Chapter Six
Morning crept in, filteringthrough the narrow window of the clubhouse room Elena had barely slept in.She lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, heart already tired.Her body felt like it had been wrung out and hung to dry.Her muscles were sore from tension, nerves still buzzing from last night’s fear.
For a few seconds, she almost forgot where she was.Then memory snapped back sharp and unkind.The cartel.Reaper’s hand on her arm, iron and heat and urgency.The way his mouth had felt against hers, rough and real enough to linger in her dreams.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.Elena flinched before she could stop herself, then let out a slow breath and reached for it.
Mercy General ER:Hey Elena, sorry for the short notice.Maria called in sick.Any chance you can come in today?We’re already short-staffed.
She closed her eyes.Of course they were.She sat up, the thin sheet sliding down her legs, and rubbed her face with both hands.She could almost hear the ER already.The constant beeping, the sharp smells, the organized chaos that somehow felt more stable than this strange limbo she’d landed in overnight.
Reaper’s voice echoed in her head, telling her to stay down until the storm passed. Elena looked to the overnight bag at the foot of the bed.Her scrubs were folded neatly inside.
She had packed them out of instinct.Nurses packed scrubs the way soldiers packed boots, just in case.Elena exhaled slowly and stood.She showered.
By the time she was dressed, the woman in the mirror looked like herself again.Elena had pulled her hair back, kept her face bare except for the faint shadows under her eyes.She looked tired, yes, and maybe a little shaken, but she was still standing.
She slung the bag over her shoulder and opened the door.Reaper was there.He leaned against the opposite wall like he’d been there all morning, his arms crossed, and his jaw tight.He looked like he hadn’t slept either.
He dropped his gaze from her face and to her clothes and his expression darkened.
“What are you doing?”he demanded.
“I’m going to work,” she said, steady even as her pulse spiked.
“No, you’re not,” he said.
She shifted her weight but didn’t back up.“An ER nurse called in sick.They need me,” she pointed out.
“Elena,” he said, her name rough like gravel.“The cartel is still out there.You don’t think they’ll try the hospital again?”
Heat rushed to her face.It wasn’t just from anger, but memory.From the way his mouth had claimed hers last night and even the way he was looking at her now ...it was like he wanted to lock her behind a door and throw away the key.She forced herself to breathe.
“I do think about that,” she said.“Constantly.It’s my job.”
“This isn’t a shift swap,” he snapped.“This is your life.”
She met his gaze head-on.Elena didn’t flinch.“It’s my choice,” she stated.
For a split second, something dangerous flickered in his eyes.There was possession and frustration.Fear wrapped so tight it almost looked like anger.
She wondered, absurdly, what he’d think if she told him she’d dreamed of him last night.Of his hands and the heat in his eyes as he straddled her in bed.The thought sent an unwelcome curl of warmth through her stomach.She shoved it aside.Focus, she reminded herself.
“I can’t just disappear,” she said.“People depend on me.Patients don’t stop bleeding because I’m scared.”
