Page 5 of Corrupted By the Shadow King (Hope Runs Deep #3)

Paper towels drenched in cold water not only refresh me, but they also cool me off and give me an attitude adjustment.

A small one. A very small one. After I wipe off the layer of grime that has accumulated on my skin, I pull the ponytail holder out of my hair and finger-brush it to look a bit more presentable.

I don’t look my best, but at least I remembered to wear waterproof mascara so my eyes don’t resemble a zombie.

When I am the best I can be given my limited resources, I leave the restroom and join my mother at her table. I wish Agathe was here. She has the excuse that she has to visit David’s father. I say traitor.

“Hi, Maman .” I smile, hoping it doesn’t appear as tired or worn out as I feel.

“Nicolette, you’re late.” My mother kisses my cheek when I lean down to hug her.

“I know. I ran into a spot of traffic.” Total lie, but she doesn’t need to know that.

Raising one eyebrow, she studies me as I take my seat. “Why do you look like you showered here?”

I snort. “Have you been outside? It’s like a million degrees and hotter than Satan’s ass crack.”

“Nicolette!” she chastises, but her lips twitch.

She wants to laugh, but her upbringing won’t allow her.

She is a first-generation born in the States.

Her parents immigrated from France and had very distinct ideas of how one should behave in society.

She was a debutante and socialite, and my father, a Hispanic man whose family had roots in Mexico, swept her off her feet.

Neither set of grandparents was happy with the union, but since my parents eloped, they couldn’t do anything about it.

Something clicked for them. My parents have been married for thirty-two years and are just as in love today as they were when they met.

“How is Dad?”

“Playing golf with Mr. Stefans.” She rolls her eyes and sighs, but I can hear the low grumble of irritation under her breath.

“I thought Dad said he wouldn’t ever play with him again.”

“He wasn’t going to, but Mr. Stefans is trying to secure an intern spot in the law firm for his son.”

“So, kiss up to one of the senior partners in the firm, and hopefully, his plans for his son’s life will all fall into place. Didn’t you tell him that never works out well?” I smirk.

Shaking her head, she laughs. “I just think you could do more with your life. I never said I wasn’t proud of you.”

I am a little shocked. Not going to lie. “You’re not? But you?—”

She smiles, and her face softens, making her look even younger.

The woman hasn’t aged, and most think she is about thirty instead of almost fifty.

“I said I was worried about you as a nurse. That is a mother’s prerogative.

You work long hours, don’t always get the recognition you deserve, and get treated like you are less than.

You deserve better. You are smart and capable.

You could probably out doctor the doctors.

And then with that whole COVID mess…” She sighs.

“I know you were under a lot of stress. You subject yourself to God only knows what. I think you deserve more than what you get. You could be a doctor.”

“I don’t want to be.”

“I know. Just…” She reaches across the table and places her hand over mine. “Just be careful.”

“I always am.”

My mother sits there and looks at me for a long minute. She opens and closes her mouth, not saying whatever is on her mind. Finally, she settles on, “I know.”

“Who’s dying?” I blurt.

“Excuse me?” Her right hand is over her chest, and she is gaping at me like I have two heads.

“You are proud of me, and you aren’t trying to tell me how to live my life. Hell, I didn’t even get a lecture about my appearance. So, someone is either dying or something is wrong. Which one is it?”

“Nicolette Emelia Albert!”

I have really messed up if I am hearing all three of my names, but I don’t back down. “What?”

She glares at me, the silence stretching between us. Neither of us breaks eye contact or speaks for what feels like an eternity. Finally, she says, “No one is dying or hurt or sick.” Rolling her eyes, she shakes her head at me. “Can’t a mother just be proud of her daughter?”

“Yes, but you have never given me such a speech before.”

“It does not mean that your father and I don’t think the world of you.”

Smiling, I take a small sip of my water before I address her. “Thank you.”

She picks up her menu and asks, “Have you met anyone recently? You know, Mr. Stefan’s older son is single. He owns his own company. Or have you decided to give that Kevin guy a chance?”

My luck has run out.

After an engaging lunch with my mother, where she grilled me about my love life or lack thereof, I said goodbye and left the restaurant as quickly as possible, reminding myself that I love my mother over and over again.

She offered to drive me to my car, but I declined, stating I needed to make a couple of stops before I left. Thankfully, she has other plans and was unable to join me. Oh darn. It doesn’t stop me from speed walking down the road or glancing over my shoulder periodically.

Unfortunately, because I am not completely paying attention to what is in front of me, I bump into something. At first, I thought it was a lamp post or a bicycle rack, but it’s not.

“ Mierda !” I hear as I’m grabbed. It’s not enough to stop our descent. My back hits the scorching pavement, and a heavy weight lands on top of me.

“Son of a bitch!” I snap, trying to push the beast away from me.

His groan stops me. It is full of pain and regret.

I glance up. The man has dark hair and a short beard.

He’s handsome with dark eyes. Only those eyes are not focused, and his face is flushed.

Too flushed. I lift my hand to feel his face, and it is hotter than the concrete we are lying on. This isn’t good. He’s burning up.

“ Hermano ! Come on!” Another big guy, who looks almost identical to the one on me, lifts my assailant like he weighs nothing more than a sack of potatoes and practically throws him to another man—tall, dark, and scary—who, in turn, throws the injured man into the back seat of a very large SUV.

Before he disappeared into the dark interior, I noticed the bloodied bandage on his arm.

He looks like he’s been in some sort of bar fight and found a back-alley doctor to stitch him up.

“Where are you taking him?” I demand.

“None of your business,” the new guy answers as I hear the injured one moan.

“I’m making it my business. Don’t make me call the cops.”

The twin smirks at me and crosses his arms over his chest. “Call them. They won’t do anything, pajarito . But if you must know, I’m taking my brother home.”

“He needs a hospital.” I don’t know how high his temperature is, but I know he needs medical intervention.

“We have doctors who will make house calls.”

“He needs a hospital,” I reiterate.

His jaw twitches. “I will make sure his needs are taken care of.” With that, he spins on his heel and gets in the vehicle as his buddy slides into the driver’s seat, but before he can shut the door, I leap in after him. “Get out!”

“No! I’m a nurse, and until I know he is okay, it is my duty to take care of him. I will not let him out of my sight.”

“ Puedes dispararle, ” the driver says.

“Try it. I dare you,” I respond, trying to keep my voice steady.

Shoot me? Seriously? I only want to help someone who is injured.

That’s my job. Who the fuck are these people?

Okay, I might look a little crazy since I jumped into a stranger’s car, but the man is sick, and he needs help.

However, I am kind of regretting my rash decision right now.

“You know what I said?” the driver asks at the same time the twin inquires, “You speak Spanish?”

“Spanish, French, Portuguese, Italian, and Russian,” I tell them, practically daring them to say something, though I don’t know what. Over the shoulder of the twin, I see my patient stretched out in the back seat.

Twin’s brow quirks up. “I’m impressed.”

“It comes in handy at the hospital. Like I said, I’m an RN, and your…guy there needs help.”

He stares at me for a moment before glancing over his shoulder at the other man, who is passed out and periodically moaning in pain.

“Fine, but if you hurt him, I hurt you.” He pulls out a gun, gold glinting in the little bit of sunlight that manages to break through a scratch in the tint on the windows.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was dark out. “What is your name, pajarito ?”

What the hell have I gotten myself into? “Nikki Albert.”