Chapter 2

2

KACIE

I t's rare that I actually get to take my break, but after a grueling weekend shift that meant I had to sleep the entirety of yesterday, I'm not wasting the opportunity to breathe fresh air for a minute. As a resident doctor in the ER, ninety percent of the time, there's too much to be done to manage a proper break.

Needing out of the stuffy, bleach and sanitizer-scented air, I step outside and lean against the brick exterior of the hospital. Sighing heavily, I rest my head on the brick and let my eyes fall closed, feeling every damn knot in my muscles, ache in my ankles and feet from rushing about so much.

I love my job, don't get me wrong. I've been studying and working for this for ten years, and I'm far from the end of the road. For as long as I can remember, my life's dream has been to be a surgeon. I want to take care of people, to help them, to know how to save them. I've pursued it with voracity, sacrificing any chance of a social life, forgetting about dating or love so I can be the best of the best in my classes, and now, the best of the best in residency. I'm damn good at my job. I always get great reports from my mentors and all the work has been worth it.

But dammit, I'm still tired as hell.

My friends—who I see every couple of months if I'm lucky and I'm not very close to because I never have time—are getting married or buying houses, and I'm still doing the same thing I've always done. Working. It's worth it. It will be worth it. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel the tiniest pinch of jealousy whenever I see their wedding posts or pregnancy announcements.

I'm only twenty-eight. I have time. But I'm keenly aware that when I become a surgeon, I'll still be just as dedicated to my work. Will there ever be room for anyone or anything else in my life?

I'm jolted out of my mess of thoughts by a hand wrapping around my arm and a palm pressing over my mouth. I try to scream but can't even part my lips, and my breath gets stuck in my throat.

My eyes fly open and I desperately take in the sight of the two men before me. The one with his hand over my mouth and his other hand holding my wrists together has dark eyes and a slightly crooked nose. The second, who I catch glimpses of as the first yanks me away from the building, is very tall with green eyes and stubble. It's that one who says to me, "We're not gonna hurt you, Doc. We just need your help, all right?"

I don't trust this man for shit, but there's a weird sincerity in his eyes that I can't help but notice. I try to dig my heels in as they drag me away from the hospital, but they're both practically double my size in both height and muscle. I don't remember the last time I saw the inside of a gym, and though I think I'm pretty strong thanks to the shit I have to deal with at work, I'm pathetically outgunned here.

My eyes flick from side to side, but there's no one else out here. Even if there was, the two men block my body with their size and there's no way anyone would see me properly. The first man's hand is still pressed over my face, so there's no way I can make a noise to alert anyone.

I struggle as they rush me around the building to where a fancy black car is idling in the lane between the public parking lot and the staff parking. Shit! What is it those warnings always say? Don't let them take you to a second location?

I'm so screwed.

In a blur, the back doors open and I'm shoved inside, squished between the two men who took me. One last time, I try to kick out, to do anything to get myself out of this shit show, but before the doors are even slammed closed, the driver makes a tight u-turn and speeds away.

"Let her go. It's not like she's got a gun stashed in those scrubs," the driver says as we reach the highway, the hospital not even visible behind us.

The man to my left chuckles, and the man on my right who's been holding me finally drops his hands.

I take a huge, gasping breath, my head swinging from side to side freely now, taking in every detail I can before my eyes come to rest on a bright blue gaze in the driver's rearview mirror. I must be losing it because I swear my heart stops in my chest as we make eye contact.

Dark hair is kept close to his head, and a silver bar is pierced through his left eyebrow. Those hypnotizing eyes narrow at me, but not in threat, more like curiosity. The hand resting on the steering wheel is tattooed with a skull and roses, letters on his knuckles that I can't make out from here. Even from the obscured view I have of him, he's the most attractive man I've ever seen in my life.

He's also my literal kidnapper .

God, how does this situation keep getting worse?

It's then I notice the blood. My stomach drops.

"What the fucking hell is going on?" I shout, eyes focused on the dark red stain covering the leather of the driver's seat. I lean forward, and no one stops me, seeing a slash mark in the driver's black shirt that's utterly soaked.

There's no way in hell this man should be driving right now.

"You're not in danger. You have my word," the driver promises me, his voice all rich and smooth and making goosebumps rise over my flesh. "I just need you to fix me up."

"That's what the hospital you just snatched me from is for!" I point out, exasperated. My doctor brain overrides my angry, fearful emotions. This man is clearly in pain, clearly very injured, and every part of my training wants me to help him.

"No hospitals," all three men say in unison, making my eyes widen.

There are only a few reasons someone insists on no hospital care. None of them are good. With the stab wound, the way I was taken, the high-speed escape—it doesn't take a genius to figure out that these men are into something bad and don't want to risk dealing with the police we'd have undoubtedly called from the ER.

"You shouldn't be driving," I say, trying to clear my head.

The driver chuckles, but I notice the wince in his face. "Scared, Blondie?"

I snort. "Pissed, more like it." I refuse to show weakness. "I'm not exactly excited about the prospect of crashing if you pass out from blood loss."

The driver smirks, and my heart pounds in my chest. "A little stab wound isn't gonna take me out," he assures, the teasing tone making me flush.

"Typical stubborn man," I mutter under my breath, and the man on my left chokes on a laugh as he tries to hide it. "Fine, I'll help, but I swear to God if anyone puts their hand over my mouth again, I will bite you."

The threat is a little pathetic, especially to men like this, but I don't want them thinking they can walk all over me. They need me, and I need to use that to my advantage.

Thanks to the driver breaking every speeding law known to man, we reach a small bungalow on the outskirts of the city in record time. They take me out of the car and inside, but nobody puts their hand over my mouth again so at least that's an improvement.

Inside, the driver waves a bloody hand at the other two men and orders them to wait outside and secure the place. Clearly, he's in charge because both of them nod and their expressions harden into professional mode as they break apart and step outside to do whatever the hell they need to do to ‘secure the place'.

"I apologize for the introduction, Blondie, but needs must," the driver says to me. "I'm Kellan, and my word is the law around here. You won't be harmed by me or my men."

I nod sharply. "I'm Kacie, and this ‘get to know me' session can wait until you're not ruining the rugs with your blood," I tell him, looking away when he smirks at me again. Fuck, that should be illegal. I shouldn't get flustered like this.

"There's medical supplies and a foldout table over there," he tells me, and I waste no time striding over to the nook on the left of the living space to find the stuff I need.

Later, I'll take in my surroundings, but right now I have to focus. Sure enough, there's a metal surgery-style table that I set up and a box of basic first-aid tools. I tut, unimpressed with the lack of equipment, but I can make do.

"Shirt off, lie down, and let me work," I instruct, trying my hardest not to look at him as he strips his shirt off and lies down on the table in front of me. But, shit, I can't help it. He's covered in tattoos and has abs for days, and I really should not be noticing how hot my patient is right now.

Forcing myself into action, I grab supplies and start cleaning up the dried blood around the wound, giving myself better access to the gash itself. It's deep but luckily has missed any vital organs, and after a few stitches and monitoring, he'll be just fine. Kellan's abs tense, and he hisses through clenched teeth as I begin stitching.

Poking the needle through to make the first suture, I tell him, "If you can't keep quiet and hold still, I'll find something for you to bite down on."

Kellan chuckles, and I glare up at him in disapproval before continuing my work.

"I don't have any belts or leather paddles here to put between my teeth, I'm afraid," he says, an edge of pain and mischief to his dark tone. "But if you take off your panties, I'm sure they'll work just as well."

I flush so hard I'm sure I'm bright red, and the next stitch I make is far less gentle than the last. I fight to drown him out as I close up the stitches and wrap the wound in gauze and bandages to protect it. The whole time, I can feel his eyes on me, my body all too aware of his attention.

"All done," I say, but my voice comes out all breathy and tense. When I set my tools down and snap off the gloves, my hands are shaking.

I gasp as a hand wraps around my wrist, tugging me back towards the man sitting upright on the table. His blue eyes are dark and hungry as he stares at me and growls, "But I'm nowhere near done with you."