Taxi (Take It Off #11)

by Cambria Hebert

  I had no way of knowing if he was telling the truth. I’d never seen the inside of an OR. Except on all those doctor drama shows on TV.

  Wait.

  I trusted him.

  This was the same guy who not long ago refused to leave me behind when I was shot. He came back, picked me up, and literally ran with me in his arms. He kept running even after he was shot with a tranq.

  He tended to my fingers and held me while I slept.

  Derek didn’t do this to me. He couldn’t.

  My lower lip wobbled.

  “I just want to help you. But I won’t unless you give me permission.”

  I nodded.

  “I’m going to take that cloth off your leg, give you a shot, and then try to pull out the bullet. It’s going to hurt like a bitch. You can bite me, hit me, yell at me… whatever you want.”

  I felt my dry lips pull upward.

  It hurt.

  “I’m thirsty,” I said.

  “I’m gonna try and find some water,” he said, lowering his hands, cautious. He behaved like I had a gun, like he couldn’t overpower me with practically one finger.

  I trusted him.

  Derek practically ransacked the room, looking for water. I saw him look at the IV bag and pole, a thoughtful look on his face. But then he abandoned it and kept searching. I definitely didn’t have time to sit here stuck with an IV to rehydrate.

  A minute later, a satisfied grunt filled the space. “Fucking right.”

  Next thing I knew, there was a gallon of water being held up to my lips. I drank it down greedily. He cautioned me to slow down, but I couldn’t. My body was desperate.

  When I pulled back, it barely seemed I’d made a dent in the fluid, but regardless, I knew I had. My body was already sighing in relief; already asking for more. I reached for the jug, and he surrendered it to me.

  “Got it?” he asked, still holding the bottom, supporting some of the weight. I would have been offended, but I was pretty weak. Considering this was my only opportunity for water, it only made sense he was concerned I might not be able to heft it up to my lips and hold it there.

  “I’m good,” I said, trying to steady my shaking hand.

  Slowly, he pulled back. Closely, he watched, making sure I wasn’t about to fumble and ready to swoop in if I did.

  My heart swelled. The way he watched me, how obvious it was he was truly concerned. How had I ever had even a second of doubt?

  “How about it?” he asked, motioning to my leg.

  I nodded and drained some more water. It was distilled. I didn’t care. It was wet, which was good enough for me.

  Even with the numbing medicine, I still felt him dig the metal out of my leg. It hit the top of the table with an audible ting. In between sips of water, I bit my lip and averted my gaze.

  “I have no idea how you do this for a living,” I muttered.

  “I don’t normally retrieve bullets.” His tone was dark. “Believe me. I hope I never do this again.”

  “Do you like surgery?” I asked, mostly to distract myself from him cleaning out the wound and prepping it for stitches.

  Yep. Stitches.

  I was totally appalled the kidnappers had this place. It was clearly for something diabolical. But at the same time, it was coming in handy.

  “I do,” he said as he worked. I could tell he was completely in his element. I imagined it to be like athletes when they got in the zone. “It’s different almost every day. And saving people is rewarding.”

  “You ever lose anyone?”

  “Too often.” He glanced up. “Lost one the night I got kidnapped.”

  “I’m sure that’s very hard.” I laid a hand on his shoulder. He paused in what he was doing, seemingly pulled out of his “zone” long enough to cover my hand with his.

  “Every single time.”

  A heartbeat passed.

  Derek pulled his hand away, and so did I. “I don’t know how much time we have. But you need stitches. I’ll try and do it fast.”

  The first poke of the needle through my tender, inflamed skin was brutal. I jerked, not meaning to, but my body naturally tried to get away.

  “Sorry,” I said through gritted teeth and pushed my leg toward him.

  “It’s gonna hurt, fairy.” He warned. “The shot I gave you hasn’t had enough time to take full effect. We can’t wait.”

  “Do it.” My fingers curled around the edges of the table and squeezed until I thought my knuckles might snap. The stab of the needle and tug of the stitch was probably the worst pain I’d ever felt. But I submitted to it.

  If I could get through being kidnapped, chained up, strapped down, and shot, I could get through this, too.

  “You said before you thought you know what’s going on here.” To say my voice was strained was an understatement.

  He kept working. He was right. His hands were skilled.

  “It’s not good.”

  “Can’t be any worse than the thoughts I was having while strapped to this table.” I reminded him.

  “When they come back, I’m going to kill them.” He sounded like he was asking me to pass the gravy at Christmas dinner or reading me the choices off a takeout menu.

  What was stranger? His matter-of-fact tone or hearing my response matched his to a T?

  “Good.”

  “There.” He sat back and admired the work. “Not my best, but considering I rushed and your leg is vibrating from pain, I’d say we did all right.”

  My leg was numb now. Of course it was, because the worst of it was over. The black thread looked garish against my marshmallow-white skin. The X’s lining my calf made me look like some kind of freaky doll, the kind that came alive in the middle of the night.

  Around the wound was red and splotchy, with a couple smears of fresh blood. There was also some light bruising and, of course, a lot of swelling.

  Derek tied a knot in the thread, trimmed the excess, and tossed his tools down. Using his teeth, he ripped open some kind of wipe and carefully cleaned the area around it. Once that was done, he leaned close and blew out his breath to help dry it.

  My skin tingled. Not my leg, though; that part was numb. My chest. My fingers. The back of my neck, and the base of my spine.

  Even now he affected me.

  His dark eyes shifted up to mine as his gentle breath caressed my aggrieved skin. He was exhausted and bruised on the side of his face from being hit. I’d felt a fine tremor in his fingers when he’d been working on my leg.

  Still, he was strong. Still, he made my well-being a priority.

  It reminded me of his nephew.

  I gasped. The action hurt my throat, and my fingers splayed out across my neck without meaning to. “What time is it?” I worried. “You need to get out of here.”

  His lips thinned, cheeks paled. “I don’t think I’m going to make it.”

  “We will,” I said, firm. I moved to jump down off the table. His hand on my hip stopped me.

  “Wait,” he murmured. He picked up something else off his pile of supplies and ripped it open to draw out a large bandage. “This will keep the area protected. You need antibiotics, but I can’t do anything about that now.”

  I sat long enough for him to smooth it over my leg. It was such a large bandage, it wrapped almost completely around my calf.

  When he pulled back, I pushed off the table.

  He caught me. “Easy now,” he murmured. “That leg isn’t going to be able to take any weight.”

  “Well, it’s going to have to get with the program, ‘cause I’m not crawling.”

  A ghost of a smile flirted with his lips.

  He was still holding me. I felt the brush of the metal at his wrist.

  “What are you chained to?” I asked.

  I was lowered to the ground. On one solid foot, just using the other for balance, I gripped the table while he glanced at the chain. At the same time, we followed its length. There was pipe behind all the medical equipment. This wasn’t t
he same kind as in the other silo. This one stuck up from the ground only about three feet.

  At first, that seemed ideal, because we could slide the chain around it up and off. Of course, it wasn’t that easy. The entire three feet was wrapped in it. Even if we managed to unwind it all, it would take us forever.

  Abruptly, he spun away from the pipe. “You need to get out of here. Head for the corn fields. Find a road and get help.”

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  “You have to.” He glanced around like he was afraid someone would walk in any second.

  It made my skin crawl. The urge to listen and run poked at me. I wanted out of here so incredibly bad.

  But Derek didn’t leave me behind, and I would do the same for him.

  “Put your hand on the table,” I said, moving as fast as I could back into the nasty OR.

  “Why?”

  I was looking around, searching for anything heavy and large. Nearby, there was a big black-and-white cooler with a large plastic handle on top. I lifted it. The weight was pretty hefty.

  I carried it over to the table.

  “We’re going to have to break your hand. It’s the only way.”

  He laid his hand on the table, palm flat on the metal surface. His skin turned ghostly pale as he moved.

  I thought about how he used his hands to fix me. How he said a surgeon had skillful fingers. This could change his career.

  “Are there any tools in here that might be able to break the chain?” I asked, suddenly hesitant.

  “No.” His voice was resolved. “Do it.”

  I swallowed.

  “Slam it down once, then do it again right after. Do it as hard as you can.”

  “I don’t want to do this,” I told him even as I lifted my arm.

  Understanding lit his eyes. “Go without me. It’s you they really need.”

  I didn’t know what that meant, but it scared me.

  “Well, I need you.” I admitted. Before, those words would have gotten caught in my throat. How nervous it would have made me to admit how much I liked him.

  How quickly life comes into perspective when you’re faced without a life at all.

  Without another word, I hefted the cooler high above my head and prepared to swing it down. Derek’s hand flexed against the table in anticipation.

  “Stop!” a familiar voice yelled, rushing into the space.

  Both of us turned and looked.

  It was our kidnappers.

  Derek moved fast, rushed around the table, and shoved me behind him.

  “I’m not going to do it,” he announced, not one ounce of give in his voice.

  Do what?

  “So you figured it out, did you?” Boss Man mused.

  “You’re a pair of sick fucks,” he spat.

  “Soon to be very rich sick fucks.” Taxi Man corrected.

  It was always about money, wasn’t it?

  Derek slammed his hand back on the table. “Now, Rose.” He urged.

  I brought the cooler up.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Boss Man intoned.

  “I’m pretty sure you’re the last person in this entire universe I would ever ask for advice,” I snapped.

  “You’re going to need that hand,” he said again, completely ignoring me to remain focused solely on Derek.

  “I’m not doing your dirty work!” Derek growled and gave me a nod.

  “Not even to save someone you love?”

  I brought the cooler down as hard as I could. It slammed into the stainless top. The impact vibrated my bones and caused my teeth to knock together. I bounced back from the force, and the cooler clattered to the floor while the top of the table hummed.

  I would have fallen if not for Derek. He caught me around the waist and pulled me into his side.

  “You moved. Why did you move?”

  Against my side, Derek’s hand clenched.

  “Got your attention now, don’t I?” Boss Man mused. Nearby, Taxi Man looked smug.

  I seriously wanted to kick him.

  In the balls.

  “What are you talking about?” Derek asked, his chest heaved.

  “Use that surgeon’s brain to figure it out.” Taxi man taunted.

  “What’s going on?” I spoke quietly, to Derek only.

  Taxi Man laughed. “I told you he wasn’t going to save you. He’s not here to help you. In fact, he’s the reason you’re even here.”

  I didn’t want to believe it. Everything inside me screamed no.

  Yet there was this one voice.

  A voice so quiet it shouldn’t have been heard over all the other protests in my head. Sometimes the quiet ones were the wisest.

  Yes.

  Swallowing back the bile filling my throat, I looked at Derek. I felt the desperation in my gaze.

  Tell me it’s not true.

  His own eyes held a plea. I wasn’t sure what it meant, though.

  “They want your organs, Rose.” He spoke, his voice hoarse. “They kidnapped me to cut them out.”

  I swayed on my feet. Of all the things… this had never even crossed my mind.

  “They want my organs?” I echoed, wrapping an arm across my waist.

  Derek nodded once. “They want to sell them on the black market.”

  Black market organs?

  Holy shit.

  14

  Derek

  Mind games.

  I knew they were being played. I knew I was a victim.

  It was sort of like watching a train wreck, being part of it even. Everything progressed at agonizingly slow speed, and all I could do was stand here, watch, and know shit was about to hit the fan.

  Black market organs were not just urban tales. It happened all over the world. Most people didn’t realize it happened closer to home and wasn’t reserved for third world countries. I admit even I was guilty of that.

  Being a transplant surgeon, of course I heard rumors. I read the news reports. I even heard whispers. I knew what people went through when their bodies were failing them. How they stared at the phone, at their doctors and nurses, day after day, with the same question in their eyes.

  Will I get what I need today?

  When will the waiting—the slow, tormenting, dying of pieces of me be replaced?

  I empathized with loved ones who also waited on an organ. Watching someone you loved die was almost as bad as being the one in the hospital bed.

  Those people were desperate. No. Beyond desperate.

  There was a point at which desperation crossed over into something else.

  Obsession.

  When their entire lives were consumed with finding an organ, a match, a way to save a life and logical reasoning went out the window. So did regard for just about everything else. I’d come close to that obsession border many times myself when I looked at Rocco this past year.

  People like the men who kidnapped Rose and me preyed on people. Used their obsession, fear, even the love they had for the people who were dying against them.

  How far would you go to save someone you loved?

  How much would you pay?

  Would you value a faceless stranger’s life over someone you knew and loved?

  Is it even possible to think clearly when you’ve crossed over into the gray matter of obsession?

  It happened more and more. The list of people waiting was far too long, the rate of death far too steep. People ended up in negotiation with black market organ dealers, and they paid exorbitant amounts of cash.

  Here in the US, a black market organ could fetch over two hundred thousand dollars.

  A steep price.

  But if it saved the life of someone you couldn’t live without… would you pay it?

  In other countries, it was a lot easier. Desperate people would walk into illegal hospitals and sell an organ for as little as five thousand dollars. Other people, people like Rose, were taken and had them cut out of their body.

  Some people were lef
t to die. Some were stitched back up. A lot of those people probably died, too.

  You could have heard a pin drop in the center of the makeshift operating room. My stomach was queasy. I had so many questions.

  So many fears.

  Not even to save someone you love? What did that mean?

  Rose yanked away from me. She pulled back so hard she stumbled. I lunged sideways and caught her even though it was me she was trying to escape from.

  She was weak, looked like hell, and was obviously horrified.

  Hell. When I saw this room, I was, too.

  She doubted me, but I couldn’t be mad. I’d been brought here to literally cut out pieces of her body.

  “I’m fine,” she insisted, straightening.

  I pulled back but didn’t move away. I stayed close for two reasons:

  1.) In case she fell over.

  And

  2.) Because I was going to protect her.

  “You want to cut out my organs?” Her voice wobbled.

  Boss man pointed at me. “He does.”

  I stiffened. “No,” I argued harshly. What the fuck? Why was he acting like this was all my plan?

  Rose ignored me. It cut deep down.

  “Which one?” she asked, still staring at the boss.

  Her question was morbid. I glanced at her face. Her eyes were glassy. That wasn’t a good thing.

  “It doesn’t matter.” I made a slashing movement with my hand. “I’m not doing it.”

  Taxi Man laughed. His shirt was sweat stained and partially untucked. “You will.”

  His confidence pissed me off.

  “You might as well kill me right now,” I spat. “There is no way in hell I’m cutting her open.”

  “The clock is ticking.” The man with white hair glanced at his watch to punctuate his words. “We need to get started.”

  I planted my feet and crossed my arms. I didn’t know what kind of person they thought they kidnapped, but I was not him. I didn’t cut up innocent people for criminals. I didn’t perform illegal surgeries just to save my own life.

  Like they’d let me live anyway. The second they got what they wanted, I’d get a bullet in the brain.

  “What if I told you the call you got at the hospital yesterday was a phony?”

  Stillness came over me. My heartrate slowed like hypothermia was setting in.

  “I get a lot of calls,” I replied after a full beat of silence.