The mobsters nurse, p.1
The Mobster's Nurse, page 1
The Mobster’s Nurse
Ever Lilac
The Mobster’s Nurse
Copyright © 2022 by Ever Lilac.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
1
Tamsin
There’s a mist in the air tonight, a light rain cascading down from the sky and it shimmers in the light of the lampposts. Its cold out, the pedestrians keep their heads down and jog unless they’re of the lucky few who remembered to bring umbrellas.
I pass cozy jazz playing coffee shops, gaze with longing at the bridal boutique with those magnificent dresses that I will never afford to buy. Not that I ever will marry either. At the age of twenty, I have never in my life been even remotely excited by a man. My friends tell me I need to snare one of the doctors at the hospital but the relationship I have with them is strictly professional. I work as a nurse, graduated from college recently and got a job soon after.
I’m on my way to the hospital now and I’m working the graveyard shift, my shoulders and knees aching from all the hustle. I’ve been working night for several weeks now and my colleagues were right when they warned me it was hellish. At least the weekend is coming soon, something to look forward to and maybe I’ll drive out of town and visit my family.
This town is new to me, bigger and darker than the one I grew up in. Don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful in its own way but the shadows here seem more consuming somehow, hungrier...Shivering, I pull my thin jacket tighter around me and rub rain out of my eyelashes. I’m about to cross the street, about to turn when something or someone walks past me.
As he does my breath constricts in my throat and I pant, catching a hint of expensive minty cologne. He doesn’t notice, walking ahead with powerful strides and I’m not surprised he didn’t see me. He doesn’t to pay attention to anyone because people including me seem so small next to him. The man must be close to seven feet tall and his shoulders are the width of three normal sized men. His black, leather coat flares in the wind behind him, the color a stark contrast to the silver blond braid hanging down his back.
The man moves like he’s on a mission, almost floating forward because his legs are so tall that it looks like he’s running while the rest of us are walking. He seems to be scenting for something, until I realize that he’s not scenting...he’s tracking.
Who is he tracking? This man and his behavior awakens my curiosity and I bite my lip. I need to cross the street and hurry to the hospital but I can’t seem to drag my attention away from the man. I feel something when I look at him, the muscles in my lower belly constrict and my heart is taking quick, short jabs at my chest. I’ve never experienced anything like it, not when any of the doctors tried to flirt with me or when men would buy me and my friends drinks at the bar.
This man whose name I don’t even know is making me feel like a woman for the first time in my life and my cheeks heat. Putting my hands in my pockets, I agonize. Forget about him, just go to the hospital. Inwardly I nod but then my eyes go to the man again and something about him seems to say...
Follow.
Yes, sir.
Gulping, I begin walking behind him and people stay out of his way, some of them jerking, others turn pale. I haven’t even seen his face but he must be terrifying. This is exactly why I shouldn’t be stalking him and I chew on my lower lip. I don’t even know what the meaning of this is. If he discovers that I’m following him, he might get pissed and I feel a flutter of anxiety.
He looks like a man who has a ton of enemies, I shouldn’t do anything that could piss him off. His hands are gigantic, big enough to crush a skull and I shudder again, then turn hot when I wonder what it would feel like to have hands like his stroke me, caress every inch of me. What would it feel like to bring out another side in a man like that?
My friends talk about those things all the time, how they made their boyfriends obsessed with them simply by smiling and showing cleavage but this man isn’t anything like any of their boyfriends. This man is a menace, someone who seems to terrorize the streets. He must be difficult to control, difficult to turn into a law abiding citizen. As a nurse, I should be appalled but the appeal of him is mind-altering, I’ve never seen anything like him, never felt anything like him.
When he stops, I gasp and his face turns slightly to the side and I catch a hint of his profile. It’s strong and manly, making my fingers curl and my body feels like it’s swelling, a rose catching much needed rays of sunlight. The man isn’t sunlight though, he isn’t even the moon. He’s a starless sky. He’s black, he’s leather and...death.
More importantly, why did he stop?
He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t face me and I catch a slight shrugging in his shoulders before he keeps on walking and I relax in relief. It would have been so embarrassing if he had turned around and caught me staring at him. I’m following him like a black cat is following her master and usually I never do things like these. I’m proper, super conscientious, started school earlier than most kids and never partied like an animal or dropped my undies for a bad boy. The man shouldn’t have this much of an effect on me but he does. Maybe all that testosterone he’s emitting is toying with my hormones.
And if he can do all that at a distance then what will he be able to do up close? Make me his lovesick slave? Inwardly I jerk myself. Why am I already fantasizing about the man wanting me? A girl like me is his opposite and he’d probably eat me alive the second he’d lay eyes on me. There’s still time to turn around and walk away but my body seems to have a hard time tearing itself away from the man and I feel like a crazy person. Is this what happens to young women when they come across men this powerful? Does it awaken some kind of deep need to be protected, to be soaked and drenched in his masculinity until it’s dripping down my thighs...
Flushing at the thought, I put a hand on my heart to control my breathing. This is so out of my character it’s unbelievable and I’m so happy he can’t know what I’m thinking. When he turns, I widen my eyes in surprise because it looks like he’s going to pay the barber a visit. But he walks out of the barber just as quickly as he walked in and he’s carrying a white, lengthy package in his hands.
Worry takes root in my gut before I brush it off. It’s just a package. Maybe it’s filled with hair wax or hair spray? I let out a burst of nervous, silent laughter and the man treks into an alley. That I don’t like. Girls don’t like alleys and I stare at the steam coming out of a manhole and I throw a look over my shoulder.
What are you doing, Tamsin? Stop following the stranger!
But I don’t like the idea of the man in that alley on his own which is bizarre. He can take care of himself obviously. I’m the last person he needs. And yet I feel a deep urge to make sure he’s okay and I blame the nurse in me. I’m just going to take a quick peek and I walk into the alley and it’s not a dead-end but continues to the left. Stopping, I hide behind the brick wall and there he is. He’s leaning against the wall, his head tilted backward and his hands are clasped in front of him. His energy is even more potent without the disturbance of traffic and pedestrians.
I can see his face now and it’s an achingly beautiful face. A fallen angel. High cheekbones, straight nose and the kind of developed jaw that means he’s frequently clenching his teeth. His skin is pale, his eyes lowered but I can still catch the color. Steel, pure steel and suddenly the bra I’m wearing seems too tight and chafing. Suddenly there’s a need to take my clothes off and strip for him, walk up to him while he’s standing there in the middle of the darkness and smoke and let him kiss my lips, yank me against his chest and...
My body tenses when another man transforms at the end of the alley and suddenly I don’t just like this anymore. Suddenly I’m scared. The other man has a mustache and cargo pants and my stranger straightens when he sees him. The fallen angel towers over the other one and he’s so majestic that my chest aches from looking at him.
Please don’t get hurt. I don’t know him but I already don’t want anything bad to happen to him.
The two men assess each other before the package is exchanged and I feel a dip in my stomach when the other man opens it up. It’s not hair wax or hair spray. It’s a dagger and it’s coated in blood and I feel sick when I realize what it is. The dagger must be a murder weapon, the man I followed, the fallen angel is tampering with evidence and I take a deep breath, almost staggering against the wall.
I need to leave before this situation gets out of hand, I’m way in over my head but I freeze when the man with the mustache smiles evilly before snatching a gun from the back of his pocket and pointing it at his opponent’s forehead.
Something hot and protective bursts in me and I panic, terrified for the man’s life and I run out with my arms in front of me, shouting,
“Please! Don’t.”
They both jerk in surprise, my eyes hooking with the fallen angels. He seems to react on instinct, using the other man’s surprise to his advantage and he knocks the gun out of his hand, grabs it midair before kicking him into the brick wall so hard he slams his head and slides down with closed eyes.
My jaw slacks in shock at the violence but it’s not over yet. From the van in the back, a second man steps out with a rifle in his hands and I scream. Bullets start flying and the fallen angel lunges for me, pressing me up against the wall and covering me with his whole body. I scream, burying my face in his chest while
Our eyes meet, his steel boring into mine and he silently nods, a cue for me to stay still and I nod in return. At that moment he swiftly turns around, raises the gun in his hand and fires. The bullet hits the shooter in the head and he drops face down, his blood coloring the puddles red. My fallen angel turns to me, his eyes consuming but wounded.
“Are you hurt?” he rasps and his voice is like a weapon in and of itself, strong and forceful and so deep that it sounds guttural.
“Me?” I whisper because I’m not the one...”You’ve been shot!” I cry and I rip his leather coat open and there are two bullet wounds. One right below his ribs and one close to his collarbone. Both bullets went through but the wound close to his ribs worries me and I whimper when he turns pale.
His giant body shudders and he makes a motion as if to sit down but staggers and sways down to the cobblestones. Blood stains his expensive black sweater, his lips shivering and I lay down on top of him as sirens burst in the background.
“You can’t die,” I whimper. “You can’t.”
I stroke his cheek as his lids flutter and his eyes roll back in his head. Please, please...he won’t die, he won’t die on me. Will he...?
2
Viper
It was supposed to go seamlessly, the drop-off but I should have known not to trust gangbangers. I wasn’t surprised when he pulled a gun on me but I was surprised at the sound of a throaty, girly voice shouting at us. She came running out of nowhere, like a dark little cherry that had no business being here. Her hands had been pleading, her eyes terrified and only one thought crossed my mind when I saw her.
To get her the hell out of here.
When chaos erupted, I covered her, terrified any of the bullets would scratch her perfect skin. She screamed and shivered under me but she had nothing to fear, as long as I was here. I heard the bullets but I barely felt them when they hit me. All I could feel was a body that seemed to melt into mine, evaporate into me like incense evaporates into mist.
She didn’t even reach up to my collarbones, her nails digging into my chest and even in the chaos I was still very much aware of her breasts pressing into me. I was aware of all of her, from her frightened green eyes to the lemon blossom smell of her softly black hair.
A stirring erupts in my body when she rips open my leather coat.
“You’ve been shot,” she shrieks and her lower lip trembles and I look down. Fuck. Damage has been done but I close the coat again, not wanting her to look at the blood, fearing she might be squeamish and I fall to the ground when I go dizzy in the head. She comes down on top of me, looming over me like she’s trying to protect me from any more invisible bullets and thank fuck I killed those gangbangers. This girl seems willing to risk her life for my sake and a sudden rush of adrenaline bursts in me and I cup my hand around her throat
“Don’t you ever do that again,” I warn. “Don’t you dare ever risk your life for me.”
She startles before crying out. “You risked your life for me! Took bullets for me and...oh, please don’t die.” Her eyes are wide and she’s shaking, keeps trying to look at my wounds, keeps trying to stop the bleeding but I don’t want to get her dirty. She’s too clean. Too pure. Angel.
An angel with raven hair, trying to help a man who doesn’t deserve her mercy.
When my eyes flutter because I can’t help it, she lets out a choked sob and she leans in closer, warming me with her little body and it feels good because I’m starting to feel cold. I focus on her to not start to drift, focus on her face that’s getting wet from the rain and I count the pale freckles on her cheeks. Her throat is slender and she’s wearing a thin necklace with the letter T. I clasp the locket between my fingers, twirling it and her breaths come out in little pants.
“Name,” I rasp and she licks her full lips that are a little bit cracked in the middle.
“Tamsin Teller.” She looks around in distress and the sound of sirens slices my ears. “What’s yours?”
I don’t give out my name. Unless an angel is asking for it. “Viper Roz.” My eyes go to hers. “Were you following me?”
She had to have been. Why else would she have been in an alley and I frown when she nods. As I was walking here I thought I sensed something behind me but it was too non-threatening, too sweet for me to pay much attention to it. I don’t notice sweet things. I notice danger. Beautiful things like her fly below my radar. I don’t know beauty, what it tastes like, what it feels like to consume it.
In my life I have never had something fine, something good but now it is sticking to me like it never wants to leave me. I would think that for something like her to stay in my presence, I would have to shackle her but she seems to have no plans on the two of us separating.
“My heart hurts,” I groan and her cheeks color from worry.
“Because of the bullets? Lay as still as you possibly can...”
“Not the bullets,” I grit between my teeth. Ignoring her recommendations on laying still, I lift my hand and touch her face. “Because of you.”
She’s gorgeous, too colorful and courageous for a dim world. Her hips flare underneath her jacket and the ends of her hair brush my throat, soft as feather strokes and I know I won’t die but if I did, having a beauty like her looking down on me with that submissive expression on her face would be a hell of a good way to go.
I stroke my thumb over her mouth. “How can you be real? How could you have fallen down from heaven right into the arms of the devil?” “You’re not the devil. You’re so strong and brave and you selflessly saved my life.” A small smile lingers around her lips that I want to kiss and kiss until they turn a burning shade of red. “And I can promise you...I’m real.”
My brows frown over my eyes when I suddenly see two of her. She splits, turns blurry like she’s about to vanish into thin air and I panic, snatching her to me and she cries out in shock.
“Where the fuck are you going?” I growl and her eyes widen in astonishment.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.” Her shape goes back to being one person and her flesh feels softer than cotton in my hard palms. I slowly start letting go and she nods at me. “I’m right here.”
“Do not go anywhere,” I warn and I have never feared anything more in my life. My biggest fear isn’t screwing up the legacy my fadir left behind. Now my biggest fear is losing her, having her out of my sight will feel like torture and I even dislike the way she keeps looking around. Turning her face to me, her eager fingers move to open up my coat again but I firmly stop her.
“Pretty eyes are not supposed to look at anything ugly.”
“But I can help...” she begins when a cop car arrives along with an ambulance. She gasps at the sight of the cops and looks down at me in concern but I give a weak shake with my head. The cops won’t do anything to me. They can’t touch me and she lets out a sigh of relief when they throw a look at me, sharply turn and run over to the gangbangers.
Everything she does, her little sighs, looks and breaths that speak of her concern over me shoot straight into my chest and fill my heart up with her sweet essence. She’s my painkiller. Innocence and sin in a tight little package. She can’t be old. I have to be at least a decade older but the kind of life I live might as well have made me ancient.
“Hold on, Viper. You’ll be okay,” she whispers, gently stroking my shoulder and I like the way she says my name. Most people say it with venom on their tongue but it sounds like drippy, gooey syrup when coming from her. “The paramedics will take care of you. You’ll be in safe hands. They’re great guys.”
