His weight crushed the air from my lungs, but panic gave me strength. I twisted hard, managing to wrench one arm free. He immediately tightened his grip on the other, gun still pressed against my shoulder.
"I asked you a question." Each word dripped venom. "Who. Sent. You?"
"Nobody sent me!" I gasped out. "I found you bleeding to death by my dumpster!"
One sudden move and I slipped from his grasp, adrenaline masking the pain of his fingers digging into my flesh. I scrambled toward the kitchen, grabbing the first weapon I could find – a knife from the drying rack.
"Stay back." My voice shook, but I held the blade steady. "I saved your life last night, you ungrateful bastard. Check your wounds if you don't believe me."
He didn't move at first, just watched me with predator's eyes. Even wounded, he was terrifying – towering height, about 6ʼ3’’ or even taller, brutal muscles beneath his bandages, face carved from stone and shadow, and lightning crystal–blue eyes. The kind of man who broke things – or bones – for a living.
Finally, his gaze flickered to his abdomen, where fresh red was already seeping through white gauze. Recognition dawned in those icy eyes as pieces clicked into place.
"You stitched me up?" Disbelief colored his tone.
"And cleaned out the bullet, sealed the stab wound, and gave you morphine." I ticked off each item like a grocery list. Keeping fear at bay with facts. "You're welcome, by the way."
The gun lowered fractionally. "You're a doctor?"
"Medical student."
He slumped back onto my couch, one hand pressing against his wound. The movement made him grimace, but his eyes never left me. "Quite the Good Samaritan."
"Here." I threw his phone at him, harder than necessary. He caught it with one hand easily without even blinking. Show–off. "Call your friends and get the hell out of here. I've had enough mafia drama for one lifetime."
That got his attention. His head snapped up, gaze sharpening. "What makes you think–"
"Please." I cut him off with a bitter laugh. "Those scars? The professional hit job someone tried on you? I know what I'm looking at."
A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips as he dialed. The phone conversation was brief – just an address that I gave and a grunt. When he hung up, he didn't speak, just... watched.
Like a starving cat with a particularly interesting and appetizing mouse.
I busied myself cleaning the kitchen, trying to ignore his stare burning into my back. But each minute under that predatory gaze frayed my nerves further until I snapped.
"Stop staring!"
"Hard not to look at such a pretty babygirl." His voice was sin incarnate – deep, rough, darkly amused. The sound sent unwanted shivers down my spine.
I retreated to the bathroom, emerging wrapped in my fluffiest pink bathrobe over my clothes. His smirk only deepened at my obvious attempt to shield myself.
A heavy knocks echoed through the apartment. His eyes raked over me, lingering on the bathrobe.
"Sure about that outfit choice?" He asked, voice deceptively casual. "Might want to change."
"My clothes are none of your business."
He shrugged, pushing himself hardly up with barely contained pain. Each step to the door looked like agony, but he moved anyway. Classic mafia machismo – better dead than weak.
The door opened to reveal a dozen men, all cut from the same cloth of violence as their injured “friend”. One draped a leather jacket over his shoulders, and just like that, he transformed from wounded animal to apex predator.
He whispered something briefly to one of his “friends” and disappeared from my sight. Perhaps at least someone was lucky enough to receive words of gratitude from this sassy ass man today.
Relief flooded me as he disappeared from view. It was over. I could forget this nightmare and–
Three of them come through the door and start walking towards me.
And no matter how hard I tried to get away from them in the room, they still managed to grab me. Obviously.
I fought like hell – scratching, kicking, screaming. But they were professionals, and I was just a girl who'd made the mistake of helping the wrong man. Within seconds, they had my hands and feet bound.
One of them hoisted me over his shoulder like a sack of flour. My world tilted, blood rushing to my head as he carried me up the stairs.