14. Knives

FOURTEEN

KNIVES

There's a guy fishing on the pier, half asleep in his chair, when I direct the boat close to it. I fuck up the boat parking—anchoring—whatever, and bump the side of the boat against the pier, but I'll take it.

"The fuck?" the guy says, startling upright.

"Help, please," I say, although it kills me to utter those words. "My friend is injured. You got a doctor around here? Hell, I'll take a place to shower and rest."

The guy's eyes widen when he sees me. "Jesus, what happened to you?" He looks over to Maddox, whose head keeps bobbing and jerking straight again.

"Ran into some fuckers in the swamp who started shooting at us." That's true, at least. "Please. I can pay you. I just need…"

The guy nods and pulls his phone out. "Yeah. We got a doc. She's pretty good, for being local. It's at least an hour to the closest hospital though." He peers closer at Maddox. "Might still be worth it for him. He doesn't look so hot."

If we go to the hospital, though, they're going to ask questions about the bullet wound—and we don't need that right now.

I laugh darkly. "Yeah. He needs to shower and get the wound cleaned. We'll figure out where to go from there."

I desperately need a shower too, but Maddox is the priority right now. He'd faded in and out during the boat ride, and I wasn't sure if sleep was good for him or if it would kill him faster.

Fuck.

It's just a flesh wound, right? People recover from those all the time.

Maddox has to recover from this.

"Okay, uh." The guy helps tie the boat to the pier and points to the road behind him. "I've got a truck. The two of you can ride in the truck bed. I'll call Sheryl, see if she can look at him." He stops and adjusts his cap. "Can you carry him?"

I nod. Even if I couldn't, I'd figure it out.

Maddox is pretty out of it when I get him to stand, and he almost tips over the side of the boat before I get him onto the pier. "Fuck, sorry," he says, wincing. He leans heavily against me as we walk up the slope to the road, though I can tell he's struggling.

And he's definitely in pain.

Infection shouldn't have set in that fast, but then, swamp water and mud had practically been packed into the wound. It doesn't help that we're both exhausted, dehydrated, and hungry even after going through the supplies on the boat we'd taken from Boar's lackey.

"I'm Jim, by the way," the guy says as he opens the tailgate.

I don't blame him for not wanting either of us inside his truck, even if it isn't in the best condition. Jim shoves some fishing supplies aside so I can help Maddox up.

"I'm Nayeem," I say, bracing myself for some remark about the name.

Jim nods. "Okay. Nayeem. And him?"

He didn't pronounce it quite right, but I'll take it. Better than the intentional mangling I'd gotten when I was young.

"That's Maddox." I settle against the back and pull Maddox against me.

We're maybe a little too close for the delicate sensibilities of Southerners, but Jim doesn't do more than give us a sidelong look as Maddox rests his head against my shoulder. Maddox closes his eyes, shivering despite the heat.

Jim firmly closes the tailgate, then gets into the front of the truck.

Every bounce and jerk of the truck makes Maddox flinch, even though I can tell he's trying his hardest not to show he's in pain.

"Hey, we'll get clean soon," I say, resisting the urge to kiss Maddox's head. "You'll be patched up. Then we can say fuck all this bullshit."

"I'm just glad I'm not handcuffed to you anymore," he says with a huff, offering me a strained smile. "You fucking stink, you know that?"

"You don't exactly smell like roses either," I retort.

"Good thing. Roses make me think of grandmothers," he says, though his laugh is cut short by a bump in the road. "Fuck," he hisses.

I take in as much of the area as I can. Drier than the fucking swamp, at least, but it's clear we're still out in the boonies. Over an hour to the closest hospital? That's abysmal.

I can't exactly check how long we've been driving, but soon the road becomes a bit more paved, and we end up in what I guess could be considered a main street. The houses are small and a bit rundown, needing maintenance, and they're all sitting on stilts.

We turn at a stop sign, and I realize I haven't seen any traffic lights at all. I guess if the place is small enough, there's no need for them.

The truck pulls into a gravel driveway. There's a small building with a sign reading "clinic" on it, and the universal medical symbol. I guess this is the doctor's place.

The door opens before Maddox and I can get off the truck bed. An older woman with graying hair steps outside. She scowls at us. "Did you go rolling in the mud on purpose?"

I bite back the anger. "Not on purpose, Ma'am."

"Doctor," she corrects.

"Sheryl, don't be like that," Jim says. He comes around to lower the tailgate. "The smaller guy's in bad shape."

"I'm fine," Maddox says, and it would almost be believable if he wasn't so pale beneath all the mud.

I glare daggers at him. "You are not fine," I tell him, helping him out of the truck bed.

He scoffs at me, but he deflates a little when he looks at the doctor's expression. "I didn't go get shot in the middle of nowhere on purpose, Doctor."

Sheryl's eyes widen. "You got shot? Where? I can't see anything beneath the mud."

I point to Maddox's arm. "There. It was a shotgun, I think. Yesterday. We got stranded in the swamp for a bit."

Fuck, I hope they don't have some overinvested local police force who will decide to declare all this to the feds.

I bring Maddox to the building and help him up the few stairs.

"I can't treat him in this condition. Take your shoes off, and I'll show you the bathroom." Sheryl grimaces. "I don't know how much I can help, but I'll try. And Jim, these two are probably starving. Tell Rebecca to whip something up for everybody."

"You don't have to go out of your way like that, Doctor," Maddox protests, but he takes his shoes off as directed. He manages a smile. "I'm sure you can just hose us down out here, too. No need for us to dirty up your house."

Jim snorts. "She'll just have Nayeem here clean up after you, don't worry."

"I will," I promise. "Hot shower for both of us, and I'll do all the laundry and clean not just our dirt trail, I'll clean your entire fucking house."

I catch Sheryl suppressing a smile. "We'll see."

She leads us to the bathroom, and Maddox and I both try our hardest not to touch more than necessary.

"Only one, sorry," Sheryl says. "Shampoo and soap are in there already. Use as much as you need. Towels in the closet over there." She waits until I nod, then leaves, closing the door behind her.

I let out a sigh of relief. "Let's get out of these clothes," I say, directing Maddox to sit on the toilet seat.

He sits with a groan, fumbling with his shirt. He lets out a hiss of pain. "I don't think my shirt is as flimsy as yours, and we probably shouldn't rip it," he says, trying to joke but not quite managing.

"We'll buy you a new fucking shirt," I say. I check underneath the sink and am gratified to find the first aid kit, which has a pair of scissors inside. I use those to cut Maddox's sleeve open, exposing the wound.

"Yeah, but I'll need to wear something out of here," he argues, for all that it's too late now. "Ugh. Don't… Don't touch it too much. It already hurts just thinking about you moving that bandage."

The bullet's been festering in there for at least a day now. I don't even want to know what the wound looks like underneath the makeshift bandage.

I grunt, for all that we both know I'm going to have to do just that.

When I peel back the fabric covering it, I hiss out a breath as I take in the sight of the red, inflamed site of the wound. "Fuck," I mutter.

Maddox looks down at the wound. "Wow," he says. "I didn't know something could get that infected that fast."

I cut the shirt off him entirely, then go for his belt. "Get out of these clothes. You need to get clean now."

"Five minutes aren't really going to make that big of a difference," he points out, but he lets me help him out of the rest of his clothes.

Once they're in a heap around his feet, I turn on the water, waiting impatiently for it to get warm. The tub is going to be absolutely filthy by the time we're done with it, but I'd meant what I said. I'll clean any and everything I have to in return for the doctor's help.

Thankfully the shower head is detachable, and Maddox can sit in the tub while I start hosing him down. He grabs my hand when I get near his chest, though, and says, "You strip down too. I'm not the only filthy person here."

He's right, but I'm impatient to help him. "Mads, you're the injured one. I can wait."

Maddox gives me a tired glare, though a tiny smile briefly flits across his lips. "It's like in airplanes. Do your own oxygen mask first."

He has a point, I guess, in that it'll be hard for me to clean him if my hands are filthy. "Fine," I growl, giving him the showerhead and stripping as quickly as I can. The mud pulls at my body hair, and I'm going to have either the softest or the driest skin when this is all through. Don't people do mud treatments or something?

I dump my clothes on top of Maddox's. I stop next to the tub. "How are we doing this?"

He laughs. "I have no fucking idea."

It's not really funny, but I can't help but smile at him anyway, however briefly.

"I guess we'll get to go out there in just towels. Assuming they have one big enough for your big, hairy ass," he says, starting to laugh harder. His shoulders shake with it, but he doesn't even seem to notice the pain.

I smile and shake my head. "I meant, am I getting in the tub with you? Since we both need a rinse."

"I don't know if you'll fit in here with me," Maddox says. "And we're going to clog this drain with all this mud. Jesus." He shakes his head, and he shifts to allow me space to get into the tub with him, only for his smile to vanish as he winces.

The water shows no sign of going clear, that's for sure. I take the shower head from him again and step in, closer to the drain. I rinse myself quickly, getting a layer off, before going back to running it over the rest of his body.

It's slow-going, but between the water and liberal amounts of soap and shampoo, we do eventually get clean. I run my hands all over him, making sure to get all of the dirt. This contact should be sexy, but I'm too worried to get hard.

When we're finally done, he glances at me. "You should get out first. I'll probably need your help getting out of the tub without slipping," he says, reluctance heavy in his voice.

I know he doesn't like depending on me for anything—and I wouldn't like it if I was in his shoes either—but part of me does appreciate that he'll actually let me.

I get out, grab towels with my now clean hands, and quickly dry myself off before I help Maddox. He stands on the bathmat, swaying, as I work the second and then third towel over him to get him as dry as possible.

The wound looks even worse now that I can see it clearly.

"Here," I say, wrapping a towel around his waist.

He looks down, too, and he grimaces. "Wow," he says, almost conversationally. "That really does look bad, doesn't it?"

I glare at him, but it doesn't change the fact that it does. "The doctor will patch you up," I say.

"Yeah," he says. "And hopefully not ask too many questions about a gunshot wound." He sighs. "C'mon. Get your ass into a towel so you can help me to her."

I use the biggest towel I can find and just barely get it around myself. It's not ideal, but it'll have to do. If I end up flashing some small town people, so be it.

When I open the door, I see the doctor standing down the hall, talking to Jim and some other woman. They all turn to glance our way.

"Oh, finally," Sheryl says. "Jim brought food and clothes."

"I brought food!" the other woman says. "Jim just gossiped to everybody while I prepared it."

"I transported it!" Jim shakes his head. "Anyway, clothes." He approaches, carrying several sets of t-shirts and sweatpants. "Didn't know what size would fit."

Great. We're the talk of the entire small town. I guess nothing this exciting usually happens around here. In New Bristol, there are probably ten people shot every day.

"Thanks," Maddox says, and I'm not sure whether he's blushing or if his cheeks are flushed from a potential fever.

We duck back into the bathroom to get dressed, but he doesn't pull on a shirt.

"May as well wait," he explains, even though I understand without being told. "I'm sure she'll just want it off to look at the wound anyway."

None of them say anything when Maddox returns shirtless. The woman, who introduces herself as Rebecca, hands us both sandwiches and bottles of water. Sheryl shepherds Maddox into a nearby exam room.

Which leaves me to clean up all the messes.

"How'd you get shot?" Rebecca asks as she watches me mop the hallway.

"I didn't get shot. My friend did," I answer, hoping I manage to keep my tone even.

"Okay, so how'd he get shot?" she asks. I try to stay silent, but she says, "Come on. I brought you all this food. Jim got you here. Sheryl is patching your buddy up. You owe us this story."

I glance at Jim, and he shrugs. "Beccs is pretty insistent."

I sigh. "Fine. We were out on the swamp, trying to nature watch. We got turned around, and encroached on somebody's property. The guy wouldn't listen, just shot us and kept saying the government had no right to his money."

Rebecca starts laughing. "For real? It wasn't that fucking gang that set up there?"

I startle. "What do you mean, the gang?"

Jim makes a disgusted sound. "Some gang of bikers. They moved in a few months back, claimed parts of the swamp and keep harassing people on the roads. We try to avoid them, but they come in and sell their damn meth…"

So they deal in drugs as well as guns. I figured as much, because our organization has more than just one source of income too, but it's good to have it confirmed. It's better to know what we're up against.

"They're bothering you a lot?" I ask, trying to sound casual. "The biker gang."

Rebecca nods. "But we're just some backwater town. Our police force is an old man and some kids, and I wouldn't be surprised to find out they're being bribed or whatever." She grimaces. "What can you do, you know?"

Fuck, the irony is killing me. I mop a particularly stubborn mud stain. "Somebody else would move in once they're gone. Happens in the big city too, and they've got plenty of cops."

It doesn't help that a large chunk of the NBPD is on the take, of course. I've ferried Silvano to a few meetings with police officers. They try to make the meetings anonymous, but cops are pretty bad at disguising themselves.

"Are you from a big city?" Rebecca asks, batting her eyelashes at me.

"Yeah. Benton City," I say, because while I doubt she'll blab, I don't want to make finding out who we are that easy. "Not as big as some places, but there's gangs there too. They shot up a wedding a few years back."

Her eyes are wide, and she starts asking me questions. Jim tries to pretend he's rolling his eyes, uninterested, but he pays attention too.

I may as well give them some good gossip—especially since it has nothing to do with me or Maddox. The more distracted they are, the better.