Billionaire Protector

by Kyanna Skye

  “Can you take out a bullet?” the doctor asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Come to me if there's a life-threatening situation. I'm Dr. Matthews.” He walked away, leaving Lana breathless and aching for answers, but she wasn't going to get any. She was too busy. The doctor whisked a patient to the back room, presumably for surgery, while she ran around attending to the other patients.

  All the patients were men. There were a lot of Natives and Mexicans with tattoos covering their bodies. Many had three, pale-blue dots meaning, 'Mi vida loca,' my crazy life in Spanish. They put them under their eyes and the place between their thumb and forefinger. There was lots of old English and cursive, some back murals, mostly of the Virgin Mary. These tattoos all had two things in common: they were gang affiliated and they were all made up of the characteristic blue-black ink Lana had seen on prison tattoos.

  They were treating thugs, and not just little boys running around in baggy clothes. These were career criminals who'd been to prison. They'd been shot at before. Many of them had old knife and bullet wound scars, and most had the telltale facial features of drug use.

  Lana wore a cold mask most of the day. She kept it positioned so nobody could see her features. She didn't know what was going on at the clinic, and she didn't know whether or not it was safe, so she tried to keep anyone from seeing her face. It didn't seem to make much difference. The patients were brought in screaming and babbling; they weren't looking at her face.

  She learned how to handle most wounds, aside from the ones that involved major organs. At first, it was daunting but there was a simple process to it. About halfway through her shift, she had a rhythm. By that time, things quieted down and she had a chance to take a seat. Dr. Matthews walked in while she was sitting in the break room.

  “Can you do this?” He sharpened his eyes towards her.

  “Yes.”

  “Can you agree to never say a word about anything you see here?”

  “Why?” She stood up to meet him. “I have to know what I'm getting into. Is this safe? Well-guarded? What are you doing?”

  “When you're here,” he stepped towards the door, “you will not ask questions about anything. Your safety is never guaranteed, but I've been here fifteen years, and I've never been shot. That's all you get.”

  “It's just....”

  “Either you can or you can't handle this job, and I need to know now—no bullshit. Now can you accept this position?”

  “Of course I can. We're saving lives, but this is dangerous.”

  “It's not dangerous.”

  She was being told that she was relatively safe and that she shouldn't ask questions. She had already treated dozens of gunshot wounds with no explanation, and that was the only information she was going to get. It was enough to keep her there, but not enough to satisfy her.

  She had a lot of questions. The only patients there were thugs. The receptionist told everyone who called that they were booked. If there were men physically guarding the building, they weren't at the clinic. It was in the middle of a parking lot, and she saw most every room in the place, but the clinic was well watched. They had a camera setup that covered every inch. There were no blind spots. The cameras saw everything, and there were motion sensors outside the entrances.

  Things could still happen. Men could come in with guns and kill people before security got there. She was starting to feel vulnerable.

  Lana left the break room and saw a man get wheeled in with a bullet wound on his upper arm. Unlike most of the patients, he wasn't screaming, or even strained. Instead, he was holding his arm like he'd gotten a cut and needed a Band-Aid. His rough, scraggly face was angled by a long nose. He reminded her of depictions of ancient Vikings.

  The floor was mostly filled with sleeping patients, so she had to help him. The doctor handed his file to her while he was treating another patient. “He's quick. I need the bed. Hurry, and don't stare.”

  Why would Lana stare?

  “Hurry up.” The patient's face came out from behind the curtain.

  “Fine.” Lana walked in without looking at him and turned to pull some gauze out of the cupboard. When she closed the door, he was staring at her.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” She turned back to him and moved her eyes down his arm, to where the wound was. He might not have even needed a doctor. “Do you know what you're doing?” He held out his arm so she could work on it.

  “I've treated 36 patients today.”

  “No. Not that,” he said. When he tilted his head up to look at her, his Nordic features made her shiver.

  “What then?”

  “You know what I'm talking about. Are you okay to work here? You're new, and we have to screen all the girls.” The way he looked up at her with playful eyes told her this man had authority.

  “I've got it covered.” Lana stitched him up.

  “Most people can't do this. I'm impressed that a girl like you can stomach it.”

  “Girl like me?” She stepped back and put her hand on her hip.

  “A girl that's petite and quiet. You look more like a librarian.”

  “Fuck you.”

  He chuckled, and let his puppy-dog eyes rest on her tits. She scoffed and grabbed a jacket from the wall so she could cover herself up. It wasn't a violation so much as the fact that she couldn't help but feel naked when she was around him.

  “Aw, come on,” he said when she walked back into his patient area. “You look better the other way.”

  “Do you want painkillers?” She swabbed him with rubbing alcohol.

  “No.”

  She was trying to threaten him. She didn't think he'd walk out without at least numbing the wound a little. That was insane and possibly dangerous. “You're really gonna leave without a shot?”

  “Yeah.” He braced his thick arms against the exam table when he jumped off. “Let me repay you for this.”

  “No.”

  “You can't do this without letting me thank you.” It was adorable watching him sway back and forth on his feet.

  “No.” She shook her head. There was no way she was going anywhere with him.

  “You're new to San Diego, so you've probably never been to a fresh catch seafood place. They catch it straight out of the ocean and put it on your plate. There is nothing like it.”

  “Are you trying to bribe me with food?” Lana questioned.

  “I'm just trying to figure out where we're going tonight.” He was rough but articulate, and his blond hair shifted around when he talked.

  “Why do you want me to go with you so badly?” Lana challenged him.

  “Because you're tough.”

  She tapped her foot and stared down at the tile. “I'm not having sex with you. We are not going on a date, but I do want some of that seafood.”

  “Cool.” He pulled out his phone. “What's your number, Lana?”

  “Wait.” She stepped back into the curtain. “How do you know my name?”

  “Like I told you we keep tabs on the girls here.”

  “You did an investigation on me?”

  “What?” He sounded surprised. “No. My father and his friend own this place. We do background checks and keep a file on all the employees. I checked yours out yesterday. I check out all the nurses.”

  “I'll bet you do.”

  He leaned against the examination table, just a few feet from where she was standing in front of the divider curtain. “Are you coming with me tonight?”

  “I don't even know your name.”

  “Look it up in my file.” He pointed to the bright-yellow folder that was hanging above his bed.

  “Fine.” She wrote down her number and gave it to him. Then when he left, she pulled out the folder; his name was Tony Carter.

  Chapter 5

  Lana was sitting on the motel bed wearing a white shirt and black capris, trying to figure out whether or not she wanted to get in the car and leave San Diego. This place was worse than Arizona. S
he didn't mind the environment or the prices. She could even withstand the work she was doing at the clinic—if it was legal, but it wasn't.

  Bullet wounds are not meant to be treated without informing the police. They check them to match up the victims to crimes. They take the bullet in for analysis and run it.

  What the clinic was doing was highly illegal, and Tony had something to do with it. These guys were coming in because of drugs and gang violence. It was the only explanation. Why were they getting shot?

  Tony was going to pick her up in an hour and she was frantic.

  What was she doing? She left Jim stranded and homeless. Now she was going on a date. They decided that it wasn't a date, but it was a date. Tony was going to be dressed up, Mr. Slick, driving a nice car and she was going to walk out in rags.

  Lana didn't care about Jim. There were times when he'd openly cheat on her, so she wasn't worried about betraying him. She was more worried about the fact that Tony was going to find her there, living out of a motel on the side of the highway. He was going to have questions about why she was there, and why she didn't have a place to stay. She wouldn't be able to explain any of it, and it was going to end up leaving her humiliated.

  But she figured he'd probably let her come along for the food. She perked up, did her face and was just adding some perfume when he knocked on the door.

  “Hi,” she barely cracked the door.

  “You ready?

  “Yeah, one second.” She eased out of the room so he couldn't see inside and walked to his black convertible. She had no idea what kind of car it was, but it looked like a show model.

  After she got in, he braced against the door and hopped inside with a crash. He turned her way. “It's not a date.”

  “I know it's not a date. God, just drive.” She stared up the street.

  “No,” he responded playfully.

  “What do you mean no?” Lana asked.

  “I said no. I'm not going to drive, not until you promise that this is not a date.” For a second, she thought he was serious.

  “I promise,” she said. “It's not a date.”

  He threw the car out of the lot and slammed on the gas, sending them careening downhill towards a sharp twist in the road. They were about to crash into the boulder-faced hillside.

  “Ah! Tony!” She grabbed his arm. “What are you doing!? You're going to kill us.”

  Just a few seconds and the car would crash.

  “It's okay.” The car slowed and hugged the road. Then it took the twist without compromising too much speed.

  Lana looked at Tony, who was staring down at her. Then she jumped back. “You did that on purpose.”

  “I did not.” They turned onto a straightaway that ran parallel to the coast, where a mist was rolling in over the water.

  “How fast are you going?”

  “80.”

  “Jesus, are you trying to kill us?”

  He turned to her with a smirk. “Look at the pretty water and go with it.”

  Her cheeks went red. “Where are we going?”

  “To eat seafood.”

  That's all she was going to get out of him. So she held on tight while they snaked up the cliffs where the slightest wrong turn could send them flying down into the water hundreds of feet below. He sped through like it was nothing.

  Eventually, the land fell once more and she was staring at a large building, lit up and sitting near the beach. Then it disappeared when they descended and stopped at a security gate.

  “Why aren't we at a restaurant?”

  “I said a fresh catch seafood place. I didn't say a restaurant. The best fresh seafood comes from my waters. The best place to eat it is in my estate.”

  “Your estate?” She nearly jumped back.

  “What? Money doesn't matter, does it?”

  “It does when you're not sure where it comes from.”

  He opened the window and had them buzzed in. They drove through a hedge-lined, gravel path. On either side of the grass field in front of the house, there were Greek fountains surrounded by rings of purple marigolds. They pulled to the head of a wraparound driveway and stopped in front of the entrance to the courtyard that sat in the center of the house. The building was made of thick, white stucco with wooden beams sticking out of the ceiling and an aged, red-tile roof.

  “You rented this place out for the night,” Lana said when they stopped.

  “Look at me.” He snatched her hand up and locked eyes with her. “I didn't rent this place out. This is my home. It's a renovated, 18th century Spanish estate.” She looked up the walls, and at the wood beams. The roof confirmed his claim. The tile had broken away in large segments.

  “You're telling the truth, aren't you?”

  “Yes. Come on.”

  Chapter 6

  Some unknown servant had already laid out a black carpet for them when they got out of the car. “The carpet's too much, Tony.”

  “It was just something special. You know, since I'm having company. It's no big deal, really: more of a novelty.”

  “It is kind of nice not having to get my shoes dirty.” Lana was wearing absorbent, black flats, and the gravel was soaking wet below the rug.

  “That's why people started making these things. The old, rich people in Europe didn't want to step down from their carriages into the mud, so they had somebody go everywhere with them to hold a carpet.”

  “Is that true?” Lana asked as they walked into the courtyard.

  “I don't know,” he shrugged. “Just what I heard.”

  “You don't belong in a place like this.” She sat down on a bench below an ash tree in the center of the courtyard.

  “Where do I belong?” He was standing in front of her with his back to the moon.

  Lana couldn't see his face, just his lumberjack silhouette. “In a shipyard or an oil rig, someplace rough.”

  “This place is rough,” he said seriously. “Keep your head down.”

  “I will, but you're not the tough guy I thought you were, Tony. Look at all this.”

  “I'm worse.”

  “No, you're refined. You've got this amazing house, fishermen, and waterfalls pouring down the cliffs onto your beach. Come on. You're not a thug.”

  “Thugs aren't dangerous. I'm dangerous. I want you to know that.”

  “I don't give a shit. This isn't a date.”

  “Yes, it is.” He pulled her up off the bench by the collar and kissed her. She didn't even know it was happening till she started burning up all over. Then he pulled back and she wanted to slap him. He wasn't supposed to do that. She was supposed to be staying away from men, especially men like him. Now Lana was caught up in Tony, and she was going to have to give him what he wanted.

  He was dangerous.

  He let go of her collar and hooked his arm in hers. “Come on.” They walked through the main entrance, a ceramic-tiled room with a simple, Spanish chandelier hanging down from the ceiling. In the corners, there were little tables with lavish flower arrangements.

  “This is tacky.” She turned to him with a mock frown.

  “It costs more than the clinic. So shut up and like it.”

  They walked through a pair of metal, double doors into a modern, stainless-steel kitchen. “Why are we in the kitchen?”

  “I'm going to cook for you.” He walked to the cupboard and pulled out a sauté pan. Then he drizzled it with olive and set it on to heat. Once the oil was hot enough, he added minced garlic.

  “You're not going to impress me.” Lana sat down on a stool near the counter in the middle of the room.

  “I'm not trying to impress you. I just hate chefs.” He pulled out his cell phone and tapped away. Then he started adding vegetables to the sauté pan. “I want my food cooked with love. When somebody else makes it, all their crap gets in the mix.”

  “I've never thought of that before.”

  The door opened and a young man walked in holding something in butcher paper. He passed it to Tony and
walked out.

  “What is that?”

  “Fresh-caught shelled shrimp.” He washed the shrimp and poured it into the pan then began adding a slurry of herbs and spices. He filled the kitchen with the smell of sea salt.

  “Oh, that smells good.”

  He started to make a pasta dish with linguine and a light sauce drizzled over the shrimp.

  “I'll bet this is the only thing you know how to make.”

  “No.” He turned back to her. “You tell me something and I can make it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” He pulled out a bottle of wine and poured it into two glasses. Then he passed one of the glasses to her.

  She took a sip and swirled the wine around in her glass.

  “No pressure. I know we kissed and all, and I like you, but I don't have any expectations.”

  “Don't. My life's a mess.” She meant it. This wasn't a date.

  “You live in a motel?”

  Lana took a sip of her wine. “I do. I left somebody in Arizona. Just got here.” She wasn't going to give him any details.

  “Ah. Well, it's better here trust me. You'll like San Diego.”

  He turned around and played around with the food. Then he started pulling plates out of the cupboard.

  He grabbed the food and took her out to a covered veranda facing the water.

  “It's amazing out here.” He already had a table setup outside for them.

  “Hey, this life is not fun.” He sat down with her. “You don't want to be rich. Trust me. I've got bankers, investors, and lawyers trying to contact me all day every day. It's terrible.” He took a bite of the pasta.

  “None of this matters, you know. I just came for the seafood.”

  “Nah.”

  “No. I really did. I just left my ex in Arizona. Now I'm living in a motel. You don't want to deal with me.”

  “You're just a little shaken up is all. You're fine.” They drank their wine and ate their food quietly. Then when they were done, Tony popped open another bottle of red wine and they took their drinks out to the sand.

  “I don't know if I can trust you.” Lana was laying down in the sand with her head sitting in Tony's lap. “I mean what do you want?”

  “If I didn't want you, you wouldn't be here. I'll stick around if you want me to.”