Blurring the Lines (Book Two - ManxMan ManxManxWoman)

Chapter Thirteen

When he came to; the room he was in was otherwise empty, but he recognised it at once.

The cot hadn't been in the dressing room prior to the fight and he was more than a little surprised feel the comfort in it.

What had happened? He couldn't quite remember the details...

Had Josh knocked him out? It seemed it was heading that way.

He ached all over.

"Hello?" He called but no one answered. He looked down at himself, he was still in the boxing shorts and he still had no shirt on. There were unnecessary bandages wrapped around his ribs, he knew this because even if his ribs were broken, a bandage wouldn't do anything for them.

He knew this because his wife was a brilliant doctor.

He could certainly use her bedside manner right now.

"Where is he?" He said out loud again, and it occurred to him that he'd only meant to think it, not say it out loud. Apparently he wasn't in full control of his faculties yet and his arm was numb.

A flash of memory came to him as he looked at that arm, a paramedic... she'd been attractive, he could remember that, and she'd stuck a needle in his arm.

Now, why had she done that?

He lifted himself into a sitting position, which he immediately found was a bad idea. His head swooned and he would have fallen right off the side of his cot had it not been up against the wall.

Why was he alone? There had been six paramedics and he clearly needed some of them.

How did he know that?

And why only some? There had definitely been six, the more he thought about it the more certain he was of that fact and as he had refused to fight back, Josh certainly didn't need their attentions.

'Spencer Williams,' his mind supplied groggily and that he squinted his eyes in concentration; trying to figure out why

What did he have to do with any of this?

Spencer Williams was probably happy and healthy at home with James and Sarah, why would be need paramedics?

'Because you killed him,' his mind supplied and he recoiled from the accusation in his minds voice and felt tears stinging the corner of his swollen left eye; while a thin and hot stream of tears issued from the other.

No. He couldn't have killed Spencer Williams. He wasn't even there.

The door opened then surprising him enough to forget his kinda accusation. It wasn't the door to the fighting ring but the one he knew was a fake wall.

Blake looked up to see the attractive paramedic walk in that had given him the shot.

"He's awake," she said urgently, "he should have been out longer, I didn't give him enough,"

"No, that's fine, I need to speak with him and there are photos we need to take," Daniel Hennessy's clear voice came in through the door behind her attached to his less than confident but still handsome face.

Did he look anxious? He sounded anxious to Blake. What did he have to be anxious about? He was rich, sexy, and the leader of an underground blood sport cult.

That beautiful face was only a foot from his as he came up to Blake and kneeled down in front of him. He went to place his hands on him but seemed to know precisely where he could and possibly even if he should.

"I'm so sorry, Blake" he said to him, his eyes miserable as he said it.

Memories flooded his kind of pre-fight. He might be sexy, but he had orchestrated all of this.