Free Ghostwalker 04 - Conspiracy Game by authors_sort Page A

imperative if he was going to survive. “This is going to hurt.”
    “Just get it done.”
    “You want to put down the rifle?”
    Jack blinked down at her, surprised that he still had the rifle slung around his neck. He placed it beside his hand on the mattress and added the handgun and two knives alongside of it before taking another drink. He leaned back until his head was resting against the wall.
    “Go ahead.”
    Briony braced herself. She didn’t like hurting anyone, and washing the wounds with antiseptic was going to torture Jack all over again, but it couldn’t be helped. “I could get one of my brothers if you’d be more comfortable.”
    “Briony.” He said her name with a slight note of exasperation.
    She just heard the weariness. His eyes were glazed with fever and he desperately needed to lie down. Pressing her lips together, she began the arduous task of cleaning him up. The knife wounds in his chest were hideous, blackened and crusted with bugs and infection. His body shuddered and broke out into a sweat, as she washed and applied topical antibiotics, but he stoically took it, occasionally drinking from the bottle of water.
    “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