AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Answering honestly, I saw no reason to let him think I was interested. “No, thanks. I’ve got a long drive ahead of me and I’d like to get on the road.”
He nodded, leaving the room on my heels after we both shed our O.R. gear and scrubbed out. “I wish you the best of luck. I’m going to meet with the family.”
That was one aspect of his job I didn’t envy. “It’s going to be rough. I saw quite a few family members gathered in the waiting room.”
“He was a cop. It’s never easy news to deliver.”
“No,” I agreed sadly. “Take care.”
“You as well, Nylah.”
We parted ways as I walked to the nurse’s station and grabbed my purse. I’d already taken everything else out to my car this morning. Twelve and a half hours later, I was dragging. The drive seemed endless ahead of me, but I didn’t want to sleep here. I did that too often lately.
Halfway to the nearest exit, I almost missed Dr. Blane’s voice as he ran down the corridor, yelling my name. That was odd, even for him.
“Nylah, there’s a Level 1 Trauma coming in. I need you.”
Sadly, I nearly refused. I was exhausted. Shame colored my cheeks a bright pink. This was my job. I helped people each and every day whether it was convenient or not.
“Sure. Give me the details.”
I followed close behind as he led the way to the nearest O.R. and I locked my purse in a drawer. We both dressed for surgery and began washing as he described the incoming patient’s vitals, suspected injuries, and trauma. Everything was pretty standard until the next words left his lips and I paused, meeting his gaze with horror.
“She’s a rape victim. We think she’s been trafficked. All the signs are there.”
“Shit,” I whispered.
“Social services aren’t in this early. Do you think you can handle it?”
I knew what he was asking. Could I speak to her, get her to let us run a rape kit, and remember all of the details with a clear head. Swallowing hard, I nodded.
“Good. They’re bringing her up now.”
“Code Red,” one of the nurses shouted.
I followed Dr. Blane into the room as the medical team rushed toward us with a gurney that was doused in so much blood that I wasn’t sure what this poor girl’s injuries were or how severely they had been inflicted. I could barely remember what Dr. Blane had said as I approached, the oddest sense of foreboding I’d ever experienced in my life sinking like a lifeless ship down into my empty gut. Shaking, I caught the strawberry blonde color of the young woman’s hair streaked with blood, fluids, and what smelled like gasoline. Her right arm had serious burns and the crispy, blackened flesh was nearly my undoing. Someone had tried to set her body on fire . . . and had succeeded, at least partially.
Oh, God.
Looking down, I swept the hair back from her heart-shaped face and a single, solitary tear slid down my cheek in response. One word fell from my lips as my knees threatened to buckle and send my shocked ass straight to the ground. I wasn’t sure how I managed to stay upright.
“Naomi.” Her name left my lips with an agonized cry.
The staff rushed around, gathering supplies, removing her clothing from the areas that weren’t burned, carefully assessing the extent of the damage and injuries. Dr. Blane’s voice rose above the others as he called out directions and I stood without moving, unable to do anything but stare at her pale face. Her eyes were closed but I knew the bright blue shade as well as my own. We had the exact same color eyes.
My younger sister Naomi. Trixie was the name she was called on the streets.
A scuffle caught my attention and I lifted my head. A man stood in the doorway, his broad frame filling the space as he met my unwavering stare. Hazel eyes reflected back a coldness I couldn’t explain as I thought about who could have possibly hurt my sister. It was then that I pieced the last few minutes together and realized he was the one who called and said he was bringing in a burn and trauma victim. Dr. Blane mentioned a male voice had been on the 911 dispatch.
I’d never seen anyone as intimidating as this stranger. His clothes were saturated with bloodstains. A leather vest bore some kind of patch for a motorcycle club while his jeans hugged his hips, not sagging low enough to be indecent which was unusual for his type. A thick silver chain linked an object in his pocket to a belt loop, probably a wallet. His hair was shorn close to his head and added to the tough persona.
He was a biker. I’d seen plenty of them in the area over the last few years. Multiple tattoos covered his arms in full sleeves of black ink while a plain white t-shirt hugged the obvious muscles hidden below the fabric. None of these were as terrifying as the skull makeup smeared on his face or the appearance of hollowed-out shadows beneath his eyes that were sunken with black.
What kind of freak was this guy?
Suddenly, I didn’t care. All of my energy was focused on this stranger. The man who hurt my sister and dared to bring her into the hospital, no doubt her pimp or another just as responsible for her fate. I darted forward before anyone could stop me, snarling with rage. It didn’t matter how big and strong he was or how likely he was to pull a gun on me even if we were in the middle of a hospital O.R.
I’d kill him.
