2.

Hugo

Approaching the waiting area, my gaze falls on a man who exudes more sliminess than a snail. He stands with the confidence of someone used to getting what he wants and I don't like it. I size him up, my instincts on high alert.

"I'm Dr. Hugo Payne. What seems to be the problem here?" I say, my voice steady and professional.

"Name's Raymond Barke," the man replies, "and this is my sister Pamela."

He gestures towards a young woman sitting in a chair. I look down at her and feel a jolt of something I haven't felt in years. Sandy hair cascades around her face, framing green eyes that seem both sultry and innocent. Her little plus -size figure is accentuated by a pair of cutoff shorts and a simple top, revealing more skin than I typically see around here. There's a raw, untouched beauty that makes me want to…plunder.

I clear my throat, trying to maintain my composure. "What happened?" I direct the question at her, but before she can answer, Raymond steps in.

"Her hand needs surgery," he says. He pulls out a stack of cash, the bills crisp and thick, and thrusts it into my palms. "No questions asked."

I glance at the cash. In my world, morals are just a suggestion. People in certain circles know I get things done, no matter the cost. Raymond must be one of those people, and that's why he's brought her to me.

I meet Raymond's eyes and nod, slipping the money into my pocket. "Alright, let's get this over with."

Pamela looks up at me with those wide, innocent eyes, and I start feeling more than just attraction simmering. There's an undeniable allure about her. Maybe it's the youth. Or the insane body. Or maybe it's something deeper than that.

I guide Pamela towards the surgery room, feeling a twinge of excitement but then I see a flicker of worry in her eyes as she looks at me. Maybe she doesn't trust me because I accepted the money, but she should. I'm good at what I do and I'll have her repaired in no time.

Once we reach the room, I turn to Raymond. "You can't come any further. You'll wait outside," I order.

Raymond's eyes narrow, but he doesn't back down immediately. Instead, he leans in close to Pamela, his hand stroking her hair with a grotesque familiarity that makes me wonder if he really is her brother. This seems a little…sick.

"I'll be right outside the door if you need me," he murmurs, his lips brushing her ear. "And when you're done, I'll buy you a lollipop."

Pamela's face pales, and she squirms under his touch, her eyes darting to me. The sight ignites something fierce inside me, a possessiveness I didn't expect. Something weird is going on here. The girl seems scared under his leering gaze, his touch clearly unwelcome.

"That's enough," I snap, my voice stone-cold. Raymond looks up, surprised by my tone. "Leave. Now."

His eyes flash with possessiveness.

"Get out," I growl and he reluctantly pulls away. He gives Pamela one last lingering look before stalking out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him. I look at the girl again and she's quietly staring at the floor.

A nurse enters, her presence cutting through the tension and she begins preparing Pamela for surgery. I move to the sink, scrubbing my hands thoroughly, the ritual immediately turning my nerves into steel.

As I clean myself, I feel Pamela's eyes on me. I glance over, and our gazes lock. Her forest eyes are wide, filled with a mix of concern and something else—desperation, maybe. It's a look I've seen many times before but never quite like this. Not with this intensity.

"Don't worry," I say, trying to sound reassuring. "I'll take care of you."

She nods, a small, hesitant movement. I finish scrubbing and turn back to her, my heart pounding in a way that has nothing to do with the procedure ahead.

As I move to begin, the nurse hands me the first set of instruments, and I feel a surge of determination. This is my domain, my expertise. And I might be morally corrupted but I'm pretty damn good at mending bones.

Let's just hope that all that's broken in the girl.

***

Pamela

The sterile table is cold, and the room clinical with steel instruments everywhere—it should give me anxiety but instead I feel relieved. At least I'm away from Raymond. In a place where he's forbidden to enter. And even if only for a short while, I still appreciate it.

And the surgeon…Hugo. I appreciate him too.

Glancing at him, I feel a flutter in my lower belly. It's an unfamiliar sensation, one that Raymond would be infuriated about if he knew. Hugo's presence is commanding but not overpowering and he moves with a purpose, his hands steady as he prepares. There's a rugged strength to him that Raymond lacks. If he threw one punch at Raymond, I bet he could kill the bastard. Next to Hugo, Raymond looks like an overcooked noodle.

I let out a sigh when the nurse administers a liquid tranquilizer, and I feel the initial waves of calm wash over me. Hugo steps closer, his eyes meeting mine and it's like being introduced to steel.

"Are you putting me under?" I breathe.

"We're using local anesthesia for this," he says, his voice steady and reassuring. "You'll feel some pressure in your hand, but it shouldn't be painful."

I nod, feeling a strange sense of trust in him. I know he's not like other doctors—Raymond's bribe made that clear—but there's something about his clear, strong eyes that makes me believe he won't hurt me. Not intentionally, at least. There's nothing sleazy about him, and even if there was, I think I wouldn't mind. Because he's just that…cool.

The nurse puts up a screen to shield my view, and I wince as the needle pierces my skin, delivering the local anesthesia. The pain is sharp but brief, replaced by a numbness that spreads through my hand. I try to focus on Hugo's face, drawing strength from his rigid, ultra-masculine demeanor.

The room falls into a tense silence as they prepare to begin, and I take a deep breath, bracing myself. Don't say anything you'll regret…don't say it….don't say it…

***

Hugo

I work in silence. Pamela's hand is laid out in front of me like a delicate puzzle of broken bones and bruised flesh. My fingers move with precision, my mind focused on the task, but a nagging thought keeps asking for attention.

I've noticed something that raises the hairs on the back of my neck. This doesn't look like an accident to me. It looks deliberate. Familiar signs of blunt force trauma, the kind I've seen too many times in victims of domestic violence. My jaw tightens, and I risk a glance at Pamela.

Her bee-stung lips are slightly parted, her round cheekbones flushed under the harsh lights. It's hard to reconcile the image of someone harming her someone with so much innocent beauty. The thought of someone intentionally hurting her spikes a sudden, intense rage that surges through my veins. I'm not used to the loss of control, but the idea of her suffering at someone else's hands makes my blood boil.

Fuck, I'm going to kill whoever did this. Break their bones in a way that no surgeon on the planet can fix them.

I force myself to calm down, drawing in a slow, measured breath. Control is my forte; it's what allows me to do my job well. I can't afford to lose it now. I finish setting the last bone and glance at the nurse.

"Leave us," I say, my voice firm.

The nurse looks puzzled but does as she's told, exiting the room without a word. I need a moment alone with Pamela. Her face is turned slightly, her eyes hooded, and she's not focusing on anything I'm doing. Good. She won't see what I'm about to do, what I probably shouldn't but I'm doing it anyway. Morality has never been my strong side.

I take a deep breath, the sterile scent of the hospital filling my lungs, and let my fingers brush lightly against her skin, checking for any signs of pain or discomfort. But my mind is already drifting to darker thoughts. Someone has hurt her, and that someone could do it again. Which is something I can't allow.