Fracture(31)

I make it through rounds, on time thankfully, and I see the patients who have been admitted on my day off. Punctured lung, congenital heart defect, septicemia. Everything is relatively serious today. Serious enough that I have to spend a considerable amount of time with each patient, assessing their progress and filling out the necessary paperwork for their records and meds. It’s midday by the time I finally get the chance to lock myself in the bathroom and text Zeth.





Your friends followed me to work this morning.





A minute passes before the phone chimes in my hand.





Zeth: What happened?

Rcv’d 12:48 pm





Me: Nothing. They just followed us. Parked out front. What do you mean, what happened? Is something going to happen?





Zeth: Doubtful.

Rcv’d 12:51





And then…





Zeth: You okay?

Rcv’d 12:51





I should tell him the truth: no, I’m not okay! But that wouldn’t serve any real purpose. Plus for some reason I don’t want to look weak in front of him. If I admit to being frightened of his thug business colleagues, then it feels the same as admitting I’m frightened of him. And no way am I admitting that. He knows I am, but I’ll never own up to it. I’m in the middle of typing a long, strongly worded text back to him when the phone starts ringing in my hand. I pick up, frowning.

“What?!”

“You didn’t reply. When someone asks you if you’re okay after telling them you’re being watched, it’s usually a good idea to confirm you’re still alive,” he reprimands me in his deep, gravel-filled voice.

“I was replying to—urgh!” I don’t even bother. “What can you do about these guys eating donuts outside the hospital?”

“Nothing.” His voice is flat and unconcerned.

“What? They’re your boss’s men, right? Don’t you get along with any of these guys?”

That makes him laugh—a rumble that teases its way into my ear and makes me shiver. “We all tend to keep out of each other’s way. Charlie prefers it like that.”

“Well what am I supposed to do if they follow me home when I’m done here?” I ask. The thought of going home and sitting in that big house on the hill with only Lacey for protection isn’t exactly a reassuring one.

“You’re gonna be fine,” he tells me. “I got boys looking after you. Besides, they’re just watching. And if one of them breaks into your house, just stab them.”

Just stab them? My mouth falls open. “I don’t go around stabbing people!”

“Got a gun?”

“No!”

“Then you can’t really shoot them instead, can you?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose between index finger and thumb, slumping down to sit on the closed toilet lid. “Zeth, can you please just get back here as soon as possible. Please.”

“Anyone would think you needed me,” he says in a low, silky tone. I have shivers again. All over my body.

“I don’t!”

“Well I need you.” The tenor of his voice slips into a vocal range I’ve never really heard before, so low and rough that my whole body starts to burn. “Next time I see you, I’m introducing you to a few friends from the bag. I’m getting fucking hard just thinking about it. Fuck. There’s one toy in that bag that I think you like almost as much as I do.”

He’s talking about the knife; I know he is. I swallow thickly, shaking my head, trying to push all memories of the last time he used it on me out of my mind. He makes that really hard when he continues talking.

“I wanna slide my hands up those thighs, Sloane. I wanna tear your clothes from your body and make you tremble. I want to dig my fingers and my teeth into your skin and make you scream my name. You want that, too, huh?” he says.

Cold sweat pushes out of my pores, making my skin prickle. I’m a visual person. Say something to me and I instantly imagine it inside my head—and at this exact moment in time I find myself visualizing Zeth’s impressively big cock straining against his jeans, just begging to be let out to play. I clear my throat, closing my eyes. “That’s not exactly a practical thing to want right now.”

“What about me screams practical to you?” His voice dips in volume again, so that it’s almost a whisper. It has a flustering effect on me. “Where are you right now?” he asks.

“In the bathroom.”

“Anyone else in there with you?”

The question seems like a sensible one. A question you would ask if you were discussing mob bosses, being followed and stabbing people to death. I duck my head, looking underneath the stall dividers. No feet. No one standing at the washbasins, either. “No. No one else,” I confirm.