THIRTEEN

BELLA

I thought he was dead at first. He fell to the ground at my feet and then just stopped moving. It was only for a few seconds but it was enough to scare the hell out of me. There was so much blood. It had soaked through his shirt, it was all over his hands, it was dripping onto the floor next to the bed. No one could survive with that much blood coming out of them.

I’d known it was bad, whatever had happened up there. I’d head thuds, muffled cries, more thuds. Nothing good was making that sound. Then when he reappeared, he looked as if he’d been rolling in blood.

But within a moment, I realised it wasn’t all his. He was hurt. The tips of his fingers were bleeding, as was his back. But he wasn’t dying. Already he was moving again, looking up at me, his face grey. “I can’t reach,” he said, pointing towards his back. “I need you to do it.”

I looked down at what he’d given me. It was a sewing kit. “I can’t,” I said, shaking my head as the enormity of what he wanted me to do finally hit.

“You can,” he said. “It’s just like sewing a blanket.”

“You’re not a blanket.”

“Please,” he said, his eyes blinking several times. “I need your help.”

“Go to a hospital. Call an ambulance.”

“I can’t. There might be more of them.”

“More of who?”

His back straightened. “Look, there isn’t time. Please just help me.”

I sighed, shaking my head. “I can’t do this.”

He put his hands on top of mine, looking me straight in the eye. “Yes you can.”

“Oh, God,” I muttered, more to myself than to him. “What do I need to do?”

“There’s alcohol in that little bottle. Pour it over the needle while I get my shirt off.”

I did as he asked, unscrewing the cap whilst he started working on his buttons. He winced as he got his arms out of the sleeves, his chest coming into view. He had rippling muscles which were coated in a sheen of sweat. I suddenly found it hard to pour the alcohol, my hand shaking. “Don’t be nervous,” he said, looking up at me. “You can do this.”

I couldn’t tell him that it wasn’t nerves about sewing him up that made my hands shake. It was the sight of that chest of his, even with the multitude of old scars that crisscrossed it. “Turn round,” I said, my voice weak. “Face the other way.”

He did as I asked and the next few minutes were the hardest of my life. He talked me through what to do in great detail but it didn’t make it any easier. I had to push a needle through his skin. It was a toe curling thing to do. And I didn’t just do it once. I had to do it six times before I was done. I counted every single one. It didn’t get any easier. I looked at the half empty bottle of alcohol as I worked, wondering if I could take a swig. I decided against it. My hands might start shaking again.

He didn’t make a sound while I worked. “There,” I said, successfully tying the last knot on the third attempt. “I think we’re done.”

“Thank you,” he said, standing up and flexing his arms, twisting from one side to the other.

“What the hell happened up there?” I asked as he sat next to me on the edge of the bed.

“Unwelcome visitor,” he replied.

“And?”

“And what?”

“Who were they? What did they want?”

“They wanted you.”

“What?”

He looked up at me. “I told you, it’s my job to keep you safe.”

“Was that the person you mentioned? The one who’s looking for me? I…I don’t get it. I’m no one special. Why would anyone be after me?”

“That wasn’t them. That was an employee. Or a contractor like me.”

“A contractor?”

“Hired to find you just as I was hired to hide you.”

“What did you do to them?” I asked, looking down at the blood still coating his hands.

“I dealt with them.”

A darkness washed over his eyes and all of a sudden it was like he was looking through me. It was as if there was a much deeper pain inside him than those on the surface. My hand fell on his back, avoiding the makeshift stitches. He didn’t move. My hand stayed there, offering him what support I could. He still looked in pain, his eyes going down to the floor as I shuffled a tiny bit closer. “Would they have hurt me?” I asked in a quiet voice.

He nodded. “I’ve no doubt they would. But don’t worry, I won’t let anyone hurt you. I’m here to protect you.”

“Thank you,” I replied, my voice barely a whisper. My fingers traced lines up to his shoulder as he twisted his neck to look at me.

There was a long silence as he looked at me. “I need to go deal with things,” he said at last, getting to his feet.

“What? I thought you dealt with him?”

“I did. Now I need to arrange for him to be collected.”

“Collected? What is he, a parcel? Did you…did you kill him?”

“No,” he said, turning away from me. “He did that to himself.”

He headed up the stairs slowly, stopping halfway to lean on the wall. I watched him go, looking at the wound on his back. Once he was gone and the door was closed, I lay back on the bed, my hands shaking violently. I felt like there was no air in the cellar all of a sudden. I’d sewn up his back. How had I done that? It already seemed like a dream, not something I was capable of doing.

My eyes closed and at once the image of him with his top off swam into my mind. It was a hell of a chest. He had a hell of a body. His arms looked like they could lift me up and toss me onto the roof without any effort. No wonder I hadn’t been able to get away from him when he’d spanked me. What would those arms feel like wrapped around me? What would his chest feel like if I ran my hands down it? And what was hiding in those trousers of his?

For the first time, since I’d been dumped in the cellar, a smile crossed my lips as I thought about it, about that and many other things, none of which a decent, respectable girl should ever find herself thinking about.