CHAPTER TWO
763 Words
The drive was tense, the cold press of the gun against her ribs doing nothing to ease it.
Nyra was used to high-dopamine experiences—she thrived in them—yet the gleaming blue eyes of this stranger in her rearview mirror made her feel a fear so deep she was shocked she hadn't crashed the car yet.
She glanced up from the highway and locked eyes with him in the mirror. She quickly shifted her gaze back to the road, her grip on the steering wheel tightening with every passing second.
A wave of nausea hit her. She bit her lip so hard she bruised it. She glanced up again. This time, the man was trying to stop the bleeding from his wound, which was staining her leather seats a dark, ugly red.
She grimaced at the sight of the gunshot wound. Her seat was done for, she thought sarcastically.
"That must hurt," she mumbled.
The man raised a brow, looking annoyed by her statement.
Shit. He heard her. She felt like a deer caught in headlights.
"I can help you with that." Her instincts acted before she could think.
The man didn't reply. It was as if he was trying to figure her out—one second she was crying, then sad, then amazed, annoyed, and now she wanted to help him.
He tore off his shirt and wrapped it around the spotting wound, but the bleeding wasn't slowing down. His deep groans sounded awfully sexy, yet his eyes were tense, alert. Sweat beaded on his forehead, glistening under the passing streetlights.
His jaw was locked so tight she could see the muscle twitching beneath his stubble. His brows drew together in a sharp V, and every few seconds, his eyes would squeeze shut, his nostrils flaring as he fought to keep his breathing steady. Even in agony, there was something terrifyingly beautiful about the way his face twisted—pain and control warring for dominance.
She watched him faint in the back of her car, and she froze. The traffic light flashed green, and she was quick to drive off, heading straight to her house. The hospital was off-limits. She couldn't risk her license—not when she was so close to becoming an attending.
The thought took her mind back to Adrian. A bitter thought lingered, ever so slightly.
Getting the six-foot-two man inside with her tiny five-foot-six frame was tasking, yet somehow she got him sprawled on her white couch, watching the color drench with his blood. She cussed inwardly.
She worked fast and quiet. Gloves. Antiseptic. Sutures. Her hands shook, but she didn't let herself stop. If anyone finds out I treated a gunshot without reporting it, I'm done. Finished. They'll strip my license before I can even defend myself. She glanced at the window every thirty seconds, expecting sirens, expecting someone to burst through the door. She flushed the bloody gauze down the toilet. She told herself she was being paranoid. She didn't believe it.
Nyra stepped onto the balcony, the night air biting her skin. Below, the city sprawled in a mess of lights and shadows, indifferent to her unraveling.
Her relationship—one she had been so proud of—had been destroyed in the blink of an eye, betrayed by the ones she trusted most.
The solemn atmosphere was interrupted by the sound of her phone ringing.
"Dr. Nightbane," the voice said, clipped and formal. "You have been called in by the board. A formal letter will be sent to your email shortly."
The words hit harder than anything that had happened to her today.
Her license was her identity. A summons from the board was never a good thing.
She stood there, the phone still pressed to her ear long after the line went dead. Her breath came shallow. The balcony railing felt cold and unsteady beneath her palms. Summoned.
She ran through a thousand reasons why
Has she gone wrong in any procedure?
Could they possibly know that she treated a gunshot patient.
But that was definitely not possible
Had the hospital flagged something?—but nothing came to mind.
Nothing that made sense.
She thought of the man bleeding on her couch. She thought of the gun still tucked in his waistband. She thought of the years she'd sacrificed, the sleep she'd lost, the life she'd given up for two little letters after her name.
Dr. Nyra Nightbane.
She gripped the railing until her knuckles turned white, staring out at a city that suddenly felt like it was closing in.
- Writer
