Elite Metal-ARE-epub (83 page)

Chapter Two

He was back again, the giant who stalked the shadows.

Hazel would admit that when she’d first started to notice him, he’d frightened her just a bit. He was huge. A veritable beast of a man. But the part that was frightening wasn’t his size, or his scarred face, it was the way he seemed to blend with the dark. He moved like a predator, a great jungle cat stalking its prey. She’d wondered if the prey was her, but he never came any closer than where he stood now.

She’d started to be comforted by his presence. There was just something about him. She didn’t know what it was, but she knew while he was there, nothing bad could ever happen to her.

Hazel knew that was probably very naïve. She carried mace just in case. Her mother had wanted her to start carrying a gun, but Hazel knew herself. She’d never use it. She could never kill another human being, not even to save herself. That just wasn’t how she was wired.

She wondered about the man. About his name, his story. What he needed from her, or the truck. Sometimes it took the homeless a while to decide they could trust her, and sometimes even longer to ask for the help they needed.

It should’ve been unsettling to see him.

Tonight wasn’t a usual night for the truck, but she’d had a bad day at the hospital. She’d lost a patient. So she’d gotten the truck and come out on her own. She needed to do something, needed to make a difference. Hazel had to feel like she was doing more than emptying the ocean with a thimble.

Some of her truck patients nodded to him, acknowledged him, but gave him a wide berth, which only ratcheted up the intensity of her fascination with him.

Suddenly, he wasn’t in his corner anymore and she knew without turning that he stood behind her.

Her breath caught in her throat and his presence weighed down on her, heavy—sucking all the oxygen out of the air. She waited for what he would do, what he would say.

If he would touch her.

Although, logically, she shouldn’t expect to be safe. She didn’t know him.

But there was this part of her that just knew he wouldn’t touch her. Knew he wouldn’t hurt her. She was hoping to hell that her intuition was on with this one.

“What are you doing, doc?”

His voice was low, gravelly. It resonated deep in her belly, curled inside her and then bloomed outward, making her tingle all over. It was the first time he’d spoken to her.

“My job.”

“Alone? It’s dangerous out here. Pack up. Go home until you can bring Marcus or Carlos.” He referred to the volunteers who always came with her.

“I have you,” she said with confidence. This was the first time he’d spoken to her. She had so many questions, but she didn’t want to frighten him off. More importantly, she wanted him to know she wasn’t afraid of him. Hazel moved to turn.

“Eyes forward, doc. You don’t want this up close and in your face.”

“I smell blood. Let me help you.”

“How do you know it’s mine?”

“It’s obvious you’ve had no gentle life. You live on the street, right? It’s yours. Even in the dark at a distance I can tell your nose is broken.”

“And you know you can’t set it. Can’t do nothin’ for me.”

“Yet, I’d like to try. Please let me turn around.” Her fingers curled into fists as she fought to hold herself still.

Instead of answering her request, he said, “I could hurt you.”

“You won’t. I know you’ve been watching over me. Let me help you. Let me return the favor the only way I know how.”

“
This
is helping me. Get in the truck and go back to where it’s safe.”

“What if I told you it wasn’t safe there?” she said, thinking of the hospital, and the pain that awaited her there.

“Then I would make it safe,” he told her, with all the assurance and authority of someone who could actually do that. Someone who could put the world back together for her and it wouldn’t dare fall apart for fear of inciting his wrath.

What a lovely picture she’d painted of him. She was sure her ideas were much more romantic and pretty than the reality of him.

But maybe not. Maybe he was some kind of dark knight savior. For being homeless, he smelled so good. He smelled like leather and musk underneath that blood. No cologne, no aftershave, just a scent that was wholesome and pure.

Even the blood she didn’t mind so much. It was familiar.

“Is it not safe?” he demanded, his voice lower.

She could feel the lava beneath his skin, even without touch. It intrigued her that the idea of her pain would cause such a reaction in him. He was probably obsessed with her, dangerous. It shouldn’t thrill her like it did. “Not like you mean. I lost a patient today,” she found herself confessing.

“I’m not a priest. I don’t need your sins.”

“Maybe that’s why I want to give them to you. I know you won’t judge me.” She needed to talk to someone about what had happened. Someone who didn’t work in the ER with her. Someone who wouldn’t regurgitate the same things her own brain told her. Someone who’d see her sins and wash them away—or at least silence that damn flatline alarm in her head.

“You judge yourself harshly enough.”

“Please let me help you.”

A warm puff of breath on her neck and some break in the tension, she didn’t know how she knew it was okay. But she did. She turned oh-so slowly to face him. She was eye level with his shoulder and that was saying quite something. At 5’10, she was considered tall for a woman.

He was just as scarred as she’d believed, but seeing him in the soft, yellow light of the streetlamp didn’t lend itself to any horrors. In fact, it was a kind of comfort to know that he was real and not a figment of her imagination.

The left side of his face was a wreck. She wasn’t sure what had happened to him, but it must’ve been traumatic. His eyes were so blue, they were electric. He almost looked superhuman with those eyes. She struggled to catch her breath, she didn’t want to show him any kind of outer reaction that would indicate she was affected at all by his face.

Even though she was. To the core of her. His pain was so ugly it was beautiful. She wanted to touch those scars. And the other side of his face? The one without the scars? He was like some kind of fallen angel. Hard jaw, smooth brow, sharp cheekbones. He was all angles and art.

The muscle in his jaw twitched, the cords in his neck standing out, tense ready to fight.

She closed off that part of her that was aware of him, that part of her that was all soft, wanting woman. She looked at him like a patient. She took stock of his injuries.

“Looks like your nose is broken and so is your zygotm—cheekbone. You must be in a lot of pain.”

“I’m in no pain at all.” His gaze drilled into her.

Hazel found she believed him. “Then how about you let me stitch up your cheek? If you can’t feel it, then you must not know the skin is gaping just a bit.”

“I can stitch myself.”

“The same as I can look out for myself?” She cocked her head to the side. “I
can
look out for myself, but you do a much better job doing it for me. So how about give me the same credit, eh?”

He opened his mouth, but then snapped it shut. “Where do you want me?”

Everywhere? On top of me, pushing me down, pulling my hair…
She crushed that thought out of her head. God, what was wrong with her? This was a creature in pain and all she could think about was putting her hands on him in a way that wasn’t at all about healing.

“Oh wait, I won’t even have to use a needle. I’ve got some tissue adhesive.” She smiled.

“Save the adhesive for someone who’s worried about looking pretty. I’ll take the needle.”

“I have plenty and it’s cheap. Sit down, big guy. I can’t reach.” She could, if she had to. But she wanted to make sure she did a good job and she wanted the opportunity to study him further.

He sat down on the back of the truck, the rear of the vehicle depressing with his weight.

She fumbled in her pocket and came out with the small tube. “See?” Hazel grabbed a few alcohol wipes. “This might sting, but I have to clean it up.” She was gentle as she wiped away the blood, cleared the gore from his skin. That was when she realized it wasn’t all his, but that wasn’t a surprise.

“What’s your name?” she asked as she worked. She always spoke with patients while she administered to them, but this was one she’d always remember, she was sure.

“John,” he answered, quiet.

“John Doe?” she teased. Hazel should’ve expected that one. Of course he wasn’t going to give her his real name. A lot of them didn’t. Especially the ones she gave Methadone to.

“No, John Thrace.” He said this as if it cost him something to confess.

She found herself wanting to reassure him. Wanting to make sure he was safe. But that was a screwed up way to think, she was sure. He was probably the safest man on the planet. But so far, her intuition hadn’t led her astray. “I’ll keep your secrets, John Thrace. I swear.”

“You should be afraid of me.”

“Why?” She lined the wound with the pharmaceutical grade sealant and closed his wound.

“Because I kill people.”

Hazel stopped what she was doing and stared at him hard. In those beautiful eyes were pools of pain. They were so deep she knew she could drown there, and in turn, if he held all of that inside of him, he was drowning too. But maybe he didn’t even know it.

“Well today, John, maybe you should be afraid of me. I kill people too,” she whispered.

His hand closed over hers. She was startled by the contact. By how very large he really was. He could crush her hand with his own, but he held it so very gently—his bloodied and split knuckles glinting in the pale yellow light. She couldn’t help but wonder what his hands would be like on the rest of her body.

Christ, what was wrong with her? She needed to get out. She needed to date. She needed—

“I
am
afraid of you.”

She didn’t want him to stop holding her hand, but she could tell he was about ready to make his exit. Hazel wanted to make sure she got that wound closed before he did. She pulled back gently and said nothing else.

Instead, she concentrated on the task and sealed the laceration. She managed to sneak in some care to the split across the bridge of his nose as well. He didn’t flinch, and showed no outward reaction that he felt anything.

Except his eyes. She couldn’t stop falling into them and she rather imagined they were deeper than anyone could guess.

“Go home, Dr. Brewer,” he said when she was done.

Hazel kind of expected him to disappear into the night like some phantom, but he didn’t. He simply stood and walked away—his trench coat billowing out behind him like the wings of a dark angel.

She shook her head at her own fancy, especially taking note of the biohazard tattoo.

Who are you, John Thrace? 

He was right though. She shouldn’t have come out by herself. This wasn’t a good neighborhood for anyone to be alone in, but that’s why she chose it. These were the people who needed her help the most.

She waited a few minutes to see if anyone else would approach, but they did not. The streets were suddenly and strangely empty.

Hazel slid into the van and drove back to the hospital to exchange out the van for her car.

Marcus was waiting for her. “Where you been, doc? I was about to file a report.”

“I just took the van out.”

“Are you okay?” he demanded, inspecting her.

He was visibly shaken.

“I’m fine, has something happened?”

Marcus looked like he wanted to say something, but she saw the minute he swallowed whatever words were on his tongue and watched his expression harden.

“No, I needed to take the van in for service. I thought it had been stolen.” He eyed her.

She flushed. “I’m sorry. I should’ve said something to you. I left a note with Bill.” She referred to the hospital parking security guard.

“Just let me know next time. I’ll come out with you, okay? You shouldn’t be in those neighborhoods by yourself.”

A couple hundred responses leapt forward, but she bit them all back. For some reason, it was different coming from John. She knew the big, scarred man could protect her, but she’d never gotten that idea about Marcus. Carlos, maybe. But she rather imagined that Marcus, with his rangy health club muscles, and frat boy demeanor would be more likely to run the other direction than protect her, if she actually needed protecting.

She knew working the van was some demand from his stepfather, David Baradies, who was now running Lakos Enterprises.  

Further, where did he think he was taking the van for service at this time of night?

This was just one of many little things that didn’t add up about Marcus Lakos. But she wasn’t going to question it. She hated the way he talked to her, the way he treated her as if he were the adult and she the child. Like he was doing her some kind of favor---and she guessed that he was. This wouldn’t be possible without his family.

Whatever he was doing, she didn’t want to risk losing the funding. The van was always well-stocked and nothing was ever amiss, even though she suspected he was dealing Oxy.

But she didn’t have any solid proof of anything anyway. It was one thing to suspect a billionaire’s son of being a drug dealer and quite another to report him to police, especially when it was in essence biting the hand that feeds.

She managed a nod and he took the keys from her.

“See you tomorrow, Haze.” He winked at her and got into the van.

She hated it when he called her Haze. She’d much rather make him call her Dr. Brewer.

Hazel pursed her lips and watched him drive the van toward the garage exit. She could feel Bill’s eyes on her. He had to know there was something wrong with this picture as well, but in the hopes of keeping things running and the van on the road, she wouldn’t look at him. Wouldn’t return that knowing nod.

She’d just let them both think she was oblivious.

If that was the worst she had to suffer to get medical care to people who needed it, well then it was worth it.