“Ken. My brother.”
Startled, she looked up. His body continually shook, but his expression didn’t change, no matter how many times she had to wash the various cuts. “What about your brother?” Someone had rubbed a mixture of salt, leaves, and a paste into the open wounds, and getting it out wasn’t easy.
“I boss him, but he doesn’t always listen.”
She flashed him a tight smile. “Good for him.”
He swallowed several times as she scrubbed the deepest cuts, the ones so infected she wasn’t sure even the potent antibiotics she had would help.
“Jack.” Briony took the empty bottle of water from him and gently applied pressure to his shoulder. “Lie down for a while. You’re safe for the moment. Go to sleep if you can while I do this. It’s going to take some time.”
In spite of his desire to remain alert, Jack found his body stretching out on his side without his permission. “I’m just going to rest for a minute.”
Briony noted that his fingertips touched the handgun, as if he needed the reassurance that it was there, but his eyes closed. He didn’t look softer or boyish in repose. He still looked as hard and dangerous as when he watched her with his restless gaze. She continued washing his chest, taking her time, wanting to do a thorough job the first time. The wounds were deep and ugly, a name carved into his chest. There were burns and tiny slices as if someone had taken a razor-sharp knife and made cuts every inch in perfect symmetry up and down his body, in long rows of ugly wounds.
She had no idea that she was crying as she began the job of sewing the wounds closed. On some she could use butterfly bandages, but most were deep enough to require stitching. She gave him a shot of antibiotics before coaxing him to turn over. His back was terrible, with long strips of flesh missing. It was no wonder the man was running a raging fever. Insects had swarmed to the feast. Sweat beaded on his body and the shaking continued, but he never uttered a single sound.
It took her long into the night to clean him up, eventually managing to get him to help her remove his boots and the filthy pants he wore. There were more signs of torture, the tiny slices cut into his legs and buttocks, even around his groin, as if they’d teased him with the idea of what would come later. Under other circumstances, she might have been too shy to clean a man in such intimate places, but the damage was so severe and, although at times she knew he was aware, he didn’t open his eyes. Briony tried to be impersonal, but she felt sick at the idea that one human could do such things to another. By the time she finished, she felt protective and maybe a little possessive over him.
She pulled a light sheet over his body and brought him more water with antibiotic pills, bullying him enough awake to take them as well. Briony slipped her arm around his head to support his neck while he drank.
He hesitated before taking the pills, his eyes boring into her with suspicion. “Nothing to knock me out. I heal fast and I can take the pain.”
“No, of course not, although now that you say that, it wouldn’t be a bad idea.” She pushed her fingers through the close-cropped hair, raking leaves and twigs from it. “Just antibiotics. We have to hit the infection hard. You need a doctor.”
“You did a good enough job,” he said gruffly, taking the pills with half the bottle of water. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Go to sleep.” Briony’s arms ached, and although she still wasn’t experiencing the psychic overload of too many emotions bombarding her, she had a killer headache from using telepathy, and she was shaking from the night’s events. The thought that she’d killed a man, the sight and sound of it, sickened her.
She took a long shower, rinsing her hair and her body over and over as if that could remove the memories of the evening. Nothing seemed to help and the headache persisted. She brushed her teeth and once again scrubbed her hands before entering the room to check on Jack. His skin was hot to the touch, but he appeared to be sleeping. Turning off the light, she sank down onto the floor beneath the window and drew up her knees, hugging herself tightly.
Her brothers were going to lose their minds when they found out what she’d done. Jebediah might just kill her and put her out of her misery. She wasn’t looking forward to the morning and his inevitable lecture on her safety and the safety of the family. The entire night had been too overwhelming. The man lying only a few feet from her had been mercilessly tortured, and now, even in his sleep, his body shuddered as if still feeling every abuse.
Life didn’t make sense to her most of the time. And she never felt safe, or as if she belonged. Everyone around her tried; it wasn’t her family or friends-it was her. She rocked herself slightly, trying to bring some comfort when the images of blood and death rose up to flood her mind. Jack stirred, and pain rippled across his face. She looked up, alert to see if he needed anything, but he appeared to be dreaming. When he settled back into a deeper sleep, she laid her head on her knees, feeling the burning wash of tears she couldn’t prevent.
Blood and death surrounded him. Jack was drowning in it, helpless to get to the woman floating down the river. He reached for her, but missed her outstretched hand and knew he’d lost her forever. She didn’t call out to him, but cried softly, tears pouring down her face. He heard the sound, muffled, heart-wrenching, and his eyes snapped open, gun tracking around the room.
Briony huddled on the floor, knees drawn up to her chest, head down. Her silver-gold hair spilled around her face, and the sight of her like that made his heart begin to pound in his chest. He swore silently between clenched teeth, his body too tired and too beat up to move, to get to her. Slowly he lowered the gun, resting it back on the bed.
“Briony.”
Her head snapped up, one hand wiping at her eyes, a swift movement that she tried to hide. “Are you in pain? You must be. We’ve probably got something for pain in the kit.” There was a small tremor in her voice, but she rallied, covering her distress.
“Come here.”
She stilled, her eyes too large and drowning in tears, long lashes spiky and wet. Jack could hardly bear the sight of her like that. She should have been somewhere where she was safe and protected-not in Kinshasa where anything could happen to her.
“I said come here.”
The hard note of command stopped her weeping. “I heard you.” He looked so determined, as if he might get up and come over to her in spite of his injuries. Briony got to her feet and crossed to his side, laying her palm on his forehead to access his fever. “Do you want more water?”
He nodded, his gaze never leaving her face, his eyes still glazed with fever. She took out another bottle and removed the cap before handing it to him.
“You washed your hair.” Jack let the liquid slide down his throat, savoring the taste of it. “Whatever you use smells good.” He caught her wrist when she turned away. Tugging, he indicated the bed. “Don’t sit on the floor. I’m not in any shape to do anything and it’s more comfortable.” Mostly he wanted to comfort her. It wasn’t something he’d ever thought he’d be doing, but he’d give it a shot just so she wouldn’t cry anymore. When she didn’t respond either way, he pulled her down to the mattress.
“I could jar you.”
“I doubt it.” He let his fingers slide over her tear-wet face. “Don’t be doing this.”
“What? Crying? Every time I close my eyes I see that man dead. Or I see someone cutting you into little pieces.” She pressed her fingertips to her temple. “I’m afraid to go to sleep.”
“You have a headache. Did you take anything for it?”
“My headache is rather insignificant next to what the rebels did to you. I can’t believe you were running around the forest. You should be dead.”
“I wasn’t going to die and give them the satisfaction.” He took another sip of water, his fingers tangling in her hair. It was softer than he’d first imagined. “They would have done better just to put a bullet in my head.”
“Why didn’t they?”
Jack set the bottle of water on the small nightstand beside the bed and used both hands to massage her temples. Her body felt small and soft next to his, and he actually had a reaction to her, disconcerting when he was trying to be comforting. She was too innocent for a man like him to ever have sex with her. He’d shock the holy hell out of her, be too rough, too demanding, too everything. His body hardened even more and he shut the door on that line of thinking. There was no way he was going to allow it to happen.
