Branded

I start to bristle at her attitude towards the man that just saved her fucking life when I see tears forming in her eyes. I have no idea what she’s so upset about. It’s not like I haven’t seen her with her pants off before.

“It’s okay, hon. He had to give you a shot of glucose in your thigh,” Finnley tells her comfortingly as she pats her leg.

Phina yanks her leg away from Finnley’s hand and quickly gets up from the ground. I jump up next to her and try to grab onto her arm, but she swats me away.

“Will you stop being so fucking stubborn? You were out cold for over twenty minutes because your blood sugar plummeted. I’m guessing you forgot to eat this morning?”

She rolls her eyes at me, pulling the oxygen mask strap over her head and tossing it to the ground. “I’m not an idiot. Of course I ate this morning. There’s no way my blood sugar dropped that quickly just because of my donation.”

She’s absolutely right and before I can let that thought fester and turn into outright panic, the nurse comes back outside from the truck after disposing of the glucose injection syringe.

“I don’t know how this could have happened. This truck is always monitored. I should have double-checked,” she says worriedly as she rushes over to us with a couple of vials of saline in her hand.

“What are you talking about?” I question when she stops in front of us.

“At the end of a platelet donation, we have to inject a little saline to finish off the process and flush out the I.V. We keep them in a line on the table and use them in order for each donor. Someone switched the vial of saline that was supposed to be used for her with insulin.”

She holds the vials out to me and I grab them from her. Sure enough, a small vial the exact same size and color as the saline is mixed in with all the rest. The word insulin is printed in small script on the label, but it’s been partially scraped off. The donation truck has been a zoo all day with people coming in and out for donations non-stop. The nurse looks like she’s ready to burst into tears and as much as I want to shout at her for not checking the label of the vial, I know it was an honest mistake on her part. She grabbed the supply right next to her, not even fathoming that it wouldn’t be what it was supposed to.

I look up and see Phina staring at the vials in my hand. The tears from moments ago are completely gone and she’s back to looking like she wants to kick someone’s ass. I can handle angry Phina. At this point, I’m a fucking pro. I don’t know what the hell I would have done if she broke down right in front of me and started crying. That, along with the compassion I saw from her today, would have completely done me in.

“Are you ready to let me fucking help you now?” I ask her in a low voice.

Without answering me, she gives Finnley a quick hug and pecks Collin on the cheek.

“We need to call the police. Clearly he’s got someone on the outside trying to get to you,” Collin tells her softly before she backs away from him.

Phina doesn’t acknowledge the fact that everything is all out in the open now that I know about her scumbag father. She has no reason to push me away and exclude me from this shit because she has something to hide. I put myself in her shoes and think about how I would feel if one of my darkest secrets was out there for everyone to know.

I would hate that kind of vulnerability. I would be pissed at everyone around me and take it out on anyone I could. More than ever, I want to just pull this damn woman in my arms and tell her to let me take care of her, but I know just by the look on her face that she’ll never allow it.

She laughs cynically at Collin and takes another step away from him.

“Don’t worry, my father doesn’t need anyone on the outside, he’s been released. All of this twisted shit is being done by his own hands. Stay out of it, Collin.”

With that, she turns and walks away. Finnley calls her name and goes running after her.

“I have to call this in. She’s going to fucking hate me, but I have to do it,” Collin tells me.

I nod and let out a huge sigh. “I have the number of someone you can call. He already knows about the notes and he’s been looking into things.”

Pulling my phone out of my back pocket, I text the number to Collin before packing up my first responder bag.

I saved her life, but Dax is going to save the day.

Fucking Dax. I really should have beaten his ass when I had the chance.

Checking out my reflection in the windows on either side of the door to the firehouse, I briefly wonder if the outfit I chose is a bit much for Fight Night. The A-line, black leather skirt barely covers my ass and crotch and the knee-high black stiletto boots look great paired with it, but could easily be confused for hooker boots. Adjusting my dark green shirt that hangs down off of one shoulder and perfectly compliments my green eyes, I realize I don’t give a fuck if the outfit is too much. It makes me feel bold, sexy and in control, something I am in dire need of after this morning’s events.

Another note was taped to my front door when I got home from the fair, this time asking me if I enjoyed being the ‘damsel in distress.’ It was bad enough to faint in front of a park full of strangers, but to have DJ see me so weak and pathetic was just too much for me to handle. I know I should have thanked him for what he did. He saved my life. If he hadn’t been there to give me that shot of glucose, who knows what would have happened? I was too busy worrying that he saw my scars and what he would think of me to bother with thanking the man for making sure I didn’t die. A part of me wished he saw them, hoped his eyes roamed over the burns on my hips and realized just how incredibly fucked up I am. Maybe then he would leave me the hell alone and I wouldn’t have all of these conflicting feelings about him. I wouldn’t be afraid that he knew the truth about me and I wouldn’t be having second thoughts about paying him back for what he did to me in high school. My father is out of prison, sending me notes and trying to kill me. Clearly I have more important things going on in my life than worrying about what some guy thinks of me. Tonight, I’m going to waltz into this fucking firehouse and be the person I’m comfortable with: bitchy, in control and independent. I don’t need anyone to save me and I don’t need anyone to protect me from the big bad wolf. If they look close enough, they’ll realize I’m the one with the sharpest teeth. And I definitely like to bite. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">