Savage Night - Allan Guthrie [92]
There was no end to Park's sadism.
Tommy looked at the sorry fuck lying there, his daughter prodding around the cut, testing the blade, wondering no doubt if it was safe to pull it out. Wondering, too, no doubt, if she could attack Tommy with it. In her sweet little fucked-up head, going: stop the bleeding or kill Savage? Well, that was her dilemma and only she knew the answer. Tommy had his gun ready. He was prepared. If she attacked him, it'd be the last thing she ever did.
His finger was itching.
"You watching, Grant?" Tommy asked, fire burning in his gut. "I hope so."
***
EFFIE HAD SEEN enough blood tonight to be able to examine the wound without feeling queasy. She spoke to her dad. "Blade's gone about halfway through. Looks like the bone stopped it."
He moaned at her.
"By the way, I'm fucking mad at you," she said.
"For?"
"You know. Sending Jordan to Fraser's."
"I didn't."
"Don't start." She grabbed the ends of the piece of cloth he'd wrapped round his wrist. "I'm going to tie you off." They were warm and wet. She didn't want to know where they'd been. She pulled them tight, ignoring his cry. Tied a knot. Ought to be enough to stop the bleeding. For now.
She didn't want to tell him what had happened to Martin. He could find out later. When he was well. But for that to happen, she first had to kill Savage.
***
TOMMY WONDERED WHAT she was waiting for. She'd applied the tourniquet. All she had to do was—
***
ALL IN ONE motion. The blade came out more easily then she'd thought. Her dad roared as she swung the sword towards Savage, rotating from the hips, putting everything into it.
Something massive kicked her in the chest.
***
TOMMY EXPECTED THE shot to knock her back a couple of feet but she collapsed where she stood. Lay on the floor on her back next to her dad, a blossoming red stain above her left breast.
***
PARK GUESSED THE worst. "Effie?"
***
"HOW DOES IT feel?" Tommy asked him.
***
PARK RIPPED THE blindfold off his head. Determined not to look anywhere else. Blinked at Savage. Fucker had a gun. Thought he was in charge.
Fuck him. He wasn't even wearing his own clothes.
Park swung at him with his good hand.
Missed by a couple of feet.
If only he'd managed to hack through the bone, he'd have been rid of the cuff, free to get in close and beat Savage to a pulp.
One thing he could do, though.
He scrambled around on the floor, trying to locate the sword. Effie had pulled it out. It had to be close. Had to be. If only he could take a glance. Enough to locate it. No more. If he didn't focus on the blood, he'd be okay.
He had no choice. Take the chance or die. No contest.
Okay.
He looked.
Effie lay still. Hair fallen over her face.
He looked down. Her hands lay palm up, fingers loosely curled around the sword.
He could get it. Awkward, but he could do it.
Oh, you stupid bastard.
Couldn't help it.
He'd looked at his arm. Couldn't tear his eyes away. What a mess.
Oh, shit.
He'd done it now.
***
IF TOMMY HAD known about Park's blood problem earlier, things would have been so much easier. Could have peeled the plaster off his infected arm, given the wound a squeeze, shown it to Park when he wasn't expecting it.
Knock yourself out, you cunt.
Maybe he should have worked it out from the way Park had avoided looking at the laptop. But, really, who'd have guessed? Maybe if he'd spoken more to Grant the boy would have let slip. But, no, Tommy wasn't going to beat himself up about this. There wasn't a thing he could have done to stop Phil and Fraser from being killed. Not a thing.
He buckled at the stabbing pain in his belly. Shit, he'd thrown up something weird already. Wasn't going to happen again, was it? That wasn't real. He'd imagined it.
It wasn't possible.
Then again, it wasn't possible that Grant was dead, that Phil and Fraser were dead, that Tommy'd shot two people, that he was about to kill