My phone pings with a text from Perry.
Patient looks pale. Might need some sexual healing. I stole your car. P
My heart lurches. It hadn’t occurred to me that Perry would be attracted to her too. “Justine!” I yell, standing and stalking across the hall to my suite. “Cancel my meetings and drop me at the hospital.”
* * *
The clinical essence circles me like heavy smoke. It clings to my skin and embeds into my suit, burrowing too deeply to allow me to win the war currently being waged on my mind. Stuffing my hands into my trousers, I stand on the threshold and draw in a deep breath. All I manage to achieve is to suck in everything I despise about these places. The atmosphere is alive with pain and impatience, the burning tinge of frustration that makes your hair stand on edge, and the continual wail of someone’s cries. I hate it. I hate these places and the despair they bring. The gaping wound they leave when you entrust someone’s life, only for them to return with tainted hands and unwelcome news—news too sour for any stomach to handle.
My stomach revolts at the memories whirring into motion and the unsteady stream of distorted images rolling across my mind's eye.
I find Perry almost immediately. But it takes me another moment or two before I make my way across the accident and emergency waiting room. His face sags into shock as I sit down. Guilt shatters his composure. I shake my head in warning. I am barely keeping it together. Coming here has cost me. He knows how I feel about hospitals. The turmoil I’m suffering by just being here will be insufferable for us both. And yet I have no explanation as to why I came.
The light and pained feminine voice cracks through my internal struggle. “Please don’t laugh. I need this job. I’ve not long moved here.” My chest pangs with regret at dismissing her so quickly. I finally look away from my friend and stare openly at the woman sitting beside him: professional, demure, and, I’m loath to admit, innocently beautiful. I thought it back at the hotel when she dropped to her knees. Delicate and disorientated. A real damsel in distress. The thought had made me sneer, but it all dropped away when she stuck her finger in my face, and I stared, caught completely off guard, into her hurt and fucking gorgeous face. I had wanted to protect and praise her all at once. At least until she decided to Picasso the fuck out of my shoes. “Shit.” She breathes in steadily, rubbing at her temples, and her hair moves, revealing a large bump protruding from her forehead. I shift, uneasy and concerned that she hasn’t been seen yet.
“You know, you have a pretty vulgar mouth for front-of-house.” I announce my arrival as I adjust my suit and eat up her blush with vigour. “You finally have some colour back in your face.” I observe.
“Shame that my legs don’t meet your standards.” Her lips flatten. It was easy to insult her back at the hotel, to put a leash on my attraction by ensuring she finds me rude and, in turn, less appealing.
Now, not so much. I’m too perturbed by the discomfort of the memories my subconscious is handing me. “They’re nicely bruised.” Another observation of mine. Her skin really is the perfect mix of porcelain and silk. Curious, she inspects her knees, her skirt lifted enough that I want to stand, cross her legs, and drape my jacket over her bare skin because I hate the thought of anyone else glimpsing to look at her creamy thighs. Perry glares at me, and I simply raise a brow. This isn’t the first time he has taken one of my cars, but it is the first time that I have come after him to retrieve it. He stares intensely at me, trying to gauge my mood. If he is expecting me to unravel the inner workings of my mind, he can join the fucking queue. I have no idea what I am doing here. Or why I chose today to come here when we both know I would rather walk through fire. I was already in a bad mood. Royce fucking Ivory had seen to that. The day I rid the world of that man can’t come soon enough. My eyes slip back to the woman playing with the chain of her watch, and I suck in a perplexed breath. Her fringe hangs forward, hiding the large bump, and her soft mouth is turned down in a miserable frown.
“No thanks to you two,” she scoffs and glowers at Perry, her fingers instinctively reaching for the injury. My friend grins and leans in, wrapping his arm around her neck. Muscles all over my body tense, ache, and strain to move with the conscious effort of suppressing the desire to rip his limb clean from her.
“Ah, don’t be like that. You’d never have met me if I hadn't knocked you on your arse.” Their display of familiarity stings my equilibrium. I’ve always envied Perry’s ability to make friends. The man has no doubt concussed this woman, and yet she is welcoming his hug. If it tells me anything, it is that she is far too forgiving and too nice for the likes of us. And that I hate my friend’s hands on her.
“Oh, so it was you!” She laughs shortly. Her light and lyrical chuckle rings out like a mating call, and every fucking man in a ten-foot vicinity perks up. I shift and glare at a man eyeing her up with a small smile on his face. My eyes drop to her, and she goes stiff as a board, removing Perry’s arm and finding any inanimate object to occupy herself with. Every so often, she lifts her big almond eyes to find me watching her with something akin to obsession. Little does she know, I too need something to focus my mind on to keep from spiralling into a place darker than the innocent shine in her endless eyes. She’s become the object of my fascination. A living, breathing specimen that my mind refuses to detach from, in fear of losing itself to the horror and memories this place is assaulting me with.
“Miss Lauren Lindel?” She startles in her chair.
Lauren. It suits her, not too flimsy nor too strong. Feminine.
“That’s you, alien head.” Perry elbows her softly. What small thread of control I had over my rattling emotions cracks like a rotting tooth. The pain slams into my chest, and every reason for coming here mocks me in the face of my shaken resolve. I work my hands, cracking and snapping my knuckles to keep myself from breaking out in a sweat.
“I appreciate you bringing me, but I can probably make my own way home,” she mentions, smiling uncertainly as she flicks a cautious look my way. “Erm, I'm sorry about—” Dainty fingers point at my clean attire. “The grey looks better.” Lauren grins awkwardly, and it hits my solar plexus like an arrow seeking out its target. She edges away, and I stare after her petite legs until she is out of my eye line.
“I need to get out of here,” I choke under my breath. Perry stands fluidly and follows me out of the hospital as I eat the floor up with wide, fast strides. “My keys,” I bark.
“Cain. Why the hell did you come?”
“I don’t fucking know.” It’s just a building. Brick, mortar, and glass. No different than the many hotels I own or my own home. “I want updates,” I demand sharply, a tactic to keep my mind busy. I click my keys and see my car’s lights flash a few rows over in the car park.
Perry grips my shoulder. “Hey, take a breath, man,” he murmurs while jogging alongside to keep up with me. “I don't want to have to admit you too.” His eyes crinkle at the corners, but I have no patience for his humour now, and shrugging him off, I stalk ahead. “I saw the way you looked at her,” he adds, voice low but curious. I drop my head, refusing to acknowledge his comment. My chest is caving in on itself.
I clear my throat and try to draw in more air, sucking in another lung full and feeling more constricted for it.Fuck. I yank at my shirt, undoing the top few buttons and hauling air down my throat—the crisp, cool oxygen pours into my body like lit petrol.
“Cain, just take a minute.” I drop my head further. I need to get the fuck away from here. “She’s going to want to know if she still has her job!” he calls behind me.
I cross the street and turn back to face him. “I think firing her was answer enough,” I drawl, but it comes out in a strained huff of air. Perry shakes his head in disappointment. Firing her is not an option, but I’m too angry to make rational decisions. I’m impulsive when I’m worked up like this. He knows it. I know it. Right now, I refuse to have this discussion. I should have stayed at the hotel.
* * *
I cross town, my foot heavy on the accelerator and my head dizzy with anger. It was a mistake to go to the hospital. I’ve taken extreme lengths to keep from entering a hospital again. My first experience was one too many, and I don’t plan to revisit the tragic events of that night. I’m not sure what it is about her that compelled me to follow them to the hospital, but standing in the building, haunted by my father’s traumatic death and the devastation that followed, has left me feeling bereft and angrier than ever. Yet the person I chose to blame is the only blameless person out of us all.
Lauren Lindel.
She doesn’t deserve my anger. She deserves her job back, but I can't think or feel past the horrors rushing around my mind since entering the hospital.
Before I set off, I text Justine, asking for a full report on her. I know she works front-of-house; her uniform told me as much, but I don’t want her professional background. I want the grit and dirt. The things she folds away, protected and secure from even her closest friends. I want to part her fringe and capture a look into her mind, just so I can hold it in my hand and bend her to my will when she finally loses the look of disgust. I’m not a likeable person, and yet people pursue the possibility of befriending me—desire to leave some kind of impression. But Lauren seemed as indifferent to me as I do most women, and it pissed me off.