Page 9 of Brutal Vows

I pushed too hard and now I’m working on fumes. Not physically. Emotionally.

Eight months have passed since the Russian mobsters forced my sister to operate on their leader. Eight months since the scarred monster threatened to return for me. Eight months of nightmare-filled nights and looking over our shoulders all day long.

My sister hasn’t touched me, not even a casual handshake or pat on the back, since our hug in the hallway. No matter how many hours I exhaust myself at work or how hard I train in the gym, I can’t ignore the gaping hole in my heart or the incessant buzzing under my skin.

Usually, a few hours of sparring can replace the emotional discomfort with enough physical pain to mask my symptoms, but even my weighted blankets and anxiety relief plushies don’t help.

“Hey, Loretta,” Samantha calls out from behind the front desk. I lift my chin and head toward her as she speaks. “Livia wasn’t feeling well, so she left early with Tabitha and Ariel since that was their last surgery for the day,” she says.

“Thanks, Samantha,” I say.

“Any news on the transfer?” she asks before I can head toward the locker room.

I still have two patients to anesthetize today, but a few minutes off my feet sounds like a dream right now.

“We’re still waiting,” I say.

“Any idea what’s taking so long?” Samantha asks.

I fill my lungs and shake my head.

At first, Livia and her team seemed just as eager as me to transfer, but as the weeks went by and no criminals came back for us, they lost their sense of urgency. When the police told us they had several suspects in custody for us to identify, we went to the station together, only for them to announce the entire line up had fought and killed each other in the holding cell overnight. Most of the men beat each other to a pulp so we couldn’t view the bodies, but they produced photos of when they’d arrested them.

Even as a tiny photograph on a screen, the scarred monster’s evil glare made my insides curdle.

I don’t believe he’s dead. Maybe if I saw his body I would, but I can’t take the cops’ word for it.

I’ll never forget the look of embarrassment on Livia’s face when I voiced my doubts in the police station. The officer apologized for not being able to give me closure since the bodies were now part of an investigation on the station’s procedures, so I dropped the topic and saved Livia from further humiliation.

When I take too long to form a response, Samantha tilts her head and raises her brows.

“I think the company is worried we’ll leave too big of a gap here if we transfer to another location,” I answer with a shrug.

She rolls her eyes but nods.

“You and your sister are becoming renowned for your flawless teamwork, so I can see the company being hesitant to move you.”

“Thanks. I have about thirty minutes before my next procedure, so I’m going to—”

Glass shatters and gunshots blast through the room. I drop onto my stomach and belly crawl around the desk to Samantha. She screams and holds her head. When I pull her hands away, blood coats her palms.

“Don’t panic! Head wounds bleed a lot. It’s just a scratch from the partition shattering, not a gunshot wound. You’re okay,” I yell over the sounds of panicked screaming from the waiting room.

She blinks and searches my face, and when I whip her coat off the back of her chair and press it to the shallow cut on her head, she takes over, applying pressure without guidance.

A man with a heavy accent lets out a curse. Ice travels down my spine until I realize he yells to his buddies in Spanish, not Russian. The shooting stops. Glass crunches under someone’s boots as they run away.

I count for five breaths and listen for signs of danger before the agonized yelling is too much to bear.

“Call nine-one-one. I need to go help,” I tell Samantha.

“Wait,” she yells, but I’m already around the desk.

I jump over the row of toppled chairs closest to the reception desk and drop to a knee beside the grey-haired woman sitting in a pool of blood.

“Where are you hurt?” I ask.

“It’s not my blood. It’s my son’s. He went outside, but my leg—”

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