Page 15 of The Criminal’s Cure

“So, kind of like a private doctor?” Jake glances up at me as he scans the menu. We’ve been to this restaurant at least a dozen times during his visits, and it hasn’t changed, but he always pretends he might try something else.

“Yeah, I guess so.” I chew the inside of my cheek, staring at the ice melting in my margarita. It sounded good at first, but adding tequila to my already raging emotions isn’t the best idea.

No one in the world has ever gotten to me the way Roman does. Never made me angrier. Never frustrated me more. Never turned me on quite like he does. And aside from a few incidental touches and pointed looks, we haven’t done a damn thing.

I wanted to avoid the topic of him entirely tonight, but I should have known that Jake would want the rundown of my new job. I left out the finer details, because my brother is about the last person I want to know that I’m working for—and am insanely attracted to—a vicious mobster.

It’s about as out of character as I could get, and honestly, he might try to have me committed if he knew the truth.

“Hmm.” He presses his lips together, setting the menu down. “I think I’ll get the salmon this time.”

Like always.

Predictability must be a family trait. Me, Jake, and even our brother, Lucas, are all exactly the same in that department.

None of us went through any bout of teenage rebellion, but that was probably because we never had the time to. Growing up in the shadows of my father, one of the most notable trauma surgeons in the entire world, and then two equally talented and driven brothers, was anything but easy.

I idolized my dad as a child and wanted to be exactly like him. Unlike other girls, I preferred a white coat and scalpel to princess dresses and fairy wands, wanting to be a trauma surgeon just like him. His dream was my dream.

My brothers and I were constantly competing over who had the highest grades, the most scholarly awards, the best offers from colleges and med schools.

It always felt like a race, and like I was born already behind.

Medicine is fairly male dominated already, but trauma surgery is its own beast. I could probably count the number of notable female trauma surgeons on one hand, so the odds have always been stacked against me.

Even as kids, my brothers got more opportunities than I did.

They got to go to work with my dad, observe surgery, and meet the doctors.

I was always “too young” or the injury was “too gruesome” for me to see.

And in college, it was even worse. Because my dad was a John Hopkins alumni, my brothers inherited two legacy spots there.

I had to fight for a spot with thousands of other hopefuls, and work ten times harder for the same things that my brothers were handed.

Somewhere along the line, it stopped being about a dream for me, and more about proving myself to my family and anyone else who doubted me.

The server comes and Jake and I order, and we suffer through a little small talk. Usually, I love when he comes to visit, but my mind is consumed with Roman tonight.

His reaction when I told him I had plans threw me off. He’s been leading me on for days without making any kind of move, and the moment he thinks I’m seeing another guy, jealousy consumes him.

Even if this was a date, he has no right to react like that. Nothing turns me off faster than the half in, half out thing that Roman and I have been doing. It’s stupid and childish, and one of us needs to put an end to it. One way or another.

I probably enjoyed his reaction more than I should have.

Having the upper hand for a change is nice, especially when it makes Roman as uncomfortable as he usually makes others.

Not to mention the look of simmering jealousy in his eyes sent a shockwave through my core.

He’s strung me along like a damn yo-yo the last few weeks, and I’m clinging to the slightest bit of confirmation that he feels the same way I do.

“So, how many patients do you see a day there? Can’t be many if it’s just for this man’s staff.”

“It’s not,” I agree. “I’ve really only seen two patients in the few weeks I’ve been working for him. But it’s good money, and I’m so busy at the hospital that it’s nice to have a quiet, boring job to bring in some extra income.”

Quiet and boring is almost laughable in regards to what I’m doing.

Jake gives me a funny look and shrugs. “Suit yourself. You know you could come home to St. Louis and have your pick of departments…”

“Except for Trauma.”

My father gave spots to my brothers even though I desperately wanted one, and now there’s no room there for me. Neither one of them cared one way or another, but I did.

“Right.” Jake takes a drink of his beer. “But general surgery has a great spot open. It pays well. You get consistent hours. You’re closer to home.”

Now that sounds boring and quiet.

Living in Las Vegas has brought me out of my shell, even before meeting Roman. I like it here. I like who I am here. And going home feels like giving in to yet another thing my family wants.

“I’ve got some time left on my contract, but who knows after that?”

My answer satisfies him for now, and we get through the rest of the meal enjoyably.

He tells me about a new girlfriend and we swap stories about crazy cases we’ve seen lately.

By the time dinner is over, we’re both completely stuffed and my cheeks hurt from laughing so much.

The very worst part about all the competition between us is that it’s strained the normal brother-sister relationship. Times like this, I miss it even more.

“What did you say the name of this guy you’re working for is? Maybe Dad knows him.”

I almost laugh out loud. There is no way my dad and Roman would have ever crossed paths, but Jake’s tech savvy and even a simple Google search of Roman paints a pretty clear picture.

“Uh, I don’t think he’d know him,” I say. “We’re—”

I’m cut off by the ring of my phone. As I fish through my purse, Roman’s name flashes on the screen.

My gut instinct is to throw it into the Koi pond a few feet away from us, but I can’t do that.

He’s paying me to be available to him at all hours, no matter how angry I am or how childish he’s being.

“Hello?”

“Maddie, hey.” His voice is short. “We had another incident tonight. Can you meet me at the warehouse?”

My stomach sinks. Incident is ominous. I wish he’d just tell me what was going on so I could prepare. “Um, sure. I’m about thirty minutes away.”

“That will work. Get here as soon as you can.”

The line cuts.

“Everything okay?” Jake arches an eyebrow at me as he signs for the bill.

“That was my boss. I’m so sorry, but they’ve had an emergency and I have to go.” I gather my jacket and purse.

“No worries at all.” He stands, setting his napkin on the table. “I have an early flight tomorrow. We’ll see you in a few weeks, right? For Dad’s party?”

“Uh, yeah, I’ll be there. Thank you for dinner.” I give him a quick kiss on the cheek and wave as I head out.

Parking in Las Vegas is notoriously terrible, and my car is several blocks away.

Roman’s tone was urgent, and I can only imagine what kind of mess is waiting for me.

If history is any indication, it’s something terrible and someone’s life is in danger, so I take a cab instead of wasting time getting to my car.

It’s a quick drive to the warehouse, and I hurry inside. Unlike the first night, there is no clear victim. There are about ten men casually milling about; no one seems hurt.

“Hey Doc!” one of them calls.

“Nice outfit!”

The dress and heels I wore to dinner feel vastly out of place, and I wish I had my sweater. ”Is Roman here?”

Behind me, he clears his throat. Leaning against the doorframe, he has his thick forearms crossed over his chest and a gruff expression.

He’s in a pair of gym shorts and a gray t-shirt, which seems odd, considering that even when he woke me up in the middle of the night, he put on a dress shirt and slacks just to come here. “Hey Maddie.”

“Hey, who is hurt?”

“Right this way.” Roman nods behind him and walks that way. I follow, confused by how nonchalant everyone seems to act. With someone hurt, you’d think there would be a little more urgency.

“What happened?”

Roman leads me into a gym at the back of the warehouse. “We were playing a little pickup game and one of the guys got hurt.”

My whole body stiffens, anger flaring as it becomes clear what’s happening here. Did Roman honestly just make up an emergency to get me out of what he thought was a date? “You called me here for a basketball injury?”

“I hired you to treat my men, Dr. Taylor. I don’t remember specifying what injuries would qualify.” Roman smirks, eyeing me as I enter the room. “Sammy, let Dr. Taylor have a look at your leg.”

Sammy comes forward and doesn’t look hurt in the slightest. No blood. No broken bones. No dizziness. In fact, he practically skips to the chair in front of me. As twisted as it is, I want him to be hurt, because it means Roman isn’t the self-centered asshole he’s coming off as.

“Oh sure, boss.” Sammy grins, sticking his leg out. “It’s sore back here.” He points to the back of his thigh.

Fuming, I suck in a sharp breath and bend down. “Can you describe the pain?”

“Comes and goes.” He shrugs. “A little twinge when I jump, but not too bad.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. A sore hamstring? Roman is used to manipulating people and getting what he wants, but that won’t be the case with me. I can play games too.

“Actually, can you climb up onto this table so I can get a little better look? Lay flat on your stomach.”

Sammy does as I ask, and Roman’s eyes bore into me as I run my hand along the back of Sammy’s bare leg.

“Hmm. Might just need to be rubbed out a bit,” I say, inching his basketball shorts up high onto his thigh. I press the heel of my hand into the muscle and Sammy nearly comes off the table.

“Holy shit, Doc. That feels so good.”

Every muscle in Roman’s body tightens as I smirk, not taking my eyes off of him as I continue to rub out Sammy’s leg. He’s furious, steam practically coming out of his ears as he watches. “Good. How about this?”

I press again, running my hand all the way from the outside of his hip down to his knee. Up and down and up and down. “Mmm. How’s that?”

“So fucking good.” Sammy groans.

“Good.” I smile. “The hamstring starts all the way up here…” I dig my hands into the muscle of his butt. “So it’s important to get it really, really deep.”

Sammy groans again and Roman’s face twists into a look of rage like I’ve never seen before. For a minute, I wonder if I went too far, but I realize that’s a thought that’s never crossed Roman’s mind with me, so I pile on.

“Are you sure that feels okay? I might need to get a better angle. Is it okay if I climb up here and straddle—”

“He’s had enough.” Roman grabs his shoulder, ripping Sammy right off the table. “What’s the diagnosis?”

“A sore hamstring.” I press my lips together. “And a boss with a disgusting jealous streak.”

Roman arches an eyebrow at me. I was trying to curtail my anger until we had a little more privacy, but that wink does me in and I can’t hold back.

“Sammy, you can ice and take some ibuprofen; it should help. And you, Roman, there isn’t much you can do for that obnoxious ego besides going to hell.”

I turn on my heels, bursting out of the gym. Our confrontation draws the attention of all his men, and they all watch as I storm toward the front door.

A stiff breeze hits me as the door slams behind me, and I let out a heavy sigh. God, that man is unbelievable. This is all just a game to him and I’m a pawn. He’s proved it over and over again, and it’s time I start to believe him.

The door flies open behind me, and the air turns cold.

Roman’s face is harsh enough to stop my heart, and I step back, my heels hitting the red brick of the warehouse.

A wicked smile curls on his lips as he moves forward, slowly closing the distance between us.

With each step, my chest gets tighter, and it’s harder and harder to breathe.

Soon, he hovers just inches above me, the bergamot in his cologne filling my lungs.

He’s got one hand on the wall next to me, pinning me against the brick with his body.

I can’t bring myself to look up, but Roman’s rough finger settles on my chin.

He tilts it until I have no choice but to meet his eyes and it makes me dizzy.

Dizzy with fear. Dizzy with lust. I can’t make out which.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

My lips curl into an innocent frown. “Treating your men. Isn’t that what you hired me for?”

Roman is seething. The vein on his neck bulges as he cages me in, letting out a harsh breath.

“You think I’m going to let you walk out of here after speaking to me that way in front of my men?

After that little tantrum? I’m paying you to be available at any fucking second, for any medical reason I deem necessary.

Isn’t that right?” Roman’s gravelly voice rakes over me like hot coals, a burn that excites me as much as it hurts.

There’s a strange glint in his eyes, and I’m not sure if he’s about to kill me or to kiss me.

When he doesn’t do either, I’m even more flustered.

“Where is your car?” His voice is tight as he looks around the lot.

“It’s…still downtown,” I whisper. “I was in the middle of dinner when you called and I thought it was an emergency, so I didn’t want to waste time by rushing back to my car a few blocks away.”

“You took a cab at night by yourself?”

“You didn’t give me much choice, Roman.” I roll my eyes. “Like I said, I thought it was an emergency. Not a silly basketball mishap.”

Roman clenches his jaw, sighing heavily. “Wait for me in my truck. I need five minutes inside and I’ll drive you home.”

He stalks back inside, leaving no room for argument.

For a minute, I’m frozen, the authority in his voice turning my insides into putty.

I shouldn’t let him get to me the way he does, especially tonight.

The slam of the door makes me jump and kicks me back into gear.

Roman’s truck is parked right in front of the warehouse and I climb into the passenger side.

It’s so quiet out here I can hear my panicked heartbeat ringing in my ears as I wait.