George stepped forward
The hooded guy put his hand on George’s chest, halting him. “Take the hit, old man.”
Rory groaned internally. George hated being called old man.
George shook his head. “No way.”
“Let it go,” the big man commanded, glancing only momentarily at Rory, “just claim it on your insurance. We both win.”
With his free hand, Rory got his phone into his palm.
As George passed the bench he picked up a stainless steel exhaust pipe. “This is my premises. You’ve made a big mistake.”
The hooded guy laughed.
Rory gestured with his phone. “Leave now, or I’ll call the police.”
George tapped the steel exhaust pipe against the palm of his free hand as if readying for a pitch.
He intended to fight. Shit no.
But the hooded guy didn’t wait to see if it was just a threat.
The hooded guy moved fast. Really fast.
He high-kicked George—a martial arts move that left no room for George to react or defend himself.
The steel exhaust pipe flew out of George’s hand, clattering to the floor.
Along with George.
Rory’s blood hit boiling point.
He raced to George’s side. George was out cold.
It wasn’t the kick he’d taken. It was the hit to his head on the stone floor.
The hooded guy took one look at Rory’s face and turned to run.
But not quickly enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Rory clung to the metal guard around George’s hospital bed, willing him to live. In the ambulance, his anger had riffed through disbelief straight into dread. George was his mentor, his friend. He was the one enabling Rory to begin a new life, the solid focal point who kept him steady. The prospect of losing him was too much to bear.
The ensuing hospital procedures didn’t help. It was an alien world to him, and he didn’t like it. The machines beeped incessantly, a constant reminder of how fragile a heartbeat was, how vital. Tubes and wires went in and out of George. Rory despised them for trapping George there in the ICU, and thanked them for keeping him here on the planet. It was a focal point for his anger. If he thought too much about what had gone down at the workshop, he lost touch with the moment.
Through the hours he was allowed to be there, he never left George’s side.
In the hours he couldn’t be there, he waited outside the hospital, constantly checking his phone for news from the medical team caring for George.
The intensive care unit set his teeth on edge. That, and the fact he hadn’t been able to prevent George getting hurt in the first place.
When George’s eyelids finally flickered open for the first time, Rory rose to his feet. “Hey buddy, how’re you doing?”
He pressed the buzzer for a nurse then clasped his hand over George’s.
George blinked, then nodded. “I’ve had better hangovers.”