Page 12 of Bloody Kingdom

“Three months ago, every single patient I touched started dying. Doesn’t matter what part I played, if I touched them, they died.” The faces of the patients I lost all start filling my head. I haven’t forgotten a single one of them. I drop my head, squeezing my eyes shut at a poor attempt to block out the memories. “I thought it was a weird fluke the first week it started happening, but after two weeks, I knew it was me. I was killing them.” My voice is barely a croak as I force the words out. “And this is why I can’t help you, Ira, because if I touch you, you’re going to die.”

Ira’s response is the last one I’d ever expect. Instead of the sullen expression I’m expecting, when I look at him again, I find him smiling. “Then you’re in luck, honey, because I’m already dying.”

I jerk back at his words, my eyes darting to Silas for confirmation.

Black eyes meet mine. “I don’t need you here to help Ira live, I need you here to help him die.”

“Ahospice nurse I believe is what it’s called,” I explain to the woman who has quickly become the bane of my existence. “You were right, Miss Page, I’ve already hired the best doctors—the best surgeons—in the world, but it wasn’t enough to cure Ira. So now I need the best to administer palliative care during the last of his numbered days.”

The grating sound of the heart monitor has yet to cease. All she needs to do is reconnect the leads to the sensors on Ira’s chest. Even though I know how to do that, I’m trying to prove a point here. My demands must be met, I will accept nothing less.

Quincey looks utterly lost and confused. “I’m not a hospice nurse,” she states the obvious.

“I’m aware.”

“You could have picked—afforded—the best hospice nurses around, but instead you abduct me off the streets?” She’s shrieking now, the false bravado she’s been wearing since we left her room slipping. Good, her sarcastic comments were driving me mad.

“I’maware,” I repeat blandly. I told Ira the same thing since the beginning, but he insisted it be Quincey. Plus, “I’ve found my best employees are the ones who are indebted to me. Their work ethic seems to be so much better when their lives are on the line. And I need you at your best because like I said, I will accept nothing but theabsolutebest for Ira.”

“But—”

I’m quick to cut her off. “This is how this will play out. You will work here as Ira’s personal nurse. You will assist him with his medical needs while keeping him comfortable. Administer palliative care. You will stay quiet, much like a child, I believe you are better seen and not heard. As it is, I’ve already heard you say too much for my liking.” If I was capable of having a headache, I’m sure she’d have given me one by now. “This is how you will repay the two hundred-thousand-dollar debt I have paid for you. That is” —I pause giving her a knowing look— “if you don’t want me to hand you over to Gallo. That option is very much on the table still.”

Quincey glowers at me. “My option is either repay my debt with my body or by being a nurse for your dying employee?” He’s more than an employee, but I will never tell her about the details of Ira’s and my history.

“Yes, those seem to be the options you’ve found yourself with.” Technically this is all her father’s fault, but I don’t bring him up.

Her brows furrow and she worries her bottom lip between her straight teeth. Why she thinks this is something she needs to think over, I don’t understand. There’s a clear option here.

There is no such thing as curses, she’s got herself worried over something that doesn’t exist, but convincing her of this would be like trying to convince a devout catholic that Jesus was never real. Plus, I don’t have the time for an argument like that. Sunrise is right around the corner.

Ira is racked with a sudden fit of coughs. He wheezes for breath and bends almost in half at the severity of them. With an exasperated sigh, Quincey finally moves forward. Her hands clench and unclench at her sides for a second, before she reaches for the leads that have come loose.

The room fills with the steady sound of Ira’s heartbeats when she fixes the wires. Quincey adjusts his oxygen cannula as well and hands him a tissue from the box at his bedside. After a minute, the coughing stops, and she steps away from him.

She turns to me with a defeated look in her powder blue eyes. I had originally expected to find triumph in receiving that look, but I feel an unrecognizable emotion when she looks up at me. “How is this going to work?”

“I have to live here?”She sits across from me, her still bare legs crossed tightly to conceal herself from me.

“Yes, the room you woke up in earlier? It will be yours for the time being. It’s close to Ira’s room.” And far away from mine. “This will make it easy for you to get to him if something happens during the night.”

“All I have to do is care for Ira?” Quincey presses, “There’s no fine print you’re purposely not telling me?”

I shift in my seat behind the desk, eyeing the clock on the far wall. Five thirty in the morning, less than an hour before the sun is up and I’m indisposed for the next ten hours. “There isn’t a single thing otherwise I can think of that I would want from you, Miss Page.”

I’m lying, there is one other thing I want from her.

Her wounds on her ankle, while bandaged, are still bleeding slightly. The sweet scent of her blood is filling my office and it’s waking up the beast inside of me. I need to get the fuck away from her before I lunge across this wooden desk and drain her dry.

She rolls her eyes at me, something I don’t typically tolerate but for some reason, I let slide with her. “What about my job at the club?”

“What about it?” I shrug. “You obviously won’t work there anymore.”

“How am I supposed to make any money? You won’t be paying me actual money for my work here,” she starts, sitting up straighter in the leather chair she sits in. We moved into my office on the other side of the house after we left Ira. This is the one and only time I’m allowing her into this space. This room along with my bedroom is my sanctuary. I don’t need her tainting it. “I still need money to…live.”

“Food will be provided by me during your time here. Anything else you may need will also be provided—within reason.” I’m not about to go buy her luxuries. The bare minimum is what she’s getting.

She sits silently for a second, but I know the reprieve of her incessant talking will be short-lived. “I want to work one shift a week at the club.”

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