Page 117 of Crash

For every moment she’d felt powerless.

The oath I’d taken as a doctor seemed very far away now, replaced by something older, something primal. Something that remembered the weight of that baseball bat and knew exactly how to make someone suffer.

I stepped closer.

Voss lay there, blood seeping from a knife wound dangerously close to his femoral artery, along with a compound fracture to his shin, his face already glazed with pain and fear.

“You know who I am?” I snapped on a pair of fresh latex gloves, accentuating the snap.

The guy tried to muster his arrogant swagger as he cocked his head, clearly disturbed by the tone in my voice. “Should I?”

I made a show of ambling up to his bed, glancing down at his very injured shin. “If you did, I’d venture to guess you would’ve gone to a different ER.” Look at that slight shiver of fear mixing with confusion in his eyes. “I can’t remember the last time blood brought me this much joy.”

What a delicious sight, seeing his face go pale.

“My, what happened?” I visually examined the compound fracture, his shinbone escaping his leg cavity like it couldn’t stand being attached to his body. “Tell me.” I drew my hand closer to the wound, savoring the way he flinched. “Did your latest victim fight back?”

His eyes darted to the curtain, but no one could save him now.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Did she stab you first? Or kick your shin first?”

“I want a different doctor.”

“You were angry, weren’t you?” I leaned down, my face close to his. “When your company was sold. When social media painted you as the predator you are.” When the Sinners and Saints destroyed every facet of his life while I called dibs on dismembering him. “So, you found another vulnerable woman to take your anger out on. But this one?” My lips curled. “This one was armed. Smart girl, going for the dick.” I glanced at the blade spearing from his flesh. “Shame she missed.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?—”

My hand found his wound. Applied pressure. His words dissolved into a choked gasp.

“How many?” I asked quietly.

“What?”

I pressed harder. “How many women, Eric?”

“None! I never?—”

“Wrong answer.” I shifted my grip, feeling him bite back a scream. “Want to try again?”

Sweat beaded on his forehead. “You can’t do this. You’re a doctor!”

I met his eyes. “You picked the wrong woman to hurt.”

“Please,” he whimpered. “I didn’t mean to?—”

“How. Many?”

I pressed against the bone protruding out of his skin.

He groaned and then curled his lips at me. “I’ll tell them what you’re doing.”

“Your word against mine. Poetic, isn’t it? Her word wasn’t enough to put you away. And yours? A ruined man accusing a respectable doctor of hurting you? Who do you think they’ll believe?”

Besides, you won’t have the chance.

I moved my hand to the blade of the knife. “One wiggle, and this will puncture your femoral artery. You’ll bleed out before we can get a bag of blood to your room.”