Chapter 2
His eyes were dark and hollow, fever burning behind them.
He looked like a cornered wolf.
“Who the hell are you?”
His voice lowered again.
“I’m Nora.”
She dropped the duffel onto an armchair.
“I’m nurse number 7.”
She opened the bag.
“And I need you flat on your back.”
Dominic glared.
“We have a lot of work to do.”
By afternoon, the shadows had lengthened across the Persian rug.
Rain intensified into a violent evening storm.
Dominic had barely moved.
He continued staring at Nora as though he could force her out through hostility alone.
“I don’t need a nurse.”
Each word sounded deliberate.
“I need you to walk downstairs, tell Leo to pay you for the day, and never come back.”
Nora ignored him.
She opened the duffel and arranged her equipment.
Sterile gauze.
Saline.
Heavy antibiotics.
A scalpel.
Suture kits.
She lined the supplies across a silver tray after moving aside a half-empty bottle of bourbon.
Metal touched metal.
Dominic’s irritation sharpened.
He tried to sit straighter.
A sharp gasp escaped before he could suppress it.
His left hand went instinctively to the damaged shoulder.
“Don’t move.”
Nora pulled on blue latex gloves.
The snap echoed through the room.
“Don’t touch me.”
Dominic’s hand slid beneath his pillow.
Nora stopped.
She could see the shape beneath it.
A firearm.
She looked at him.
The fever had dilated his pupils.
His breathing was labored.
He appeared to be maintaining consciousness through stubbornness alone.
“You’re running a fever of at least 103.”
Nora kept both hands visible.
“The wound is septic.”
She looked toward the saturated dressing.
“If I don’t clean it and start strong IV antibiotics now, the infection is going to enter your bloodstream.”
Dominic remained still.
“You’ll be dead by tomorrow night.”
“Then I die.”
His expression did not change.
“My blood. My house. My choice.”
Nora studied him.
Beneath the rage was exhaustion.
A man accustomed to obedience had apparently decided that even death was something he would control.
Nora thought about the nearly empty apartment waiting for her.
The collection agency that called 5 times each day.
The $0.74 left to her name.
She exhaled.
“No.”
Dominic frowned.
“What did you say?”
“No.”
Nora walked to the edge of the bed.
“You don’t get to die during my shift.”
His eyes narrowed.
“If you want to die, fire me.”
She continued.
“Wait until I leave the property, then bleed out on your own time.”
Dominic stared at her.
“But while I’m standing in this room, you’re going to live.”
Her tone remained matter-of-fact.
“Because I desperately need this paycheck, Mr. Rossi, and I don’t get paid if the patient ends up in a body bag.”
Silence.
Even the storm seemed farther away.
Dominic looked at Nora as though she had become something he did not understand.
His hand beneath the pillow relaxed slightly.
“You have a smart mouth.”
“I have a practical mouth.”
Nora picked up the medical scissors.
“I’m cutting the bandages off now.”
She looked at him.
“It will hurt.”
“You can swear.”
“You can scream.”
“But if you pull a gun on me, I leave and you rot.”
She did not wait for permission.
The smell of infection intensified as she leaned closer.
Sweet.
Rotten.
Overpowering.
Nora locked her jaw and slid the blunt end of the scissors beneath the tape.
Dominic hissed when metal touched the inflamed skin.
His left hand shot out and closed around her wrist.
The strength surprised her.
Nora stopped.
She did not struggle.
She looked at his hand.
Then into his eyes.
Their faces were inches apart.
Heat radiated from him.
“I break fingers.”
The threat was quiet.
“And I fix them.”
May you like
Nora’s answer was just as quiet.
“Let go.”
