by Ann, Bry
I push all the way up and go back to the physical. I feel Seven’s eyes on me, but I can’t look at him. Until some of the fire dies from my cheeks, I’m gonna pretend that didn’t happen.
Almost forty minutes later, I’m done. I took my time with her since I’m betting she’s never had a physical before.
“I’m gonna ask the nurse to gather some blood work from her. She’ll be gentle. Given the… circumstances, I want to check for some things. Is that okay, Nia?”
She looks at Seven, but neither him nor I miss the fisting of her left hand.
“Can you do it?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at his daughters fisting hands.
“It’s not typical protocol,” I mumble.
“Fuck protocol. Nia trusts you.”
My eyebrows raise. “Oh, I… sure,” I stammer, fumbling over my words. “Let me gather my stuff and I’ll be right back.”
I head for the door, slightly frantic, when something wraps around my wrist. But this time, this time, it’s warm. Warm and rough. A man’s hand.
I freeze.
Shaking, I look over at the source of the warmth. I’m met with a stoic face and expressive eyes.
“Calm down. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
I stiffen then relax, lightly pulling away from his hold. I don’t say anything, just hustle out of the room for my supplies.
What a weird thing to say.
Was he ever gonna hurt me? Why is something vaguely terrifying comforting me so much? I feel awkward going back in there now. Was I that much of a mess?
With supplies in tow, I push my way back into the room.
“Do you think she’s afraid of needles?” I ask immediately.
“Probably not.”
“You don’t talk much, do you?”
“No.”
Well, okay then… He’s stiff as a board, all hulking and… giant.
The next several minutes go smoothly. Nia is so cooperative that I think she still feels bad for scaring me. There’s something about her silence that screams remorse.
When we’re done with the needles and I’ve cleaned up the area, I take her little arm and lead her to the corner of the room, dropping my voice down to a whisper.
“Don’t feel bad for scaring me, okay, sweetie? I was in my head. My fault.”
Nia looks weary. I rub her curly hair and stand back up to go to Seven.
“I want her to take Ensure once a day to start to see how her tummy handles it. If everything is good, add a second one later in the afternoon. I also recommend a probiotic and fish oil. Her skin’s a little dry. She needs more healthy fats. Also…” I fidget a bit. “I recommend therapy.”
Seven goes rigid, as I expected.
“Seven, I know a wonderful therapist who specializes in childhood trauma. Please consider it. For her. I personally vouch for this woman. You can trust Nia with her.”
“Nia doesn’t talk.” His voice is cold.
“Seven, Dr. Petti will know how to help her. If she doesn’t, she’ll tell you.”
I hand him a piece of paper with my recommendations listed.
“I want to see Nia in three months. I know it’s soon, but I need to check on her. There are vaccinations she needs. I want to see how her weight, skin, and mental health are progressing.”
“Is that all, doctor?”
Welp, he’s done with me.
“Yes.” I turn to Nia and crouch back down. Her deep brown eyes make a smile automatically spread on my lips, reaching all the way up to my eyes.
“I’ll see you soon, okay, princess? Keep sharing your thoughts with your… um…” I’m not sure what she calls Seven. “With him, okay?”
She reaches over, hesitantly, and squeezes my wrist. Seven clears his throat. Nia immediately runs over to him. He extends his hand with an expectant look on his face. She slowly curls her little fingers through his. It makes my heart melt, seeing his large hand holding her small one in a protective embrace.
“And doctor?”
“Yes,” I whisper, forcing my gaze up.
His eyes are intense, hard.
“You’d do best to hold onto those HIPPA guidelines when it comes to us.”
With that, he’s gone, and I’m left with wildly shaking hands and a rapidly beating heart.
Was that a threat?
Chapter Three
Seven
“How was your ‘normal’ doctor visit with Nia?” Frances, the capo I work with, teases. We’re at our normal Friday night meetup at a bar we own while the kids hang with their nanny and a few of the women.
I throw back my whiskey. Yes, I am a capo for the local mafia here. I’ve been a secret contact for the boss, Adam Ruston, for years. His dirty secret. One of them. I’m sure the man has many. He’s the smartest, most cunning man I’ve ever come across. My job has been to report any activity from the other local mobs, especially if any hint of the Castellos, an old rival group of his, come back. He killed nearly all of them years ago for torturing his now wife, Lacey Ruston. Once in a while, they surface. But the job got old. Being a secret got old. So, when I came to him and requested a position amongst his ranks, I had already earned his extremely hard-earned trust.
I was immediately made capo.
No one knows why.
No one ever will.
“Good.”
Frances throws his head back, exasperated.
“You are the fucking worst! You don’t fucking talk.”
I don’t say anything. If I can withstand being a prisoner of war, being tortured for information, and being mocked for my lack of vocabulary, annoying Frances sure as hell doesn’t bother me.
“Seven.”
I straighten and turn to my boss.
“Yes, Boss?”
“How was the appointment?” He slides into the seat across from us. A faint speckle of grey has made its way along the sides of his hair, making him look more mature, more distinguished. “I suspect you made it clear that your name is not to be mentioned.”
“I did.”
Boss wanted Nia to see the local mob doctor, but I refused. I don’t care what he asks me to do personally, but Nia, I care about that. A lot. I never saw myself being a father. That’s an understatement. I’ve always been intense, and then after I was freed from the war camp, I just… I committed myself to this life.
Then Frances met Marley. His girlfriend of sorts. She grew up on the streets, and during her time there, took on five kids; one was her own, but the other four were under her protection. The streets are rough for kids. Marley made sure they were all fed and protected from creeps. I don’t say much, but secretly, I respect the slightly psychotic woman for helping kids who couldn’t help themselves. But when she met Frances, she had a chance at a life and couldn’t raise all five kids forever. Not while trying to come to terms with her own personal trauma. Four of them were adopted by people who live in this house: Marley herself, Lacey’s best friend Rose and her husband, and Lacey’s boxing coach, Cut and his wife.
Nia wasn’t picked to be adopted by anyone here. She would have been sent off to a new place with people she didn’t know, forced to leave the people she grew up with. I couldn’t let that happen, no matter how incompatible I am with fatherhood. Plus, her inability or unwillingness to speak, the fact that she’s an elective mute, spoke to me. I was one for two years after being freed from the war camp. Even now, words are a burden I despise.
“Did Nia like her?” he asks casually, feeling out how regularly I will be putting out my information and face in public.
“She did, Boss.”
How could she not? That young doctor walked in the room with her long, strawberry blonde hair and big hazel eyes like she was the sun there to brighten Nia’s day.
Princess.
That’s what she called her. I don’t think Dr. Grace saw it, but something flashed in little Nia’s eyes when—hell, I don’t even remember her first name—the doctor called her that.
I slam back the shot some w
oman brings me. I see Boss’s eyes furrow. I never lose control of myself, but I’m about to with the amount of alcohol I’m drinking. Spinning the glass between my fingers, my tongue loosens and the reason for my excessive drinking comes tumbling out after days of suppressing it.
“Nia had bite marks.”
Boss stiffens. Frances freezes.
I stare harder at my glass.
“On her body.” My body trembles with rage. “From a human.”
“Fuck,” Boss hisses, slamming his drink down on the table.
Frances is quiet for a long time. We all are.
“I suppose,” Frances begins, trying to act like he doesn’t care, “I could talk to Marley. See what she knows about Nia’s background.”
I push to my feet. “I’d love that.”
Frances snorts. “You’d love to kill the bastard who hurt her, more like.”
I look over at him, eyes cold.
“Slowly.”
* * *
Isla
“Uh, Isla?”
Shit. Fuck. Shitty fuckkkkk.
I spin slowly on my heel with flaming cheeks.
“Babe!” Keisha and Danny squeal. “Are you going on a date?!”
“Please don’t make a big deal of this.” I blush. “I-I’m just…”
My hands fall up, then down.
“Get over here,” Danny sings. I’m blushing harder. Keisha whistles.
“Well hell, Isla, those scrubs don’t do you justice,” Keisha laughs, sounding surprised. “You’re hot.”
“Do they do anyone justice?” I mutter.
“Alright,” Danny whistles, wrapping his arm around Keisha. “Get out of here, Kee. Isla’s cheeks are about to explode.”
I gasp and cover my face.
Keisha mutters some stuff about me gettin’ some before Danny politely shoves her out of the office. With everyone else gone, the office lights mostly off, and just Danny here, I feel a little more free to be me. The me who literally packed a bag and got date ready in the staff bathroom after a twelve hour shift.
“Do I look like a hoe?”
Danny laughs. “Bug, you look beautiful.”
A side smile spreads on my lips at the nickname he’s maintained all these years.
“Pinky swear?”
“Stand in front of me and spin around.”
Click. Click. My heels tap as I do as he says, spinning to show him my small, black, halter top dress with a tiny slit on the left side. Matching are my yellow platform heels.
“Honestly?” Danny asks, making my heart race.
I somehow manage a squeaked-out yes.
“You look hot. You look interested, but you don’t look like a ‘hoe’.”
I breathe a half-sigh of relief. “Is it bad to look interested?”
“Not if you are interested.” Dan pauses, actually serious for once. “Isla, are you interested in this mystery guy?”
“It’s Ben, Sean’s dad,” I mutter.
He whistles. “You little rebel.”
“Shut up. I’m not sure yet, but for once,” I sigh heavily, “for once, Danny, I want to just be a beautiful girl on a date with a guy lusting after her. Not a doctor. Not Miss Twelve Hour Shifts. Not covered in snot and goo. Just Isla Grace.”
I’m embarrassed when a tear falls. I told you I’m emotional.
I wipe it quickly. “Gosh, I’m the worst. I have a great life.”
“Bug,” Danny coos, brushing my freshly curled hair back. “It’s okay to cry. You have to be tired.”
I nod wordlessly, so the lump in my throat doesn’t rise.
“Get out there, Isla. Show Sean’s sexy dad how hot you can be out of your scrubs.”
I snort. “Have I told you I love you?”
I look up at him with glassy eyes.
“Every day.”
“Good.”
“Turn off the light. You’re gonna be late.”
He plants his hands on my back and starts moving me around the office, making hysterical laughter bubble out of my chest the entire time.
* * *
I feel so uncomfortable I could die. I’ve only been to a bar one other time in my life. I know that’s weird. Bars and social anxiety mixed with slight paranoia? Yeah, no.
I peel my phone out of my clutch and open my Kindle app, gluing my eyes to the screen, escaping in a story of a forbidden romance between a girl like me and a mafia underboss.
I’m practically drooling, it’s so good.
I’m almost frantic in the way I’m reading when a presence comes up behind me, leaning into my ear.
“I almost didn’t recognize you.”
I spin with a smile. “Hi, Ben.” I look him up and down. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
He smiles. “Come on. I saved us a room so we can talk without having to scream.”
“Room?”
He chuckles. “Follow me, Isla.”
I know he wants to take my hand, but I need to at least talk to him first. He leads me through the musty bar into a tiny room. I smile. It’s kinda sweet. Open doorway so he’s not pulling anything sketchy.
Until I realize we’re not alone.
I trip over my heel when a man even scarier than Seven eyes me from across the table. The sliding door I didn’t see slides closed behind me, leaving me alone with Ben and this stranger. He’s about 6’1, older, with bulky muscles and nearly white-blue eyes.
My heart starts to race and alarm bells go off all over the place.
“B-Ben,” I stammer.
“Just talk to my boss, babe. Then you can go. No need for panic.”
A sob works its way up my throat. No. No. No.
“You abuse Sean,” I gasp, feeling a panic attack work its way up my throat. “I s-saw his face when you asked me out. It bothered me. He-he was worried for me, because you…”
“Work for bad men?” he offers.
I clamp my hands over my ears. “I didn’t hear that! Don’t say that. Please.”
‘Cause then they’ll kill me. I’ve read books. If I know too much…
“Please, just let me go,” I plead, squeezing my eyes closed, trembling from head to toe.
Hands clamp around my wrists and I scream. I scream at the very top of my lungs. But it doesn’t last because Ben’s hands come around my throat and squeeze, silencing me.
“These walls are soundproof, doc,” the man with the ice blue eyes says coolly. I squirm in Ben’s hold.
“Please, let me go.”
“Keep flashin’ those big eyes at me and you’re gonna get more than you bargained for. Or,” he drawls as his eyes scan my dress, “maybe not.”
I squeeze my legs together desperately.
“Do-don’t touch me,” I begin to sob. “Ben, please.”
“Calm down,” ice man says, “I just want to talk. A man came to see you today. Big. Burly. Looks like he belongs in the forest,” he growls.
Seven. A sob comes crawling out. This can’t be happening to me.
“If he’s seeing you, he has a kid, eh?”
I start crying. Nia. No. No. No.
He steps closer so he’s flush against my body. Waves of nausea rise up in my throat. I squirm against Ben and his hold on my throat, but get nowhere. I’m claustrophobic. I can’t breathe. I-I can’t.
Ice man’s hand comes up and traces the tears on my cheek.
“All I need is for you to tell me about them and you’re free to go.”
I drop my head as much as I can and shake it back and forth.
“No?” he asks, trying to sound casual, but it comes out sounding low and threatening.
“I won’t let you hurt a child,” I whisper.
“Told you, Boss,” comes Ben’s voice over my head.
“Now, now, doc. I’m a fair man. I don’t want to hurt you.”
I meet his eyes, crying. “You don’t understand. I won’t let you hurt her.”
“Her? Huh, interesting. Now’s your time to talk, doc. Time’s up.”
He rolls up his sleeves as Ben releases my throat.
I curl inward and shake my head. “No.”
* * *
Seven
I turn to leave, ignoring the look of pity on Boss’s face and the veiled look of fury on Frances’s. He’s changed a lot since meeting Marley.
I’m stepping out of the booth when I’m slammed into by a flash of color sprinting through the bar. Boss pushes to his feet.
“There was blood,” he says quickly, eyes darting to me. “Find out what happened.”
He needn’t give me the command. I was already off. It was a woman.
I hear the hysterical crying before I even get to her. Flashy yellow heels and long, lean legs catch my attention, making the woman easy to follow.
“Hey, stop!”
She screams and starts running faster. God, what if she was… I shake my head. I’m too drunk for this.
I push off the sole of my shoe and speed up. She’s in heels, so in two seconds flat, I’m behind her. I don’t wanna touch her; having obviously undergone some kind of trauma, she’s gonna flip.
But she leaves me no choice.
“Sorry ‘bout this.”
As gently as I can at 6’4, 245 pounds, I grab the woman’s arm. I immediately notice it’s slick with blood.
She screams, legs giving out, and starts crying out words.
“I don’t know anything. Please, she’s a child. Please…”
Child? I stiffen. We both freeze when I have her fully turned around. I’m in for the shock of the century when I’m met with Dr. Grace, Nia’s gorgeous pediatrician.
“Dr. Grace?”
I expect relief or somethin’, but she completely freaks out.
“NO! Please. This can’t be happening to me! Please, don’t hurt me.”
She’s shaking so hard I can barely hold onto her. I can’t even assess her injuries.
“Not gonna hurt you. I need you to relax.”
“Please,” she curls inward and starts to cry. Sensing my chance, I take both of her arms and lead her to a bench on the side of the road.
When she’s seated, I let her go. The second I do, she tries to run off. I snatch her wrist.