30DaystoSyn (43 page)

“Goddamn coconut,” came the insult aimed at
Craigie’s heritage.

“I hope you had fun doing all this damage
because I’m going to strap your lily white ass down to the couch on the jet and
jam an IV needle in your vein. I’m going to wiggle and wiggle it until you
scream from the pain.”

“Blow that for a joke,” he said, his words
slurring. “I ain’t going nowhere.”

“Yes, fuck you are,” Craigie said. “Where
are your clothes?”

“Tore them to bits,” he replied with a
lopsided grin. “Got no clothes so’s I can’t go nowheres.”

“Wanna bet?” Craigie said. “Fitz, get me a
blanket.”

He fought Kit wrapping the blanket around
him. He batted at the hands that tried to pick him up from the floor. He cursed
and he yelled and kicked—even tried biting Craigie until the man slapped him.
He bellowed vulgarities at the top of his lungs, issued dire threats to lives and
limbs but they ignored him. He was warned if he barfed down Kit’s back, he’d
pay a steep price for having done so.

He never got the chance. Head hanging down,
arse in the air, Kit’s heavy tread jarring the shit out of his belly as the
bastard’s bony shoulder jammed into it, the motion made him pass out. When he
came to, he was on the couch on his jet with the blanket over his naked arse
and Spike was gently bathing his chest.

“You did a number on yourself, asshole when
you chucked that mental,” she said. “It’s a good thing you were out of it.
Craigie had to suture the bottoms of your feet.”

“I was hoping the bunghole would wake up
and feel the stitches going in,” Craigie said from across the aisle. He and Kit
were seated at the dinette table, lounging in the booths, facing him with
spiteful looks on their faces.

“Fuck you,” he mumbled and looked up at the
tubing going from his arm to an IV bag hanging on a stand. “What the fuck are
you pouring into me?”

“Rabid rat’s piss and runny plague shit,”
Craigie said. “What the fuck do you
think
I’m giving you? It’s saline
solution with vitamins C and B-complex plus doses of Toradol for the headache
and Zofran for the nausea. You’re lucky you didn’t get alcohol poisoning. If
you were trying to off yourself…”

“If I’d been trying to fucking kill myself
there was a Desert Eagle I could have munched on,” he told him. “And if I want
to do it, none of you can stop me.”

“You’re lucky Jono isn’t here to listen to
that kind of shit. He’d clock you a good one,” Craigie threw at him.

“Where
is
Jono?” he grumbled. Spike
was hurting him as she washed the cuts on his chest but he wouldn’t give them
the satisfaction of knowing he was in pain.

“In Mobile getting that thing from Chauven,
remember?” Spike replied, alluding to Kit’s birthday present. “We tried to get
hold of Jake but his phone went straight to voice mail.”

“Why the fuck did you think I’d need him
down there?”

“In case you had done something that
involved law and lawyers and cops and jail. That seems to be your thing of late,”
Kit told him. “We didn’t know what to expect.”

“Fuck you,” he told Kit.

“Right back atcha, boss man,” Kit said
pleasantly.

“What happened with Lina?” Spike asked.

He gave her what he hoped was the nastiest
look he could muster. “I don’t fucking want to talk about it, Christine.” He
turned his face from her in the hope she’d get the hint.

Apparently she did for no one said another
word to him the rest of the flight. When they arrived at the airport, there was
one of the MI security people on hand with a wheelchair.

“I can walk,” he snapped as Kit helped him
get dressed in a loose-fitting pair of gray sweats.

“I want to see you try, pretty boy,”
Craigie said, folding his arms over his chest. “Come on. Let’s see you do it.”

He discovered very quickly that he
couldn’t. Apparently he’d done more damage to his feet than he realized and
trying to walk on the stitches was pure agony.

“You gonna behave now?” Craigie asked.

“Fuck you,” he muttered but let him and Kit
help him into the wheelchair.

“You’re not my type,” Craigie replied.

By the time Kit got him into the limo for
the ride to his house, his hangover was all but gone.

But the deep hurt was there and as the
sunrise spiked over the Atlanta skyline he knew it would be for a very long
time to come.

* * * * *

“I found this on the floor of the cabin,”
Kit said, holding out his hand. “I didn’t think you’d want anyone else to see
it.”

His security chief had carried him in his
arms into the house and to his bedroom. The man was strong and barely breathing
hard by the time he laid him on his bed.

He took what was being offered, held it up
to the light and snorted. “Some fool I am, huh?” he asked.

“No,” Kit said. “She just wasn’t the person
you thought she was.”

“That’s a fucking understatement,” he said
then leaned over to lay what Kit had given him on the nightstand.
“Twenty-thousand dollars right down the old flusharoo.”

“That’s not much for an engagement ring,
bro.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Can you
imagine her with a honking big ass flashy piece of shit spinning around on her
finger?”

“I see your point.”

He blew a raspberry. “She fucking wouldn’t
wear a honking big ass flashy piece of shit on her finger.”

Kit shrugged. “Probably not. You want
anything?”

Spike had gone to the kitchen to make
coffee. Craigie had gone to the hospital for his morning rounds. As far as he
knew there was no one else in the house.

“I’m good,” he told Kit. “I just want to be
alone.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be,” Spike said from
the door. She was carrying a tray upon which sat a coffee carafe, a coffee mug,
a glass of orange juice and a small plate with dry toast.

His stomach rumbled but the sight of the
bare toast was not appealing. “I’m not eating that until you butter it or slop
some vegemite on it,” he said of the toast as she set the tray on his desk.

“Craigie said no butter and no vegemite,”
she said. “Get one slice down, keep it down and we’ll see about something more
substantial.” She looked at Kit. “I made you some eggs and bacon.”

“Much obliged,” Kit said. He headed for the
door. “Call me if he tries to give you a ration of shit.”

“And you’ll do what exactly?” he challenged
his head of security.

“Best you not find out, boss man,” Kit said
with a wink. He walked out of the room.

“You’re fired!” he yelled.

“Good. I’m tired of your rancid crap!” Kit
yelled back.

“Cheeky bastard,” he mumbled.

“Here,” she said, coming over with a mug of
coffee and the plate of toast. He saw her glance down at what he’d laid on the
nightstand but she made no comment.

“I’m not hungry,” he said.

“You need to eat something,” she told him.

“Then take your knickers off, sit on my
face and I’ll eat
you
,” he grumbled.

“Don’t
do
that,” she snapped and
when he looked up at her, her eyes were narrowed in anger. “I’m not one of your
whores, Synjyn. Don’t fucking talk to me as if I am.”

She was irate and waiting for him to
apologize.

“I’m sorry,” he said, hanging his head.
“That was the booze talking.”

“That was
you
talking, dickhead,”
she said, not placated.

“I said I was sorry,” he mumbled.

“Then show me you are.” She shoved the
plate practically under his nose. “Eat the toast.”

He winced. “I really don’t want that.”

“You really need to eat it,” she said. “You
had no supper last night and Craigie said carbs are what you need this morning.
So eat.”

He snatched a piece of toast from the stack
and took a big bite. “Ugh,” he said, munching the dry bread. “It tastes like
sawdust.”

“Been eating a lot of that lately, have
you?” she asked. She sat down on the edge of his bed.

“I’m not talking about it, Spike,” he said,
cramming the rest of the toast in his mouth.

“Did I ask you to?” she asked. “I really
don’t care how much sawdust you’ve been eating as long as you get your
roughage.” She wagged her brows at him.

He frowned at her. “You know what I meant.”

She extended the plate toward him again.
“Eat up.”

“You said—and I quote—‘get one slice down,
keep it down and we’ll see about something more substantial’—unquote.”

“We’ll have to wait to see if you keep it
down,” she said with a grin.

“I’m not nauseous,” he told her. “It’ll
stay down.” He plucked at the sweatshirt. “I’m burning up.”

“Then take it off.”

He sat up and jerked the garment over his
head, tossed it to the foot of the bed. “Get me a pair of shorts out of the
armoire in the dressing room, will ya?”

She sighed, put the plate on the tray and
got up to do as he asked. She went to the armoire, opened two drawers before
she found the shorts, took out a pair and came back. She stopped dead in her
tracks.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” she said,
averting her eyes from the sight of his bare arse in the air as he yanked the
sweatpants from his legs.

“What?” he asked. “You’ve never seen a
brown eye before?”

“Really, Synjyn?” she asked, avoiding
looking at him. “
Really
?” She backed toward the bed, holding the shorts
out behind her between her thumb and index fingers. “Here, take these damn
things.”

He plucked the shorts from her hand and
lifted his legs to put them on.

“You can turn around now.”

“There’d better not be anything hanging out
or waving in the air,” she warned.

“It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked,
Spike,” he said.

“Not in your bedroom and not when I’ve been
alone with you,” she reminded him. She glanced around then visibly relaxed when
she saw him sitting propped up against the headboard with the black boxer
shorts on.

“Just don’t get too close to me,” he said.
“I might go totally fucked up ape shit and rape, ravage and pillage you. I’ve
been doing that mentally for years.” He gave her a steady look. “You do know
dry toast is an aphrodisiac, don’t you?”

“Very funny,” she said and came back to the
bed. “Drink the OJ. It will neutralize the effect.”

He leaned over and got the orange juice,
tipped it to his lips and drained it in three gulps. Licking his lips, he put
the glass back on the tray then started to reach for the coffee. He stopped,
pulled his hand back. He scooted over in the bed until he was in the middle. He
patted the spot beside him.

“You gonna behave or are you going to go
all RRP on my ass?” she asked.

“Have I ever touched you inappropriately,
Spike?” he queried.

“Define inappropriate. There was that one
time you squeezed my boobie.”

“You were thirteen and your boobies had
just sprouted,” he said. “I was curious.”

“You were horny,” she said with a sniff.

“I’ll keep my hands to myself although…”

She gave him a hard look. “Although what?”

“I’m curious to know how they feel now.”

“Synjyn…” she warned.

“Just kidding.”

“You’d better be.”

“Have I ever lied to you, Spike?” he asked
quietly.

“Not that I’ve caught you doing it, no.”

“Have I ever hurt you?”

“No.”

“Do you think I ever would?”

“I know you wouldn’t.”

He patted the mattress again.

“Okay, but be warned. I’ve got a sharp knee
and I know how to use it,” she told him. She sat down, kicked off her shoes and
swung her legs onto the bed then leaned back against the headboard. She folded
her hands in her lap but he reached over and took her left one in his, holding
it in the space between them.

They sat there in silence—the only sound
the birds outside the window and the far-off blare of a train whistle—for a
long while. His eyes were closed. He was content to just hold her hand. The
contact helped.

Half an hour passed before he finally
spoke.

“What did I do wrong, Spike?” he asked.

“Nothing that I could tell.”

“Then why do they always leave me?”

“They want your money, sweetie. Once they
get that, there is no reason to stay.”

He flinched. “Yeah, there’s that.”

“And most of them are just plain gold
diggers. They want the money for cars and jewelry and furs and houses,” she
said. “You wouldn’t have wanted to spend time with women like that.”

“That may be true but I’m ready to settle
down and Melina…” He scrubbed his free hand over his stubbled face. “I thought
she was different.”

“You’ve heard the expression ‘when it’s
right, it’s right’?” she countered. “It just hasn’t been right yet, sweetie.
The right woman has yet to come along.”

“I thought she had,” he said. “I thought
she was the one.”

“We did, too,” she told him. “We really
liked her. The others? We couldn’t stand any of them. We were relieved when
they took the money and ran.”

“She took the money and ran,” he said.
“Faster than any of the others before her.”

“Just goes to show how wrong you can be
about people, eh?” she asked.

“I loved her,” he said softly, a slight
hitch clipping the words.

“I know you did.”

“I still love her,” he admitted, “and I
suspect I always will.”

“I suspect so too,” she agreed.

They were silent again for a long time. She
picked his hand up and laid it on her thigh, stroked her other hand over it.

“There must be something wrong with me,” he
said.

“We’ve known that for years, mate,” she
replied.

“No, I’m serious, Spike. I must be missing
some vital ingredient that she was looking for in a man. I failed her somehow.”

She turned in the bed to face him. “Has it
occurred to you that she is the one missing that vital ingredient? You went
into this knowing she needed the money. That was all it was to her. A means to
meet her end.”