There was a plethora of complicated issues sitting on my shoulders; rats, supply shortages, being watched by the cartel that supplied us, men that had trouble accepting orders from a woman boss. However, I had been training for the position most of my life and couldn’t let the guys see me sweat.
My phone vibrated, pulling my attention. “Hello?” I answered, seeing it was my cousin, Rayland calling.
“Mecca?” a female voice sounded instead. It must have been Lisa, Rayland’s main girlfriend. Why so many women were drawn to a drug-addicted, unemployed man was beyond me. I labeled my cousin unemployed because aside from the dope he cooked for the Saints and the few customers he scared up, there wasn’t much else he was good for.
“Yes,” I finally answered.
“Mecca, it’s Rayland. He overdosed, and the doctors aren’t sure he’s going to make it through the night,” Lisa’s voice cracked, barely pushing the words out.
“Wait. What? Repeat.”
Arjen slid closer at the sound of my stressed words, concern creasing his face. She repeated her statements, letting me know what hospital my cousin was in.
“Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I clicked off and stared upward for a quick silent prayer. Fake marriage or not, the world I was a part of wasn’t going to allow me a day to get married in peace.
“I’ll go with you,” Arjen offered.
“You don’t even know where I’m going or what’s wrong,” I replied, assessing him.
“Someone’s hurt, and you need to be there. I’m going with you. What’s the location?”
It didn’t sound like he was asking, and he did need to meet some of the people he had inherited when he had said “I do”.
“My cousin overdosed, and he’s at St. Thomas Memorial. Doctors aren’t sure he is going to make it through the night.”
I wasn’t as close to my two male cousins as I was to Desiree, but it didn’t mean I didn’t care about what happened to them. I prayed Rayland would survive long enough for me to curse his ass out for being so damned stupid.
I dialed Desiree.
“I received a call from his girlfriend and was about to call you,” she said as soon as she picked up the phone. “I’m on my way to the hospital,” she continued, speaking through her sobs.
Arjen leaned up when I clicked off, his movement dispelling his savory scent.
“Ross, take us to St. Thomas Memorial.”
“Yes, sir,” the driver answered, unconcerned about where he had been ordered to take us.
The hospital was in the heart of the hood, but my new husband didn’t seem to care. Did he know the hospital we were about to visit was known for having shoot outs inside of it?
As soon as the car drove up to the emergency room entrance, I reached for the door but was stopped when Arjen reached across me and placed his hand atop mine on the door handle. His closeness caused a wild stirring inside that I found weirdly enticing.
“We are not a traditional husband and wife, Mecca, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to stop being a gentleman. I have manners, love.”
Love?
He said nothing else, simply got out, walked around, and opened my door. The men in my life treated me like I was one of the guys, so I wasn’t used to men being chivalrous. Point for my new husband for being different. The idea caused me to smile, despite the pending situation with my cousin.
Was this Arjen’s way of attempting to impress me?
* * *
Eyes landedon us from every direction as we walked through the emergency room. The antiseptic scent attacked before the stench of body odor and lingering death punched me in the face. Medical professionals were rendering care to patients in the crowded space, right where they sat.
We threaded through the crowd, turned past the emergency help desk, and nearly stepped on the legs of one person from a group of four who were sitting on the floor. One was stretched out parallel to the wall and asleep.
“Spare a few dollars please.” The woman lifted up from a sleep lean and asked, not caring that I had almost stepped on her. I was sure Arjen had never seen anything like this based on the way he gawked.
I peeled off a ten from the small stash of cash I had in my clutch and handed it over. We proceeded to our destination, stepping across a man that sat motionless and staring, his eyes unfocused, high on something.