AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I’ll keep the car idling outside the entrance,” I say, a plan forming in my mind as I speed towards the hospital. Traffic laws are the least of my fucking worries. “You both go, grab a doc, and get the fuck out of there as fast as you can. Try not to be seen, but we can do damage control with the cops and press later if we need to.”
Half the cops in this city are corrupt, easy to bribe and control with the right words and some money in their pockets. But I’d really rather not deal with press reports of a kidnapped doctor if we can avoid it. Though I can get our tech guy on it, it’s an annoyance I don’t need.
But needs must, I suppose.
I can’t afford to be injured right now, and protecting my people matters more than anything. I’ll do whatever I have to do.
I wasn’t born into this life, but I owe my life to the last Don before me, Vin. Easton and I, my lifelong best friend and now my second-in-command, grew up in foster care together until we couldn’t take it anymore at fifteen. We didn’t have anywhere to go or any idea what we were doing, but living on the streets would have been better than the hellhole of the foster home we were in.
Instead of being homeless, Vin found us and took us in. He taught us how to defend ourselves, how to run legitimate businesses and cover up the less-than-legitimate ones, how to organize and command men. Looking back now, I think we reminded him of himself. When he died, his title passed on to me. I’ve been running this section ever since.
The hospital building comes into view, and I ignore the empty parking spaces, instead looping around the parking lot to check out the area. It’s not particularly busy today, given that it’s barely noon on a damn Tuesday and most of the injuries occur on weekends. Random daytime stabbing is apparently quite rare.
Lucky me.
Outside the main entrance to the ER, someone wearing a white coat and navy blue scrubs leans against the aged brick, her blonde hair tied back into some sort of twisty hairstyle that makes me grateful I keep my own hair short. I can’t get a good look at her face, or her body given the shapeless scrubs, but from the uniform alone, it’s obvious she’s a doctor. Perhaps on break or just slipped out for some air.
Whatever the reasoning, this is our chance.
I pull the car around the side of the hospital in the lane that leads to the staff parking lot around the back, as hidden as I can get in order to make a quick exit.
“Don’t bleed out while we’re gone!” Darragh calls as he and Easton slip out of the car.
I hate waiting, but even I can concede that in my current state, actively kidnapping someone probably isn’t in anyone’s best interest. I trust my second and my enforcer with my life, so as much as it rubs me the wrong way to sit on my ass while they do this job, I know they’ll do what needs to be done.
I keep the engine running, ready to high tail it the fuck out of here the second my men and our new doctor are in the vehicle. I don’t have to wait long.
In the rearview mirror, I catch movement, making out the blue scrubs and the dark hoodie Easton always wears. Darragh yanks the backdoor open, and between him and Easton, they bundle a confused, scared-looking doctor into the back. They each take a seat on either side, sandwiching her between them so she can’t get to the doors. Easton’s hand is over her mouth, his other hand keeping her wrists together so she can’t fight. She tries to kick out, but between the two of them, she has no chance. Both of them are highly trained, skilled fighters who I’ve seen torture and kill men before. The doctor, in comparison, is a foot shorter than Darragh’s six-foot-three, with wide blue eyes and blonde hair that’s half escaped the updo in the struggle.
Ah, fuck.
Something in my chest seizes as I take her in. There’s fear in those sapphire eyes, sure, but there’s also fire. Anger, determination, strength. It calls to something deep within me.
She calls to something deep within me.
But there’s no time to focus on that right now.
I spin the wheel and slam on the gas, speeding away before the doors are even fully closed.
2
KACIE
It’s rare that I actually get to take my break, but after a grueling weekend shift that meant I had to sleep the entirety of yesterday, I’m not wasting the opportunity to breathe fresh air for a minute. As a resident doctor in the ER, ninety percent of the time, there’s too much to be done to manage a proper break.
Needing out of the stuffy, bleach and sanitizer-scented air, I step outside and lean against the brick exterior of the hospital. Sighing heavily, I rest my head on the brick and let my eyes fall closed, feeling every damn knot in my muscles, ache in my ankles and feet from rushing about so much.
I love my job, don’t get me wrong. I’ve been studying and working for this for ten years, and I’m far from the end of the road. For as long as I can remember, my life’s dream has been to be a surgeon. I want to take care of people, to help them, to know how to save them. I’ve pursued it with voracity, sacrificing any chance of a social life, forgetting about dating or love so I can be the best of the best in my classes, and now, the best of the bestin residency. I’m damn good at my job. I always get great reports from my mentors and all the work has been worth it.
But dammit, I’m still tired as hell.
My friends—who I see every couple of months if I’m lucky and I’m not very close to because I never have time—are getting married or buying houses, and I’m still doing the same thing I’ve always done. Working. It’s worth it. It will be worth it. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel the tiniest pinch of jealousy whenever I see their wedding posts or pregnancy announcements.
I’m only twenty-eight. I have time. But I’m keenly aware that when I become a surgeon, I’ll still be just as dedicated to my work. Will there ever be room for anyone or anything else in my life?
I’m jolted out of my mess of thoughts by a hand wrapping around my arm and a palm pressing over my mouth. I try to scream but can’t even part my lips, and my breath gets stuck in my throat.
My eyes fly open and I desperately take in the sight of the two men before me. The one with his hand over my mouth and his other hand holding my wrists together has dark eyes and a slightly crooked nose. The second, who I catch glimpses of as the first yanks me away from the building, is very tall with green eyes and stubble. It’s that one who says to me, “We’re not gonna hurt you, Doc. We just need your help, all right?”
