with blinding light.

“You called in air support, you bastards,” Rocky screamed.

“Down!” Nick yelled and dived forward.

Olly dropped and rolled back under the bed. He yanked out his phone. There was no point trying to hide it now. Everything was happening in slow motion. Nick hit Rocky’s lower legs at the same moment Rocky fired the gun. Olly screamed. He couldn’t see who or what the bullet had hit. Rocky and Nick wrestled for control of the gun. Nick managed to dislodge it and it skittered across the floor, sliding to a halt a few centimeters from Olly’s hand. He reached out and grabbed it. Desperately he stabbed at the numbers on his phone. It connected immediately.

“Olly!”

“Joe— Get help in here. They’re fighting. People are hurt. There’s blood…”

Smears of crimson painted the floor where Nick and Rocky grappled. Olly caught sight of a glint of silver in Nick’s hand. He wanted to hide his face but could only watch in morbid fascination as Nick used the cutthroat razor on the back of Rocky’s knee, slicing through his pajamas to skin and muscle.

“Olly, listen to me. Can you clear the barricade in front of the ward door? The cavalry’s on its way but they need your help.”

“Sir, I’m scared.” Olly’s gaze darted from the vicious fight to the doors.

“I know, but this is an order, Olly. Do it. For me.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Olly couldn’t deny Joe anything. He shuffled backward on his belly until he cleared the bed. Frantically he began heaving pieces of furniture away from the barricade. He could see faces through their windows. Something banged against the wood, splintering it. They were trying to batter the doors in. Olly heaved faster, muscles screaming. Finally he reached the critical point where he’d moved enough for the police to storm through. He collapsed next to the wall, sobbing.

A dozen black-clad, armed police in full riot gear invaded the ward. Olly spotted his phone, abandoned beneath the bed. He’d left it on. Joe would be listening to all the yelling, not knowing what was happening to him. There was so much noise. Between the ongoing storm, Rocky’s irate screams, and the shouted commands coming from the police, Olly couldn’t hear himself think. He put his arms over his head and made himself as small as possible.

Someone squeezed his shoulder. Olly peeked up at the helmeted policeman.

“Are you the nurse?”

Olly nodded.

“Then we need your help.”

Olly took the offered hand and was heaved to his feet. “We have a gunshot wound, some deep cuts and other injuries that need treatment.”

Olly took a couple of deep breaths. Panic could wait. This was his job. He could do it. He assessed the situation as quickly as he could. Dr. Sharma was being taken from his bed and helped from the ward. Nick, clearly in pain, sat against a wall. Rocky was face down on the floor, hands zip-tied behind his back. Blood pooled around his legs.

“Get his pajama bottoms off,” Olly shouted.

While the police dragged the red-soaked garment off, Olly checked on Razor. He was ghostly pale and a scarlet stain blossomed down his side. Olly raced over to him.

“It’s just a flesh wound,” Razor grated out. “Nick knocked his aim off.”

“I’ll judge that for myself, if you don’t mind.” Olly lifted the fabric. The flesh above Razor’s hip was deeply scored, the ragged wound bleeding profusely. “Okay, you’re right. Shit, does anyone have any medical supplies?” He yelled his request into the general melee. Someone shoved a loaded trolley in his direction. Olly ripped open a box of latex gloves and slipped a pair on. He tore apart a sterile swab package and pressed it to Razor’s wound. “You’re a big, tough soldier. You can hold that in place for me, can’t you?”

“Your fucking bedside manner needs work,” Razor growled, but he applied pressure to the dressing anyway. “And I cut my fucking hand opening that blade you hid under my sheets. Did you not think I had enough holes in me already?”

Olly checked Razor’s hand. There was an inch-long slash across the pad at the base of his thumb. “Oh, you baby. I’ve had worse paper cuts.”

“Fucker.”

“Meathead.”

Olly stripped off his gloves, tossed them to one side, then pulled on a fresh pair. He shoved his trolley over to Rocky’s prone and now trouser-less form. “I should let you bleed to death,” Olly muttered, kneeling next to his patient.

Rocky groaned and said something about ground to air missiles.

“You’re really going to keep up the charade?” Olly didn’t get an answer.

He began spraying injuries with liquid antiseptic. Several of Rocky’s shrapnel wounds had opened, and Nick had inflicted some deep cuts. Rocky wouldn’t be walking anywhere any time soon. Olly did what he could with the basic supplies available to him but Rocky would need surgery to repair cut tendons, and quite a few stitches. Olly didn’t feel much sympathy.

“Nurse Glenn?”

Olly swiveled on his knees, blood soaking through the fabric of his jeans. “That’s me.”

The cop speaking didn’t have a helmet on. He had dark skin and even darker eyes. His cropped hair was shorn into an intricate pattern on one side. Olly knew better than to judge by appearances, but if he’d run into him in a dark alley he’d have sprinted in the other direction. The guy had badass written all over him.

“We’re letting the medical staff in now. You can stop working on him.”

Olly sat with his ass on his heels. All the energy flooded out of him in a rush and he slumped forward, letting his head hang.

“Nice job, cute stuff.”

Olly blinked. Nick was still sitting against the wall. “Hey, Nick. Do you have any life-threatening injuries? I could probably drag myself over there and apply a Band-Aid if you do.”

“You’re all heart. I’m good, in a slightly battered kind of way. You?”

“One piece. I think.” Olly hadn’t actually checked himself over. He did a quick examination. Nothing important was hanging off.

“Good. You’re too pretty to damage.” Nick smirked.

“Nick, I have to know. Are you gay or just yanking my chain?” Olly asked.

“Let’s just say I like to keep my options open,” Nick said with a grin, only slightly distorted by the trickle of blood sliding from his split lip. “Think my luck’s run out when it comes to you, though. Don’t think I can compete with that.” He made a weak gesture toward the wrecked doors.

Olly had to crane his neck to see. He let out a squeal when he caught sight of Joe standing there, smiling at him. Olly scrambled to his feet. Joe opened his arms, and Olly hurtled into them.

“I can’t leave you alone for five minutes without you getting into trouble, can I?” Joe said.

“No, Sir.”

Olly wrapped himself around Joe’s sturdy frame. Joe was home, safety and love all wrapped up in one perfect, dominant package. Olly never wanted to let go again.

“I was so scared.” Tears began to fall in a steady stream. The terror of the last ninety minutes hit him like a freight train. He couldn’t control the shaking that overtook his body.

Joe held him tight, stroking his hair and murmuring nonsense words of comfort in his ear. Gradually Olly calmed. He tilted his head back, demanding a kiss. Joe obliged without hesitation, beginning with a gentle press of lips that soon turned into a possessive claiming of Olly’s mouth. When Joe finally released him, Olly gasped for breath. He felt giddy and his legs wobbled. Behind him, someone gave a wolf whistle.

Swiveling in Joe’s arms, Olly spotted Nick still sitting against the wall while a doctor checked him over. He was grinning from ear to ear. Olly grabbed Joe’s hand.

“Want to come and meet the man who saved my life? Well, all our lives?”

“Absolutely.”

Olly picked his way across the debris on the floor, the smears of blood, bits of glass and discarded medical equipment. He towed Joe with him, their fingers laced tightly together. They had to wait a few minutes while Nick was helped up and onto the nearest bed.

“We’re going to relocate you to another ward,” the doctor attending him said. “But it will be a few minutes while things get sorted out.”

Nick nodded and settled back on to his pillows. He seemed calm and steady, nothing like the nervous, emotional wreck Olly had become.

“Nick, this is my partner, Joe Dexter. Sir, this is Sergeant Nick Carlisle. He’s one of those super-soldier types, but that’s classified so don’t tell anyone, and he was really brave and took down the bad guy even though he’s got shredded arms and Rocky had a really scary gun and was going to shoot everyone and—” Olly had to stop talking because Joe was using his free hand as a gag.

Nick held out a heavily bandaged hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Joe. Or should I call you Sir?”

Olly’s cheeks burned but Nick winked at him.

“Joe will work.” Cool as always, Joe showed no sign of embarrassment.

“You’re a lucky man, Joe. Olly here saved us all.”

“What? I didn’t do anything except hide under the bed!” Olly pressed his back to Joe’s chest.

Joe wrapped an arm around his waist and held him close. Olly sighed happily.

Nick chuckled. “You treated the doc when he got shot, and you managed to slip the razor under the bed covers. I don’t know what Rocky was high on but it was like trying to take down a bull elephant. If I hadn’t had a weapon, things could have gone badly. You were very brave.”

Olly squirmed in Joe’s hold, turning so he could hide his face. “Can we go home, Sir?” His voice was muffled against Joe’s shirt. “You’re all wet. Why are you wet?”

“It’s raining, love.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot. There was thunder and lightning and I didn’t have you to hold me but then Rocky started yelling again and everything went to hell. I want to go home.” He was whining and he knew it but he felt he had justifiable cause.

“Then we’ll go.” Joe gave Nick a brief nod, then steered Olly toward the door. “I’m sure the police will need you to make a statement, but that can wait. I’ll just check in with the D.I. in charge before we go.”

Olly gripped Joe’s hand hard. He followed him across the remains of the barricade, down the corridor then out in to the fresh air. It was still raining but the drops were light and refreshing. Olly tilted his face to the sky. He licked his lips where the drops landed and the water tasted like the best champagne. Everything seemed brighter, more colorful somehow, despite the looming storm clouds. His head was muzzy and the sounds around him were muffled as if he had cotton wool stuffed in his ears. The edge of his vision went black and he stumbled. Joe caught him before he could fall.

“Olly? Are you okay?”

Joe’s voice was a thousand miles away. Olly gave in and let the darkness take him.