AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Junayd finished stitching the wound and moved to look over Harry’s shoulder at the graze on her leg. Harry did good work. The stitches looked good and she would barely have a scar.
“Let’s move her to a more comfortable bed. I only gave her a mild anesthetic. She won’t be out long,” Harry said.
Junayd removed his bloody gloves, paper surgical gown, and mask, disposing of them in a red biohazard container. Harry wheeled the bed out of the surgical room and through a set of double doors. The contrast from a bright, modern operating room to a dimly lit bedroom artfully decorated with antiques from the early nineteen-hundreds was disorienting. He felt like he had moved from one movie set to another.
“Help me transfer her," Harry instructed.
Junayd gently gripped Midnight’s shoulders and together they shifted her to the bed.
"I’ll clean up the operating room while you keep an eye on her,” Harry said as he pushed the operating bed back through the doors.
Only when the doors closed behind the old doctor did Junayd move to Midnight’s feet, removing her ankle boots and setting them under the bed. She wore sensible, thick wool socks. He rubbed the arch of her foot, sat on the edge of the bed, and studied her concealed face.
She was beautiful in a wild, exotic way. He leaned over her and traced a faint, jagged scar near her temple with his thumb. She sighed softly at his touch.
“She got that scar climbing a fence when she was eight."
Idella was standing in a dark corner of the room. He flushed when he realized she must have been watching him.
"There was a repair shop where a pair of dogs were being abused," she continued. "Midnight decided she would rescue them. Someone forgot to tell the dogs that, but she saved them anyway.”
“Tell me more about her…. please,” he quietly requested.
Idella walked closer to the bed. She glittered in the light from the bedside table, her attire that of a world-renowned star, but her eyes were haunted, and something in the way she moved hinted at her dangerous depths. Once again, Junayd wondered if he was in some parallel universe.
She sat down on the bed and picked up Midnight’s limp hand, bringing it to her lips in a gentle kiss.
“Harlem, my… adoptive father for want of a better word, collected stray children.”
She lowered their entwined hands back to the covers, and when she looked up at him, her eyes were sharp and devoid of emotion.
“Not just any strays, though. He liked to collect ones he thought had potential,” she said.
“What type of potential?” he inquired with a dark frown.
The corner of Idella’s lip curled with derision. “Natural talents—such as my singing or Midnight’s ability to—” Idella paused and shook her head before she continued. “Talent combined with a physical ability. We not only had to be profitable, we had to be deadly. Harlem worked with multiple governments around the world finishing jobs that were too dangerous, too political, or politically incorrect, for them to send in their own personnel to complete.”
“Like going after Bronislav and the Coldhouse brothers.”
Idella dipped her head in acknowledgement. “It doesn’t look good for a government to target individual civilians, especially billionaires, even if those billionaires are behind the murder of prominent scientists, politicians, business leaders, or hundreds of innocent civilians in remote villages."
He looked down at hisAlmukhtar'sstill face. “And he used Midnight—to do what?"
Idella’s eyes followed his. “On a few very, very rare occasions, even Harlem’s cold heart wasn’t completely unaffected. He loved Midnight’s mother in his own way, but I think he loved Midnight more. Perhaps he saw a piece of himself in her.”
“Really," he said skeptically. "Why does she cover her face?”
Idella opened her mouth, then closed it and shook her head. She gave him a small smile, released Midnight’s hand, and stood up.
“If Midnight wants you to know her story, she will have to share it with you. Whatever you do, don’t remove her scarf. She would be furious. She is picky about who gets to see her.”
“Why? She is beautiful,” he softly exclaimed.
“Beautiful or not, it is her right to choose who sees her. Thank you for assisting Harry tonight.”
He stood up as well, his manners not allowing him to stay seated for long while a lady stood. “I’m glad I was here—and that her wounds were not worse than they were. I don’t even want to begin asking why you have a surgical unit in your Jazz club, only that I’m grateful you do,” he said.
Idella chuckled. “Yes, well, it has come in handy a time or two. Harry will keep an eye on her if you’d like to rejoin Tarek and me downstairs.” She took a step toward the door, her demeanor making it clear that he should follow.
