The happy screams of children were replaced with cries of panic as gunshots rang out. Chaos erupted, and the crowd scattered in every direction. I pulled the Glock from my waistband and pushed through the frenzy, not waiting for Jelani. At the edge of the barricade, I spotted a beat-up Honda with a masked shooter hanging out the back window, spraying bullets into the crowd.
There was no way for me to get a clean shot from where I was, so I dropped low and moved closer.
“Money, get back!” Lani yelled from somewhere behind me.
I ignored him and kept moving, stepping over an older man groaning and clutching his arm. My nostrils flared as I stood, locking eyes with the shooter. He lowered his gun and lifted the bottom of his mask just enough to reveal a twisted grin. I raised my piece and fired twice. One round hit his shoulder, jerking him back. He faltered for a moment, but didn’t duck into the car. The nigga had heart, I‘d give him that.
Before I could get off another shot, hot, searing pain tore through my abdomen. I looked down, confused, as red bloomed across my white tee.
“Rahmel sends his regards from the grave, bitch!” the shooter shouted, his voice dripping with hatred. The tires of the Honda screeched against the pavement as he raised his gun again. I clenched my teeth, trying to ignore the pain, and squeezed the trigger. Another sharp pain tore through my chest. My body jerked back as the world around me blurred. I stumbled, fighting to stay upright, but I couldn’t. It was getting hard to breathe.
“Money!” Someone yelled my name — Lani? Slim? I couldn’t tell. Everything was a blur of noise and chaos. A hard bump against my shoulder brought me to my knees as someone ran past.
I clutched my stomach in a desperate attempt to stop the blood pouring through my fingers. Darkness pressed at the edges of my vision.
“Cash!” The voice was faint now. I gasped, my lungs burning as they struggled to get air.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to end.
I exhaled and let the darkness swallow me whole.
CHAPTER4
JASMINE MILLER
The folksin the traveling nursing Facebook group had warned Peachtree Memorial was no joke, but no—I thought I was hot shit and got greedy. It was the highest paying contract I’d ever been offered, and how bad could it really be? Even when Monica warned me when I started that most travel nurses didn’t last more than a month, I brushed her off. I’d survived some of the toughest hospitals in the five boroughs—I could handle whatever Peachtree Memorial threw at me.
Now? After every shift, I seriously considered packing up my Altima and heading back to Queens. The money was good, but lately, it felt like I was trading my mental health for a paycheck, and I was beginning to wonder if it was really worth it.
Tonight was shaping up to be one of those shifts that tap-danced all over my nerves. The ER was always chaotic, but we were short-staffed, and it was packed like everybody in the damn city had an emergency. Everyone was on one. One patient got so fed up with waiting that he threw literal shit at Monica when she finally got to him.
“They don’t pay me enough for this shit!” she screamed, ripping off her badge. “Fuck this job!”
“Monica, wait!” I called, chasing after her to the nurses’ locker room.
“I’m done, Jas,” she snapped, yanking her locker open. “On everything I love, I’m out this bitch.” She started shoving her stuff into her bag and slammed it shut.
“Woo-sa,” I said, gently touching her arm. Monica’s meltdowns were legendary. After eavesdropping on a few of the older nurses, I’d learned this happened at least once a quarter. Administration would give her a verbal warning, threaten a write-up or suspension, but they’d never let her go. She’d been here too long. And truth be told, she was a damn good nurse.
Brodie stuck his head through the door.
“Miller, we need you back on the floor. Mass casualty incident at the Underground—got a shit ton of victims coming in.”
Monica rolled her eyes and dug her keys out of her purse. “Girl, quit this bitch with me right now, and we can go get a drink.”
Technically, she had a few hours left in her rotation; I only had twenty minutes. But we were slammed and critical patients on the way, it didn’t matter how tired I was—I couldn't walk out in good conscience.
“I’ll be out there in a minute,” I told him.
He nodded, glancing at Monica. “See you next week, Mo,” he snickered before ducking out the door.
“I bet you won’t,” she grumbled, flipping him off as it swung shut behind him.
I sighed dramatically, poking out my bottom lip. “Alright, sis, let me get back in the trenches. I guess I’ll see you around.”
“Don’t be like that, New York,”she teased, using the nickname she’d given me. “This place is too fucking much. I’m a nurse. These niggas need me more than I need them,” she huffed, tucking a braid behind her ear.
She wasn’t wrong.
