WAYLON (Ruthless MC 1)

He sneers. “I had on-the-job training in the Army. Three tours—ending with the Gulf War, thank you very fucking much. I don’t need no fancy degrees.”

I blink, then translate, “So you were an Army medic back in the 90s? Have you ever worked at a hospital or even a real clinic? Or with women?”

“Hell no,” he replies as if answering yes to any of those questions would be an insult to his values. “And I’ve been the club doctor for years with no complaints.”

“I'm assuming that's because anybody who would’ve complained is dead,” I answer.

Lucinda snickers behind me, but Dr. Johnny just glares. “And you got a mouth on you. Listen, girlie, I know why Waylon promised you this gig. He’s got the whole town on babysitting duty with you. But I don't need any assistance. Go tell your daddy I'm a one-man show. The only pussy I want in my van had better be here for maid service—speaking of which, Lucinda, you and Crazytown make up yet?”

He flips over on his side to snag a plain box with “Sildenafil—50mg” clearly written across the front. He waves the generic form of Viagra at her. “I got those dick hardeners he asked for right here. If they’re for you, you can just hand these off to him. Save him a trip out here.”

Lucinda blanches, all traces of humor disappearing from her eyes. “No, he did not order those pills for me.”

“Oh,” Dr. Johnny says with no remorse in his voice whatsoever. “In that case, I guess I’ll shoot him a text message and tell him to come pick it up. After you two get out of my trailer.”

He makes a shooing motion, but righteous fury keeps me rooted to the spot.

“First of all, HIPAA laws,” I tell him, rolling my neck like the angry black woman I was always trying not to be back in Delaware. “You shouldn't be talking to Lucinda or anybody else about somebody’s private medical information without their consent.”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, see, this is why I don't want you here. Big city nurse. Big city opinions. No, thank you.”

“You can't just say, no, thank you.” I screw up my face and splay both hands at the woman who escorted me here. “Lucinda's pregnant. She needs prenatal care, which you aren’t giving her!”

“You know what, bitch, it is too early for this,” he yells at me. “I got a fucking hangover. If you have a problem with me, take it up with Viking. But I don’t want you coming anywhere near my trailer again. Now skedaddle. Get on now, skedaddle!”

He shoos his hands at me like I'm a rat who somehow found its way into the office he’s obviously also using as a home.

And Lucinda says, “C’mon, Amira. You don’t want to piss off a Reaper. Let the men deal with it themselves.”

Her advice infuriates me that much more. But nothing I have seen over the last forty-eight hours would lead me to think it wasn’t sound. Plus, she’s too pregnant to have to deal with this kind of stress.

I follow her out of the trailer but make sure to slam the door extra hard behind me. I’m pretty sure I hear him call me a bitch again before I make my way down the metal stairs.

“Dr. Johnny is the worst,” Lucinda says as we walk home under the dark cloud of my mood. “I'm so sorry he talked to you like that. Reapers can be…well, you know. But everything will be all right. I’m sure Waylon can find you something else to do if you and Dr. Johnny can’t get along.”

I don't say anything. I mean, what is there to say? Was I actually thinking that I'd stay here and consult on Lucinda's pregnancy with the guy who’s only a doctor in title? That was crazy thinking.

I needed to get back to the original plan and get out of this town.

“Lucinda, listen to me,” I say when we reach Meemaw’s place. “I don't know how close the nearest hospital is, but you need to figure that out and come up with a plan about how you're going to have this baby. It can’t be with Johnny, though. I'm not even sure that guy washes his hands before he sees patients. Promise me you'll find somebody else to help you. Somebody willing to do checkups and ensure a proper delivery when the time comes.

“But—”

I squeeze my hands around her shoulders. I don’t want to distress her, but this is important. And I’m not going to be around to see this out. “Promise me.”

“Okay, I promise, but—”

I don't wait to hear what she says next. I can’t stick around to get dragged even further into this mess. I’ve got my own colossal mess that I need to clean up back home. I have to get out of here.