Chapter 7

Luke Shaw is kissing me, and it is sinfully good.

His lips are soft, light stubble surrounding them, and his tongue explores me so thoroughly my mind starts conjuring up images of him using it in other places.

Oh, no. That's not…Nope. I need to end this.

I have to fight against my own body to pull back from Luke. He's just so tall, so all-consuming, and my heart hammers against my sternum.

Panic, pure and simple, takes over everything, and I dip away, grabbing my medical bag and heading straight for the door.

"Clara! Wait!"

I can hear Luke call from behind me, but I can't turn around. If I do, I'll never get out of here.

"No, Luke. Mr. Shaw." I fling the door open. "We can't. I'll be fine. Just…don't follow me."

Because I know that would end me, too.

If I got to my car and Luke was still there, on my trail like a bloodhound, I'd give in.

I know it.

I practically run down the short hall for the elevator. I can still hear Luke calling after me, so I jump inside and press whatever button is closest to my hand.

When the elevator dings, I quickly realize that it's not on the basement level because the hallway it leads to is lined with doors on either side.

Deciding this is a happy accident, I step out, running down the straight hall toward a door at the far end.

Sure enough, it leads to a stairwell, and I hurry down the steps to the garage.

Luke won't expect me to be coming from here, so even if he did follow me down, I'd be on the wrong side.

Crossing through the parking garage in a hurry, I find my car in the visitor's section and jump inside. Firing up the ignition, I waste no time throwing it into reverse and then drive, getting the hell out of there.

"You kissed him. You fucking kissed him!"

I scream at myself like it's actually going to do anything, but I'm not surprised when it doesn't.

Warmth still clings to my lips where Luke claimed them so completely. It worms through my entire body because he's gotten under my skin in every possible way.

I've never had a problem staying away from patients or literally anyone else, for that matter. I don't know why I can't do it with him.

Except, you just can't.

Not wanting to think like this, I flick on the radio as I drive across town back to my apartment.

Still, I'm aware it's true. Luke does something to me. It's an odd pull that makes me ache to even just be near him.

Laughing through my nose in an unladylike snort, I realize how much it reminds me of teenage crushes.

The way I was so intimately aware of my heart beating in my chest, the way my entire body hummed because of some boy.

Luke is not a boy in any way, shape, or form.

He's all man. A muscular, tall, and handsome man.

"Stop it. You cannot think like that!"

At that point, I focus on the silly pop song playing on the radio. I concentrate so hard on each and every word sung by the artist, not willing to leave my brain unchecked for even a second.

I know where it will go.

It's a few agonizing minutes before I finally reach my apartment. It's small and downright depressing compared to Luke's place.

Heading around to the back like normal, I pull into my spot, noticing an unfamiliar car sitting at the far end of the small lot.

It's strange only because Mr. Chen's shop isn't currently open, and my spine tingles.

Shutting off the ignition, I reach across the passenger seat for my medical bag, using the opportunity to try and get a look inside the car.

It's sunset and too dark to tell who's inside—if there's anyone at all.

"Jesus, Clara. Stop being so paranoid."

I grab the satchel and get out of the car, walking toward the metal stairs that lead up to my home sweet home.

When I get to the bottom of the stairs, in front of the back door into Chen's shop, I notice it's open a crack.

"That's not…"

Tension builds in my body, and I approach cautiously, searching for my phone in my bag.

My fingers tremble as I reach for the door and push. It creaks open, but the lights inside are still out.

It's an antique shop without a huge till, but I remind myself a thief wouldn't know that.

"Mr. Chen? Are you there?"

Robbers don't like witnesses. And I'm probably being ridiculous, anyway.

My fingers brush something hard, and I pull out my phone.

"Are you okay, Mr. Chen? I've got my phone ready if you need me to call anyone."

With each second of no response, my body tenses harder. My landlord is eighty-five, and the odds that I need to call an ambulance are equally as high as anything else.

Walking cautiously through the cluttered room filled with various antique pieces of furniture piled high with lamps, clothes, and other random odds and ends, dread drips down my spine, pooling in my stomach.

"Mr. Chen? Lee, sir, do you need?—"

Something charges into me out of the darkness, knocking both my phone and bag away, and they fall to the ground.

I spin around as I put some distance between us.

I'm poised to figure out who broke in here and use my latent self-defense skills honed when I moved out on my own until I realize who I'm looking at.

My mouth falls open, and I gasp.

"Hey there, doctor. I told you I'd be seeing you again."

The man from the Cobras, the one who'd been up in my face after I delivered the news of his friend's death, is standing right there. In Chen's shop. Beneath my home.

"Eek."

It's the only thing that comes out of my mouth as I freeze, face-to-face with someone determined to kill me.

I realize I don't exactly know that for sure, but I can see it in this guy's eyes.

They're cold, emotionless—except for the sick grin that lifts a small corner of his mouth.

He's been waiting here.

For me.

"Thought you could get away from me, huh? We have means, bitch. We can find anyone we want."

I stumble backward over a wrinkled rug, my eyes scanning the shop for any sign of Lee or more of this guy's friends.

I can't see my landlord, and while I can't see anyone else, I have a gnawing sense that several more Cobras are lying in wait.

"What did you do to Mr. Chen?!" It's the only thing I can manage to say in return.

"He's taking a nap. But you really shouldn't be worried about some old fart. It's not him I'm interested in. I want the person who let my boy die on some table like fucking dog."

His tone is level, which is actually worse than if he was screaming at me.

Screaming, raging around like a lunatic—that's easy to break from. Anger makes people sloppy when they're looking for you.

A dark memory of my uncle and his wife coming home late and drunk threatens to distract me, but I bury it down.

This guy, this gangster, of all things, is raving mad. He's calm and collected, and he's got me pinned down with a stare that turns my blood to ice.

If I can't make it away from him, I'm not sure what he's going to do.

But I know I won't like it.

Stall. Stall for time.

"I didn't let your friend die. My attending and I tried everything we could to get him stable. His body was just too weak."

Looking around the room, I try to find something—anything—that I can use to get this guy away from me.

There's an old landline still connected to the wall in the upstairs apartment. All I need to do is make it there.

"My boy wasn't weak!" The guy steps forward, his brows down low over his eyes.

Now he's yelling, and I have to find a way to use that to my advantage.

"I have someone coming right behind me. He'll find us."

The Cobra laughs, but it's damn near humorless.

"I ain't worried about some douche you got behind you, bitch."

He stalks forward in a quick jab of motion, hauling me off the floor by the collar of my shirt.

I claw at his hand with my nails, but he's holding on. I can see the muscles on him this close and know there's no way I'll be able to overpower him.

"You're gonna pay for what you did. You and anyone else who watched Joey die."

My eyes are frantic as they search the area around us. I need something. I need something to give me a leg up.

At once, my eyes fall on a large antique typewriter, precariously balanced on a pedestal just to our right.

Without wasting another moment, I jerk us in that direction, and the thing comes crashing down across the Cobra's leg.

It lands on his foot with a sickening crack, and his grip opens.

Running with everything I have, I go for the stairs.

Just as I'm passing through the doorframe, another hand snakes out of the darkness, grabbing my hair.

He only catches a small chunk because I keep it short, but I still have to tear my head away from him, no doubt leaving a clump of hair clutched in his fingers.

My scalp throbs as I hurry up the metal staircase.

I'm not slow. I train and work out pretty often when I'm not at the hospital. But climbing these stairs feels like I'm trucking through the mud.

Finally, I hit the landing and kick my door hard. Without my bag, I have no keys to get inside, after all.

It bows in, the space by the lock cracking.

It's not enough, though. Shoving my shoulder against it, I push before backing up and giving the thing another kick.

The door cracks further, and I put all my strength behind another shove, which finally sends it flying open.

"Get back here, bitch!"

I hear the Cobra shouting behind me, but I don't stop to look. I push inside the apartment and head for the phone on the kitchen wall.

The sound of footsteps on the metal stairs forces me to eye the door as I grab the receiver.

Glancing back at the phone long enough to dial 911, I wait only a second before someone comes on the line.

"911. What's your emergency?"

The woman's voice is calm, and I hate her a little for it. But I know she's not expecting every call to be like this one.

"Someone has broken into my apartment. 9647 Ninth Street. Above Chen's Antiques."

"All right, ma'am. Stay calm. Are you somewhere safe?" Her tone stays level, but I can hear the urgency now.

"No. They're coming up the stairs. I don't?—"

The man appears at my door, and I scream, letting it out loud enough for the woman to hear on the other end of the line.

But then I drop the phone.

I know I can't stay there, so I run for the collection of knives I have on the kitchen counter, snagging one just as I hear footsteps running up behind me.

Slashing forward, I land a blow across the guy's cheek, and I make a run for it, keeping the butcher block under my arm so he can't use it.

"Whore!"

I manage to dodge past him, and I go for the stairs again. I need to get out of the apartment—it's too small. The street is populated.

Coming to the landing, there's a man halfway down the flight, and I throw the knife at him.

My aim is crappy, but it's enough of a surprise to send the guy tumbling backward.

I zoom forward, running down the stairs until I'm close enough to the ground to jump off and avoid running into him at the bottom.

Hitting the pavement beneath me hard and dropping the butcher block, I make a break for the road out in front of the shop and run face-first into a wall of muscle.

Oh, shit. What now?