Bad to the Bones(49)

“Yes. But don’t call it ‘my compound.’ Shit. I know enough Psych 101 to know you stop referring to something as ‘yours’ when you want to distance yourself from it. Like a bad habit. It’s not ‘my cigarettes’ or ‘my triple chocolate brownies’ anymore. Anyway, your old man’s perfect for this job. Not only does he have a SEAL background, but he’s a black belt in jiujitsu.”

“I do feel safe with him. Hey, wait. Don’t jump the gun. He’s not my ‘old man.’”

Lytton grinned crookedly. “Oh, yeah? He’d have something different to say about that. He took that ugly f*cking necklace off you, didn’t he? He’ll be branding you within the week. If you want, that is,” he added, hurriedly.

A definite thrill ran through my body, stiffening my nipples, at the thought I might be Knoxie’s old lady. I knew it wasn’t right for me to dive into any intense emotional affair at the moment, but I had promised Knoxie I’d do no one else, which meant we were at least halfway exclusive.

“Anyway,” Lytton said quietly, almost to himself. “June was all levels of f*cked-up after a vicious beating when I collared her. I knew I had to make her mine before anyone else did.”

I had that to think about for another two solid days. That’s how long it took for Knoxie to return from Nogales. And when he did, he was all levels of f*cked-up. Madison, the nurse, had to be called to the hangar to make sure he’d be okay.

I was intent on re-jetting Faux Pas’s carburetor when Knoxie rode in. Since he parked outside the hangar, I didn’t know he was there until Hilary came tear-assing into the hangar proclaiming,

“Knoxie’s back! Bellamy, stop. Knoxie’s here, upstairs in the kitchen!”

I actually dropped the screwdriver to the cement floor. I did manage to grab a halfway clean towel to wipe my oily hands on as I made a mad dash for the stairs.

“Does he look okay? What’d he do down there?”

“Whatever he did, he got shot in the leg and arm. Must’ve been the Nogales cartel. I heard Maddy say the bullet went through the calf muscle and he was lucky. No broken bones.”

“Oh my God!”

Real terror gripped my heart. This terror ran deeper than the fear I’d felt when Bulsara and his friends had driven off on that mesa, leaving the vultures to pick our bones. This terror was more like the illogical fright I’d had when witnessing Maddy and Ford having some horizontal refreshment on his desk. This was a life-threatening terror. This was my protective shield, my fight-or-flight response to something that endangered my way of life, or something that might possibly bring up unwanted emotions.

Right now I reasoned the emotion must be love. I loved Knoxie, maybe in a Stockholm Syndrome sort of way, or the childish way a victim loves her savior. But I knew I loved Knoxie as I tore around the corner of the kitchen door, swinging from the doorjamb like a monkey at the zoo.

“Knoxie!” I cried, my voice wrenched with despair.

He sat on a kitchen chair, his ripped jean leg propped on another. Maddy had cut the shredded material away, must’ve been a while ago, because she was already encircling the bloody calf with a roll of ace bandage. I’d never seen Knoxie look that exhausted. He had dark circles under both eyes like he’d been the loser in a boxing bout. He hadn’t shaved since he’d left P&E, and the concave look to his chest meant he hadn’t eaten, either.

Despite that he was flanked by Ford, Lytton, Turk, and a few other Boners, I flew to his side, shouldering them away. “Knoxie. Who shot you?” I was slowly learning not to ask questions like that. Not yet, obviously.

“I’ll be all right,” he said, but allowed me to grab his hand and wring it like delicate laundry.

“Is that true, Maddy? Will he be okay?”

“I believe so. Just a flesh wound, although it would’ve been better if he’d sought help immediately.”

Knoxie snorted. The second Maddy reached the end of the ace roll, he yanked his leg from her fingers and put his boot on the ground. “Sought help where, Maddy? A Mexican clinic? They ask even more questions.”

Like a child, I held Knoxie’s head to the belly of my coveralls. “He’s coming with me, if you don’t mind, Ford.”

Ford shrugged and looked at his brothers. “We’ve been debriefed about his trip. Are you satisfied?”

“I’m satisfied,” said Lytton. “We can find out more about…about the gunshot wound later.”

Knoxie placidly allowed me to drag him to the kitchen door, but Madison had one last thing to tell me. In the hallway, she took my arm and whispered, “I think he may have been injured elsewhere on his torso, but he won’t show me the wound. When he first came here half an hour ago, he had a bloody T-shirt on. Ziggy gave him the plain clean one he’s wearing.”

“What’s this now?” Knoxie said playfully, his arm around my shoulders.

I was adept at changing the subject. “Come into my little hovel. Kneecap brought by that bed you promised me.”

“Oh, good. Did he deface it in any way?”

I frowned. What was wrong with my new double futon? “Looks fine to me. What’s between you and Kneecap, anyway?”

Knoxie smiled mysteriously. “Let’s just say, before he met me, he was named Elmore. Hey, hey, hey. Careful with the merchandise.”