Page 42 of Changeling (The Incubus Saga #2)

“That’s enough!” a voice Nathan didn’t recognize roared. He assumed it was the owner of the gun. Nathan was torn between wanting to kiss the feet of the gun owner and wanting to beat the shit out of him for taking so long to intervene.

“Keep out of it, Paul. This is no concern of yours,” Pete growled. “If you’d keep the damn queers out of here we wouldn’t have to clean your bar up for you.”

“I’m glad to see that you remember on some level that this is my bar, you fucking idiot.” Paul’s voice had a quiet authority. “I’m not going to sit by and let you kill some guy and get the cops to shut this place down. Take your buddies and get out. I won’t tell you again.”

“Fine,” Pete ground out. “Take him,” he directed at the goons holding Nathan’s arms.

“NO! Leave him,” Paul directed.

“Don’t push it,” Pete warned.

“Or what?”

“You’ll regret it.”

“Doubt that.”

Nathan wasn’t all that surprised when he was suddenly released by the two goons holding him. Unfortunately, he still wasn’t able to prevent himself from crumbling to the ground.

“Typical,” Pete spat. “You start this mess by letting shit like this into your bar and then when we try to clean it up, you bitch about it. This isn’t over.”

Nathan felt the pool cue land on his back as Pete dropped it.

Then his knife clattered to the floor beside his head.

He was grateful as his eyes blinked slowly and painfully, his vision swimming in and out of focus, that Pete’s feet walked by him without landing a parting shot.

Nathan’s eyes slid shut and then someone grabbed him by the collar and shook him. He groaned.

“Hey! I want you out of here. I don’t want anyone murdered in my bar, but that doesn’t mean you’re welcome in it.”

Paul , Nathan thought.

Nathan pawed weakly at the floor and managed to get himself slumped up against the pool table.

He numbly grasped his knife and managed to slide it into his jacket.

He realized his jeans were still around his ankles.

He reached down and grabbed the ruined denim.

As he dragged them up, he felt bile build in his throat.

He hadn’t suffered much of a beating, but the drugs were doing him one better.

“Ethan! Can you take this asshole back to whatever hole he crawled out of?”

“Don’t put yourself out on my account…I can…get myself home,” Nathan managed to slur out.

“I don’t want you murdered in my fucking parking lot either, you idiot,” Paul ground out.

“Please, Nathan, listen to them,” came Walter’s concerned voice from somewhere nearby. “You need their help.”

Nathan didn’t fight the two sets of strong arms that grasped him on either side, hauling him to his feet where he swayed precariously.

He had one hand holding his pants up, but being upright had its own set of problems. Nathan was suddenly overwhelmed by nausea as the world swam in and out of focus. His knees threatened to betray him.

Between the two of them, however, they got Nathan to Ethan’s car.

Pete and some of his goons were predictably hanging out in the parking lot.

The motel was really just down the road, so Ethan quickly covered the distance, making sure no one followed him.

When they arrived at the motel, he put the car into neutral.

“Get out,” he said flatly. “Don’t bother coming back to the bar.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice. Your bar…pretty much sucks ass anyway,” Nathan said as he stumbled out the passenger door.

Once he closed the door behind him, he leaned back for a moment trying to get a bearing on where up was.

Ethan had other ideas and gunned the car backwards out of the parking lot.

That almost resulted in Nathan crashing to the pavement, but somehow he managed to remain upright, hearing Walter’s voice close beside his ear.

“Into the motel, Nathan. Pete and his men are still looking for you.”

Nathan nodded vaguely. He managed to stagger to the correct door and leaned heavily against it. He was grateful that when Pete searched his pockets, he had left the motel keys alone.

Somehow Nathan got the key in the lock and staggered inside. Apparently, he wasn’t as smooth opening the door as he thought, however, because when he finally stumbled in, Jim materialized out of the dark.

“Damn it, Nathan,” Jim growled. “Could you make any more noise? Did you get that drunk after we left?”

“Sorry, Jim,” Nathan whispered, trying his hardest not to slur his words.

Jim sighed. “I’m going back to bed. I suggest you do the same, okay?” He turned away and retreated back into the darkness.

Nathan tried to bounce off as few pieces of furniture as possible as he made his way across the room.

He was pathetically grateful that his duffle was between him and the bathroom, and he grabbed it on the way by.

He suspected his first aid kit would come in handy, considering he still had blood down his face that Jim had thankfully not noticed in the dark.

He made it into the bathroom, flicking on the light and softly closing the door. He dropped the duffle and reluctantly looked at himself in the mirror. He couldn’t tell how bad the cut was, with all the blood.

Suddenly, the world pitched nauseatingly around him and he lunged for the toilet. He lost everything in his stomach and continued to retch and dry heave until he passed out cold, bumping his head on the porcelain for good measure as he slumped bonelessly to the floor.

“Nathan!”

Nathan was shuddering uncontrollably when he awoke to the sound of Walter’s voice. His Spirit Guide’s image hovered over him, as if Walter were crouched there on the floor with him, shaking him awake. He hurt everywhere. He was freezing and the room was still spinning.

The evening replayed in his mind. The thought of Pete and what might have happened washed over him.

Nathan pushed himself quickly off the floor as saliva flooded his mouth, and leaned over the toilet again.

The dry heaves pulled violently on his ribs and shook his still tender chest wounds.

At least none of the goons had punched him there.

As much as Nathan wished he could hide this from his brother and Sasha, he was relieved when he heard Jim’s gentle knock.

“You okay in there, Nathan?” Jim’s soft voice penetrated the closed door.

“C’min, Jim,” Nathan managed to slur through chattering teeth.

Jim slowly opened the door, causing Walter’s image to flicker and then fade, traces of a furrowed brow still prominent on his face before he vanished. “Nathan!” Jim cried. “What the hell happened?”

“Shhh. Don’t want Sasha in on this just yet,” Nathan said before leaning back over the toilet to dry heave some more.

“Why didn’t you say anything? I couldn’t tell you looked this bad in the dark.”

“Fuck you, too,” Nathan spat into the toilet.

Jim sighed. He stepped out of the bathroom for a moment and came back with a blanket from one of the beds.

Nathan leaned his forehead against the cold porcelain of the toilet as Jim set the blanket around his shoulders and gently laid a hand on his back.

“Shit, Nate. Where all are you hurt? You have to let me look at you. What the hell happened?” Jim’s voice was low, but Nathan could hear the concern turning to anger.

“Be faster if I told you where it didn’t hurt.” Nathan tried to give his brother at least a shadow of a smirk.

“Don’t expect me to be kissing your elbow, Indie,” Jim fired back. “I hope the other guys look worse anyway.”

“Not so much…this time.” Nathan’s voice faded to barely a whisper and he dropped his eyes.

“Okay. Let me look at what you’ve done to yourself, then.

” Jim reached out gentle hands to tilt Nathan’s head.

“Damn. This cut’s going to need a couple stitches.

Might have a few bruises, and—” He hissed, probably noticing Nathan’s blown pupils.

“Did those bastards drug you? This isn’t just alcohol or tempers getting the better of them, is it? ” Jim’s voice was tight with outrage.

“Yeah. Walter warned me they slipped something into my beer. Thought I could…get out before it became a real problem. Didn’t give me an option about drinking it…”

Jim shook his head and moved his inspection lower. He reached for the hem of Nathan’s shirt, but Nathan made a startled noise and grabbed Jim’s wrists.

“Not hurt anywhere else, Jim. Okay,” Nathan said evenly. He was quickly losing any energy he had left and wanted to just lie down and sleep.

“Let me at least make sure your wounds haven’t bled through again,” Jim insisted, and since Nathan was still alert enough to recognize the sense in that, he let Jim lift up his shirt. Thankfully, his bandages looked clean.

The gash on Nathan’s abdomen was slight, but when Jim glanced down at it, Nathan knew his brother had to be wondering why he’d dropped his pants before taking off his boots, when he obviously hadn’t used the toilet other than to toss his dinner into it.

The missing button and slashed zipper were all the additional evidence Jim needed, before he looked into Nathan’s eyes with deeper concern.

“Nate,” Jim said quietly. “Umm…did they…?” He trailed, unable to force the words past his lips.

“No. No, Jim. I never lost my boxers,” Nathan said plainly.

“Okay. Let’s start by getting your head cleaned up then get you into some fresh clothes.”

“S’ok, Jim. Jus’ wanna…sleep.” Nathan’s eyelids fluttered as he felt his will to stay awake slipping.

Jim patted Nathan’s cheek gently but firmly.

“Hey. Hey! You need to stay with me for a bit yet,” he said.

He quickly turned to the first aid kit Nathan had nearly forgotten he’d brought in with him and found what he needed.

Once Jim set to work on the stitches, it was easier to stay alert—they didn’t have any anesthetic.