I didn’t know her name, didn’t need to, but she was a problem, a distraction. I pushed her out of my head, or tried to, and kept moving, my feet hitting the pavement with purpose.
I was cutting through King Street, the heart of Charleston’s polished facade, when I heard it—shouts, sharp and ugly, slicing through the city hum. My head snapped up, instincts kicking inbefore my brain caught up. Two guys were going at it on the sidewalk, one wiry and twitchy in sagging jeans, the other built like a linebacker in a puffer vest that screamed out-of-towner. The wiry one was yelling, his voice high and ragged, while the big guy loomed, fists clenched, ready to throw down. A small crowd had gathered, tourists and locals alike, their phones out like this was reality TV.
I slowed my pace, sizing them up, the pull tugging at my gut. This was my kind of trouble, the kind that let me do some good while burning off the restless energy that had been dogging me since her.
Then I saw the knife. The wiry guy pulled it from his waistband, a cheap blade that promised pain, and the crowd gasped, backing up like roaches when the lights come on. The big guy froze, his bravado crumbling, but the wiry one was too far gone, lunging forward with a snarl.
I didn’t think, didn’t hesitate—I moved, fast and quiet. I closed the distance in a blink, grabbing the guy’s wrist mid-swing and twisting hard. The crack of bone was loud, his scream louder, and the knife hit the sidewalk with a metallic clatter. I shoved him down, my knee pinning his chest, my hand still locked on his broken wrist to keep him from trying anything stupid.
The big guy stumbled back, muttering something incoherent, his face pale as he realized how close he’d come to a bad day.
“Stay down,” I growled, my voice low, my eyes boring into the wiry guy’s.
He whimpered, his fight gone, and I eased up just enough to let him breathe.
The crowd was buzzing now, gawking, whispering, but I ignored them, scanning for any other threats. The big guy was already backing away, hands up like he wanted no part of this anymore.
Smart move.
I stood, slow and deliberate, letting the wiry guy writhe on the ground, and kicked the knife into a storm drain where it wouldn’t cause more trouble. My knuckles were tingling, my pulse steady, and for a moment, I felt like myself again—clear, in control, the kind of man who could fix things with his hands and walk away without a trace.
Then I saw her. Through the boutique window across the street, framed in glass like a goddamn painting—Sloane Carrington. The spoiled brat I’d given a ride to, the one who’d sneered at my truck and walked away without a thank-you. She was standing there, all silk and sunglasses, her face pale but her eyes sharp, locked on me like a missile.
I froze for a split second. Her gaze was intense, searching, like she was trying to place me, to connect dots that weren’t there. I could see the confusion in her eyes, the flicker of something familiar she couldn’t quite grab. That was my cue to get the hell out.
I turned on my heel and moved fast, blending into the crowd before she could step outside or, worse, before the cops showed up. I was treading a dangerous line, saving the day incognito like some vigilante with a death wish. The last thing I needed was Sloane Carrington poking her nose into my business, asking questions I wouldn’t answer. She was trouble, the kind that came with trust funds and expectations, and I wanted nothing to do with her. My perfect day didn’t have room for her brand of chaos.
I kept my head down, my pace steady, weaving through the foot traffic until the boutique was blocks behind me. My heart was pounding, not from the fight but from her—those eyes, that moment when she’d almost seen me. I told myself it was nothing, that she’d forget me within the hour.
I needed to think about something else, anything else. My future, maybe. Medical school flickered in my mind, that half-finished dream I’d walked away from when I realized I’d just be another cog in a machine that didn’t care. I’d gone back for a semester, learned enough to be useful, but the bureaucracy, the politics—it wasn’t me. I wanted to help people, not push paper or kiss ass for a degree.
Would the woman in red like that? A doctor, all polished and respectable?
No.
Stupid thought.
She’d wanted me raw, unfiltered, masks on and rules off.
I pushed the idea away, but it lingered, nagging at me like a splinter. I didn’t need a white coat to do what I did. I just needed the pull, the duffel, and a street that needed fixing.
Her face kept creeping back, though—the woman in red. I could still feel her under me, her body yielding and fighting at the same time, her moans like a song I couldn’t unhear. I wanted to sink my cock into her again, slow and steady, feel her breath hitch as I took her apart. The thought hit me hard, my dick stirring in my jeans, and I cursed under my breath.
Get it together, Charlie. No time for getting pussy-whipped over a ghost.
I needed to move, to do something real, to keep her from invading my headspace.
The free community clinic was a few blocks away, a squat brick building tucked between a pawn shop and a laundromat. It was a place where the desperate came, where I could help without anyone asking too many questions. Perfect. I’d lose myself in someone else’s pain, drown out the woman in red with something that mattered.
The clinic’s waiting room was a snapshot of Charleston’s underbelly—worn-out mothers with fussy kids, old men withcoughs that sounded like death, a few junkies twitching in the corners. The air smelled of antiseptic and despair, the fluorescent lights buzzing like they were on their last legs.
I didn’t check in, didn’t flash a name. I just caught the eye of Maria, the nurse who ran the place like a general, and nodded toward the back. She knew me, knew I always came to help, knew I had vast experience though there wasn’t a degree on the office wall that could prove it.
“Room three,” she said, barely looking up from her clipboard. “Kid with a fever and a mom who’s scared shitless.”
I slipped into the exam room, duffel at my side, and found a young woman pacing, her toddler slumped in a chair, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy. The mom froze when she saw me, her hands twisting together like she was bracing for bad news.
“You the doctor?” she asked, voice tight.
