by Shen, L. J.
“Right now, she is working day and night to help me with a charity event this month,” my mother started, and I could see the rest of my friends had already trained their face to stoic politeness, knowing she was going to yap about it for hours.
I felt my phone buzzing under the table, in my lap, and looked down. The number flashing across the screen signaled it came from the clinic. Merde.
I ducked my head down, swiped the bar to the green circle, and answered. “Yes?”
It was the call I dreaded. The one I didn’t want to receive.
A patient who had been struggling pretty badly.
“Yes. Of course. No, it is not a bad time at all. I’m on my way. Thank you.”
I hung up the phone, smiling brightly to everyone at the table, realizing for the first time the phone call drew everyone’s attention. Sam’s eyes rested on me lazily, swirling the whiskey in his tumbler as he watched me with a mildly entertained look I wanted to wipe off of his face.
The whole night he’d been looking at me like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted another round in the sack with me or wanted to kill me. I wished he’d just make up his mind and put me out of my misery.
“My apologies, but I have to run. Something important at work.” I stood up abruptly, patting my mother’s shoulder. Everyone’s attention made my ears hot and my fingers tremble. “Compliments to our chef. I will send her flowers tomorrow morning for her troubles. Thank you, everyone. Have a good evening.”
With that, I dashed out, running straight to my Prius, not even bothering to grab a coat on my way. I made a beeline to the address I punched into my phone.
It took me an hour to get to the residential building in Westford. A newly built apartment complex with a tennis court, a pool, and an indoor gym. There wasn’t security or anyone manning the reception, though, something I’d asked about in advance, just to be on the safe side.
I went to my patient’s house, did what I had to do, and got out of there three hours later. All thoughts about the Thanksgiving dinner I’d left behind were now demolished and gone. All I thought about was my work, my patients, and her.
Oui, mon cheri. It’s not easy doing what you do.
My knees were wobbly and my breath erratic as I made my way to a gas station across the road, trudging over the half-melted, dirty snow. I pushed the door to the small mini mart open. I bought a Coke for myself and a cake and drink for the old man manning the register, which he thanked me for. I poured myself out into the bone-cold November winter in Massachusetts, pressing the back of my head against the wall and taking a gulp of Coke.
Sometimes I hated what I did.
Most times, really.
But then I remembered Ms. B and how I failed her and convinced myself that I deserved it. My occupation. My choices.
Staring down at the Coke in my hand, listening to the faint hiss of fizz coming from the liquid, I suddenly burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably as I dragged myself down the length of the wall, crouching to my feet and burying my face in my satin Givenchy dress.
“It’s not fair.” I shook my head, seeing the black splotches my mascara left on my gown through blurred tears. “Nothing about this is fair.”
“Tell me about it,” an edgy tone that could cut glass made me snap my head up.
Sam.
Sam wore a pea coat, looking like a dashing eighteenth century earl, and leaning on the wall opposite to the one I was sitting against, an unlit cigarette stuck between his gorgeous lips. Thank the lord he didn’t pull a Zoolander and light it up next to a gas station.
“Fair is where you get cotton candy. It has nothing to do with real life. Now, tell me how you found yourself in Westford as opposed to Brigham Hospital, where your ass should have been tonight.”
He’d been following me here.
But how?
And more importantly … why?
Because you got his attention, and now he is waiting to see what you’ll do with it. You burned his cash in front of his establishment, had anal sex with him in a wig and a hooker costume, and operated on his soldiers in an underground clinic. He just discovered you are a monster, too, and now wants to know how deep your darkness runs.
I quickly wiped the tears off my face, straightening my spine, and stood up.
“Shouldn’t you be playing cards with my brothers at Badlands right about now? Or are you missing Cook’s famous apple pie to be here?”
“Shouldn’t you be answering my fucking question?” he retorted.
“The answer is none of your business,” I bit out harshly.
“This old tune again.” He chuckled, looking sideways as he shook his head. “You are my business. My boss’ daughter. I should have kept tabs on you and tailed your ass earlier, but I didn’t. So here we are. Now let’s cut the bullshit, shall we? I checked everywhere worth checking and cross-examined my sources. You are not a resident at Brigham and Women’s Hospital.”
Merde, merde, merde.
Triple merde with a cherry on top.
He was on to me.
“Been checking on me, Brennan?” I plastered what I hoped was a teasing smile on my face. “I’m flattered, but not surprised. Still, that doesn’t mean anything.”
“Sure it does. For starters, it means you are a fucking liar. My least favorite trait in people. But then I thought to myself, maybe the lie isn’t so big. Maybe it’s about prestige. Little, perfect Aisling didn’t want her parents to know she didn’t get accepted to one of the most respected hospitals in the country…” he took another step toward me, his nostrils flaring, his jaw hardening so sharply it looked like it was carved in marble “…so I went and checked with all of the hospitals in Boston, every single fucking one. Guess what?”
I didn’t have to guess. I knew.
“You’re not registered anywhere as a doctor. You turned all of them down. Every single fucking offer. At this point, I got suspicious. Did you even finish med school at all?” he asked theatrically, taking yet another step, getting closer to me, crowding me, pinning me against the wall. “So I sniffed around that angle, too. You did, in fact, graduate from Harvard Medical School. So it’s not that you aren’t a doctor.” He took the final step toward me, and now we were so close his scent and air and menace seeped into my body, hitting roots, conquering me. “Whatever you do, you’re doing it under the radar. What the fuck are you playing at, Nix?”
His body was flush against mine, big and strong and threatening. My thighs clenched together, the space between them empty and needy. I drew a deep breath, trying to steady my pulse. I had to find my voice.
“You really want to know?”
He stared at me expressionlessly. Of course he did. Sam Brennan knew everything worth knowing about everyone, and I piqued his interest.
I curled my index finger, signaling him to lean down so I could whisper in his ear. He complied, his scowl deepening with annoyance. I pressed my lips against his ear, feeling his cock, hard and thick, pressing against my stomach.
“None. Of. Your. Business,” I breathed.
He jerked back, his thunderstorm eyes dark and depraved, and suddenly, I had a feeling I did a very, very foolish thing taunting this man, and I was going to pay for it dearly.
“Don’t play games with me, Aisling. I will win. Easily. And I’m a bad sport and notoriously unfair, just like your miserable life.”
I stared at him defiantly, keeping my mouth shut. My teeth chattered. My whole body hummed with energy, but I didn’t back down.
“Do you want to be humiliated?” He grinned, starting to enjoy this game.
“No. I want you to make up your mind about what you want to do with me,” I said quietly.
“You’ve been running after me with your skirt up, begging to be fucked since before you got your period.”
He chuckled, producing a Swiss knife from his pocket, running it up my dress and slashing a deep, long slit through its middle, right between my thighs. The dress ripped noisily. He tucked his kn
ife back into his pocket, dipping his hand in and brushing his finger along my slit through my underwear.
“You … you … you …” I panted, a mixture of rage and desire swirling in my stomach. I knew none of this was healthy or normal, and yet I craved it so much it hurt to breathe.
“Tore your pretty designer dress? Don’t worry. Daddy’ll buy you a hundred more. The pathetic part is you’re not going to deny me because you and I both know I can fuck you whenever I want, however I want, however many times I want. Bend you over—the jewel of the Fitzpatrick crown, Princess Aisling of Avebury Court Manor—and ram my cock so deep inside your ass you’ll see stars.”
I turned my face away from him, squeezing my eyes shut. I hated him in that moment. Hated him beyond belief. But he was right. That didn’t stop me from letting him slip his hand into my underwear, right there, in the middle of the street, behind a slimy gas station. He dipped two fingers inside of me to find me soaked and ready for him. His lips were close to mine when he spoke, but I knew he wasn’t going to kiss me.
This wasn’t foreplay. It was punishment.
“What do you do for a living, Nix?”
“Fuck y-you,” I stuttered, feeling my hips bucking, searching for more of his touch.
“I wouldn’t call that a full-time job. I usually grow bored of my fucks after a few hookups.” He shoved his fingers in and out, thrusting deep, filling me while his thumb rubbed my clit in circles. My skin felt warm and tingly. My knees turned to jelly. I was suspended over the brink of disaster, about to jump headfirst into the flames he lit just to destroy me.
Keep your cards close to your chest, mon cheri. You heard his maman yourself. He is a good blackjack player.
“Illegal, experimental drugs?” he prodded, swirling his thumb faster against my clit.
I shook my head desperately, refusing to cooperate. He used his free hand to grab my butt, curling a finger into my ass through my dress.
A moan ripped from my mouth at the unexpected intrusion, and I felt so full I knew a violent orgasm was coming my way.
“The no insurance, doctors-without-borders bullshit where you treat the poor ain’t flying, sweetheart.” He raised an eyebrow, slanting his gaze to the apartment complex behind me, fucking me harder with his fingers, slipping a third finger in and nearly throwing me off the edge. “Whoever lives in that building doesn’t get monthly food stamps. Take it from someone who looked poverty in the eye. I’d hate to blow your cover and kick in every door at the complex to find the asshole you visited and milk your secret out of them. But I’ll do it if I have to. So for the last time, Aisling, tell me what the fuck it is that you do.”
I shook my head, stitching my lips closed and squeezing my eyes shut, the climax washing over me, making every fine hair on my body stand on end. When Sam realized I wasn’t going to answer, he let me go. Moved away from me unexpectedly.
I was so weak with desire and pleasure, I nearly fell flat on my ass, bracing myself on the wall as I struggled to gain my footing.
Sam’s eyes were still on me, narrowed and full of fury. He sucked his index finger, releasing it with a pop, absorbing all the juices that coated it from when he fingered me.
“I was close,” I protested.
“Tough fucking luck. For more information, go to www.lifeain’tfairandwe’vebeenthroughthis.com.”
“What the hell!” I flung my arms in the air.
“The hell is you are a fucking headache and need to be taught a lesson. I am going to get the truth out of you, Aisling, one way or the other, but until I do, you lose all cumming privileges. Not by my hands, anyway, and let’s admit it—your sole purpose in life is getting fucked by me.”
His knowledge of just how much I wanted him destroyed me. I was too transparent, too naïve, too willing to show him how much he meant to me over the years. Now he was using it against me, and there was nothing I could do about it.
Nothing but try to show him I was my own person. That there was more to me than loving him.
“Why do you even care what I do?” I rearranged my torn dress around my legs the best I could to protect myself from the harsh weather. “You made it perfectly clear you don’t give a damn about me. You spent a whole decade dodging my advances.”
Not that there were many. But whenever I did muster the courage to reach out, he always shut me down in a spectacular fashion. The truth was, I was too scared to upset my parents to go after a man they didn’t want for me, and Sam was too career-focused to let someone like me become a problem for his business.
He took his car keys out of his coat’s pocket.
“Circumstances change,” he clipped.
“Yes, they do,” I agreed. “Which is why I suggest you stop assuming I am always going to be at your disposal. I’m not the same girl you met at the carnival, Sam. I’m all grown up, and I won’t be treated like I’m a toy.”
He leaned toward me, smirking teasingly. “Wanna bet?”
“How are we going to settle the bet? In your card room at Badlands?” I arched an eyebrow, a childish part of me desperate to let him know I was privy to the way he ran his business.
“No. You’re not allowed in Badlands,” he reminded me in a withering tone.
“But Sailor and Persy are.” I laughed bitterly.
“Sailor and Persy are not running around looking for trouble. They stay at home with their babies. I suggest you do the same.”
“I don’t have babies,” I pointed out the obvious. “Oh, and it’s not the nineteenth century.”
“You might be annoying, but I’m sure you’ll find a schmuck willing to knock you up.”
“What about Belle? How come she’s allowed in Badlands? She looks for trouble all the time. Much more than me.”
“Belle is damaged goods and also none of my fucking business. If you end up catching the clap in Badlands’ restroom, your family will come crying to me.”
“You’re a sexist pig.”
“And you are still interested. What does it say about you, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Jr.?”
I was going to say something snarky, but apparently, Sam was through with the exchange. In a swift fashion, he turned around and sauntered over to his car, which was parked right behind me.
“Hold onto those little secrets of yours, Nix. Because I’m going to have one hell of a good time unraveling them.”
He slid into his car and sped off.
Leaving me with a throbbing center, wet cheeks, and a jumbled head.
I knew something was wrong as soon as I parked the car by the fountain at my front door. Avebury Court Manor was like a body. It had bones, a heart, and a soul. I could recognize its pulse from miles away, and something felt different. Erratic.
All the lights in the house were turned on, the staff, which should be long gone, running back and forth by the window like shadow puppets. There was a commotion. My brothers’ cars were also still parked by the entrance. They should be home by now.
Something happened.
Hurrying out of the car, I clutched my keys in a death grip.
Please be okay, Mother.
As soon as I flung the door open, Cillian and Hunter poured out of it, each of them holding Da from each side. My father, green and dripping with sweat, was slouched unresponsive between them, his head dangling from his neck like a pendulum.
“Where are you taking him?” I shrieked.
Cillian shouldered past me, toward his car. I followed them, my legs still shaky from my crazy night.
“Disney World,” my older brother drawled, sullen. “Where do you think? The hospital.”
“The hospital!” I echoed, my mouth turning dry. “Why? What happened? Where’s Mother?”
“Mother is hiding in her room crying about how Da stole the show, being a real fucking adult about it per usual,” Hunter filled me in, his voice playful as always, even when his words were hot and angry.
“As for Athair, he’s been vomiting nonstop since you left, has diarrhea, a dry mouth,
a rash, trouble breathing, and he fainted twice since dessert.”
Cillian buckled my dad inside his Aston Martin. “How would you diagnose that, Doc?”
“Well, I need to run more tests, of course, but at first glance I would say he was poisoned.”
“Ding, ding, ding,” Hunter congratulated me. “When Da finished his cup of coffee, he proceeded to collapse on top of the table like a stack of cards.”
All the air left my lungs at once.
“I’m coming with you.”
“You just got back from the hospital,” Hunter pointed out.
My face filled with heat and shame, and I curled my long coat around myself to prevent my brothers from seeing the giant rip in my dress. They thought I was at Brigham, too. Because I lied to them. To all of them. Every single member of my family and the small circle of my friends.
“It’s no trouble.”
“Your funeral,” Cillian clipped. “Hunter, let her take the passenger seat. C’mon, Ash. We’re taking the car. We don’t want the headlines an ambulance would create.”
“Forever the Fitzpatricks.” Hunter touched his forehead with mock salute, tucking himself next to Da.
I stuffed myself into the seat next to Cillian.
“Sure you’re okay leaving your baby behind?” Hunt asked from the backseat, jerking his chin toward the manor. He meant our mother.
“Don’t start.”
“No shade.” Hunter raised his palms in the air defensively. “All I’m saying is she is probably writing all of us out of her will because we are driving Da to the hospital instead of telling her how pretty she is—after she poisoned him.”
Hunter only knew the half of it. Jane Fitzpatrick’s problems were much worse than being self-centered and prone to drastic mood swings.
Athair was unresponsive the whole way to the ER. As soon as we walked in, I found out who was the doctor assigned to deal with Da, took him aside, and explained I was a fellow doctor, relaying the evening to give him the full picture, omitting the poisoning part to prevent it from leaking to the media.