The week fell into a rhythm of blood and bullets. By day, I sat in lectures about proper surgical procedures. By night, I put those lessons to use in ways my professors never intended.
Extracting bullets, stitching knife wounds, performing emergency transfusions – all while trying to dodge wandering hands and suggestive comments from "grateful" patients.
Only Dr. Simon's presence kept the worst at bay. One particularly handsy patient learned that lesson when Dr. Simon pressed a scalpel between the man's eyes, his kindly doctor demeanor never wavering.
Dante's absence was both relief and torment. Every shadow made me tense, expecting his towering frame and predatory smile. Yet somehow his absence left an itch under my skin, a flutter in my chest whenever my thoughts strayed to him.
Must be some kind of stress response. Or maybe I was coming down with something.
Near midnight on Saturday, Dr. Simon asked me to go to Dante’s office. He needed me to grab my payment for the week and collect some documents for him.
“Once you’re done,” he said, “you can head home and rest.” He gave me clear directions—Dante’s office was just one floor up. Easy enough.
I wasn’t nervous at first. I’d barely seen Dante all week, and I told myself this would be quick. But as I climbed the stairs, my mind wandered back to the stunt I prepared for him last evening. I’d been sitting on a small plan for revenge ever since.
Was tonight the right time? I wasn’t sure. As I reached the door, I decided to play it safe for now and see how things went.
Knocking lightly, I heard a sharp “Come in.” Pushing the door open, I found Dante behind a large desk, dressed in a dark gray suit with a black tie. The man looked annoyingly good, different tonight – dangerous in a new way, the suit emphasizing every hard line of his body. I pushed away the unwanted observation, focusing on my task and got straight to the point, explaining why I was there.
Dante handed me an envelope—my payment—and a folder for Simon. I glanced inside the envelope, and my jaw nearly dropped.
When he handed it to me it already felt thick. Too thick. And now I was unable to hide my shock at the amount inside.
"This is too much for just one week of work," I said, holding it up.
Dante leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk on his face as smoke curled from his lips.
“If you prefer,” he replied smoothly, “I can pay you less.”
"No need." The words tumbled out before I could stop them, drawing a low chuckle that kept my eyes fixed on his mouth.
Taking a slow drag from his cigarette, Dante spoke again. "Simon speaks highly of your dedication." He took another drag. "I haven't heard any complaints about your work or behavior either. A good employee should be well paid. Especially one with student loans to pay off." His voice took on an edge that raised the hair on my neck. "And after all... you'll keep working for me anyway—with a license, of course."
His words hit harder than I expected. For a moment, I just stood there, stunned. Kindness wasn’t something I associated with Dante, but those words… they didn’t sound like manipulation. They sounded real.
After that he started to ask me if I was settling in—how the apartment was, if the car was working well, whether I had any issues. It was all business, but his tone was so calm and collected it almost sounded like he cared.
Almost. I gave short answers, and he nodded, satisfied.
But still it was enough to make me abandon the revenge plan I’d carefully prepared all evening. Instead, I found myself managing a shy smile, muttering a soft “Thank you” before heading for the door.
The unexpected praise warmed something in me. My revenge plans wavered. Maybe I'd misjudged–
"It's not so hard to be an obedient, well–behaved good girl, is it, kitten?"
The warmth crystallized to ice. Then fury. Then... calculation.
You. Son. Of a bitch. You chose that way by yourself.
I turned slowly, letting a sly smile play across my covered in red lips. Leaned against the doorframe with practiced casualness.
"Well," I purred, "I listened, actually. And did exactly as my boss instructed."
My fingers found the button on my medical coat and let it fall open. Then, holding his gaze, I drew the zipper on the front of my black knit dress down with deliberate slowness. The nurse's “uniform” underneath was exactly as ridiculous as I remembered – all plunging neckline and barely–there hem, the red lace of his "gift" lingerie peeking through.
His reaction was everything I'd hoped for. The cigarette froze halfway to his lips, smirk vanishing as his eyes raked over me. For once, the great Dante was speechless.
"Your face was worth it, teddybear." I straightened, savoring my victory as I turned to leave.
The movement behind me registered too late.
He was on his feet, cigarette forgotten, stalking toward me with lethal grace. His eyes had gone dark – predatory in a way that turned my triumph to ashes. Each powerful stride ate the distance between us.
Fear surged through me. I ran.
My bare feet slapped against cold floors as I fled down hallways, kicking off my simple black low–heeled shoes for better speed. I could hear him behind me, his longer stride gaining ground. My heart hammered against my ribs, part terror, part something else I refused to name.
I raced down the stairs toward Dr. Simon's office, my last hope for sanctuary. The sound of Dante's pursuit sent adrenaline singing through my veins. Just a few more steps–
A hand caught my arm, spinning me against the wall. Dante caged me with his body, one hand planted beside my head, the other still gripping my wrist. Heat radiated from him, his breathing heavy from both chase and desire.
"Trying to run, kitten?" His voice was smoke and gravel. "After putting on such a pretty show?"
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Could only feel the press of him against me, the hunger in his gaze as it dropped to my lips.
"I–" Whatever excuse I'd planned died as his free hand traced the neckline of the costume. My skin burned where he touched.
"You wanted to play?" His fingers tangled in my hair, tilting my head all the way back and forcing me to look in his eyes. "Then let's play."
His mouth crashed into mine with bruising force. This wasn't like the kiss in the car – this was possession, punishment, promise. His tongue swept past my lips, claiming every inch as his hand cupped my throat.
A whimper escaped me – protest or pleasure, I wasn't sure anymore. My hands fisted in his jacket, either pushing him away or pulling him closer.
Then he was gone, leaving me gasping. Before I could recover, he scooped me up like I weighed nothing.
"Time to show you what happens to kittens who play with lions."