King had men, and lots of them. They all crawled out from every nook and cranny they could find to hide around my complex. Between the garage bays. They descended on Crush like a horde of vultures, and King made me watch as they jumped. There was a flurry of fists and feet, and the sound of a gun going off. My heart went to my throat, and I screamed against King’s hand.
One of the men fell, and I could see the bullet wound through his heart. I was relieved, but only for a moment. Crush was tackled to the ground, and they turned his head to the side. One man grabbed his muscular arm that was holding the gun and brought his foot down on Crush’s hand. I didn’t need an x-ray to tell me that it was broken.
Not to be outdone, Crush pressed his body up, heaving the man on his back off of him. The man that had broken his hand grabbed Crush’s wrist and turned his arm with a sickening snap behind him, dislocating Crush’s shoulder. Crush let out a roar of pain, and I couldn’t help but wince.
“You did that to him,” King whispered in my ear. “Such a good doctor you are. Tell me, princess, how much does a dislocated shoulder hurt? On a scale of 1 to a broken heart from betrayal of the only woman he’s ever loved?”
Crush’s left arm hung at an odd angle from his body, and his face was beaten and bloody. He put up his right arm to fight, but there were simply too many men. It didn’t take long for him to be taken down, and his eyes met mine before one of them dealt a knockout blow.
I watched in horror as they drug his unconscious body to a waiting van and threw him in the back. One of the guys jogged back to Crush’s bike. He was slimy and covered in dirt from the fight and swung his leg over the machine. He started it up, cracking the throttle so that it would roar, and he winked at me. I wanted to barf, and I saw him laughing as he rode away.
If I knew anything about motorcycle clubs, it was that club members treated their bikes like they did their women. Riding another man’s bike was like making a move on his woman, and I had provided stitches to a few recruits who had made the mistake of straddling another’s bike. The implication of his wink was not lost on me. The man followed behind the van on Crush’s bike, and I watched until they disappeared into the traffic of Las Vegas.
King’s grip loosened on my arms, and I turned to him in a fury. I raised my arm to punch him, but I heard the soft click of a safety going off on a gun. I kept my fist up and looked at the man in the black suit with the sunglasses around his eyes, his hand on his gun. King smirked at me—he was untouchable, and he knew it.
I dropped my fist, and King let out a low chuckle. He snaked his hand around me, settling it on the small of my back. I moved away, but it was useless. The balcony was too small to provide much of an escape from his touch. He led me inside, and I refused to sit on the couch. I matched King’s stare, uncaring if he saw me crying. I was too fucking livid and heartbroken to give a shit.
King smiled at me. “You did well, Brianna. It was a very believable performance. I think I might bring it up to Crush. He’s obviously got a soft spot for you. I’m sure you’ll be the last thing he thinks about before he dies.”
“Are you going to kill him?” I couldn't help but ask.
King shrugged. “Almost certainly. If he has any wits about him, he’ll reveal his plans and his allies. If he does, I’ll consider making it a quick death.”
I kept quiet, but I refused to back down from King’s stare. I felt gross as he stared at me, drinking me in. I watched as his eyes traveled down my body, full of lust. I wanted to puke at the thought, and King just kept up his creepy act.
“I have big plans for you, Brianna,” he smirked.
“Leave,” I demanded coldly, meeting his eyes with a pointed glare. King’s bodyguards took a step closer to us, but King waved them off. “Now.”
King looked at me but said nothing. He and his men filed out, and I followed them to the door. As soon as he was over the threshold, I slammed the door behind him. I angrily threw the lock and slid down the door. I brought my knees up to my chest, and I finally let go. I let all the emotions and rage and tears fall out. I screamed in agony, trying to free myself of everything I could. I didn’t want to feel at all.
King was right.I had done this. Crush’s blood was on my hands, and I had led him straight to the trap. So much for “do no harm” that they drilled into me in med school. I failed Crush. I had failed us. And now, I could only hope that he lived, that he found a way out from whatever King had in store. Not that I would ever know.Ifhe survived, andifI ever saw him again, I didn’t deserve anything but his cruelest words and the cold shoulder.
I was reminded of the last time I had been crying on the floor at my door. I didn’t fight the tidal wave as it crashed into me, the grief coming on like a second skin. It was over five years ago, but the memories came back in high definition like a horror film that you can’t look away from…
It was a bright, sunny Saturday in February. I was in my small Vegas studio apartment right next to the med school. I had the morning news on, muted as always, and was looking over my textbook for an upcoming anatomy test. There was a slice of toast and a cup of coffee on the small table in front of me, and I was pouring over the textbook.
My parents were vacationing in a remote part of Costa Rica. Something about my mom’s research on coffee beans and farms. I hadn’t heard from them this morning, but that wasn’t uncommon due to the poor service. They had already been there a week, and I had maybe received two phone calls. The last I knew, they were going on some helicopter tour over the coffee farms.
There was a knock. Confused, I stood up and went to the door. I looked in the peephole to see a male police officer standing in the hallway. I checked the chain to see it was in place, and I unlocked the door. I opened it as far as I could with the chain. “Can I help you?” I asked.
“Brianna Gold?” the officer asked in return. I nodded. He pulled out his wallet, showing me his badge and ID. “My name is Officer Jones, with the Vegas Police Department. I need to speak with you. It’s about your parents. They were in an accident. May I come in?”
I shut the door and undid the chain. Opening it wide, I let the officer in. He walked in and I offered him coffee. But he declined. I sat down on the couch, and he stood in front of me. He was tall, with tan skin, wearing a short sleeve navy blue uniform. He kept his hat on, but I could see blond hair peeking out under the brim.
“Ms. Gold, I am so sorry,” the officer started. “Your parents…were you aware of their plans yesterday afternoon?”
“I think it was some helicopter tour,” I shrugged. “But with the poor service, I haven’t heard from them.”
His face set into a frown, and his eyes turned down in sympathy. My heart leaped into overdrive, and I couldn’t breathe.Something’s happened, I thought. The tears were already at the edge of my eyes, and Officer Jones looked sympathetic. He took a deep breath and continued.
“It appears that the helicopter malfunctioned due to mechanical error,” Officer Jones reported. “The pilot attempted an emergency landing, but it was unsuccessful. I’m sorry Ms. Gold, but your parents didn’t survive.”
Your parents didn’t surviverang in my head. My parents were…dead. And in a foreign country. I was now an orphan—and alone. I didn’t have siblings or grandparents, and I hadn’t talked to any aunts or uncles in the better half of a decade. It was just me. I looked down at my textbook, and it all seemed trivial now.
After that, the memory turned into a blur of tears and rage and agony.
This time was no different. I don't know long how long I sat there, blaming myself in a vicious cycle of tears and screaming. I just continued to sit there, and when my tears dried up, I remained. I put my chin on the top of my knees, staring down the hallway. I couldn’t feel anything anymore, and I sat there, just drained. I felt like a shell of a person, one without a heart or brain. I was completely and utterly…
