Dr. Tempt Me - A Possessive Doctor Romance

And now, as I smashed a fist into the tall guy’s throat, I did it because it felt damn good.

“Fuck you,” I growled. “You piece of shit.” I bashed my fist into the guy’s face again, and again, then threw him onto the stoop. He spit blood onto the concrete. “I’ll kill you for going after Fiona, you motherfucker.”

I stepped toward him, intent on smashing my shoe into his ribs, but the shorter one barreled into me. I staggered, off-balance, and my head hit the brick wall of my apartment building. I gasped in shock and saw stars, and was too slow to block a flurry of blows. I was knocked to the ground as the shorter man pummeled me, over and over again, cursing and cursing, before he stopped and stepped back. I was bleeding from my head, from my mouth, and I growled as I hauled myself to my feet.

The shorter man helped the tall one stand. “Watch yourself, doc,” the short guy said as they limped away, walking as fast as they could.

I stood there, gasping for breath, adrenaline rocketing through my system.

I’d come so close to killing that man—and come so close to getting killed. If they’d wanted to end me, I’d be finished, without a doubt. All they had to do was shoot me, and I’d be gone.

“Fuck,” I grunted as pain began to hit me. A young girl stood across the street, maybe in her mid-twenties, staring at me with wide eyes. I realized I was wearing scrubs, and she must’ve been pretty freaked out.

I hurried up my stoop and back inside. I got Fiona on the phone a second later.

“I need you,” I said.

“What’s wrong?” She sounded like she had been asleep.

“Those two guys— they jumped me. The ones from your apartment.”

She cursed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m alive.” I grabbed a dish towel and used it to staunch the bleeding from my head wound. “I might need stitches.”

“Go to Mercy. I’ll be there soon.”

“No,” I said. “Please, come here. I have everything we need.”

“Dean,” she said, groaning.

“Please. I don’t want to have to explain this, and I really don’t want to give Maria the pleasure of seeing me hurt.”

She let out a sigh, but she agreed, and hung up the phone.

I sat there, waiting for her, head tipped back.

I’d seen a lot of death and pain and suffering in my time as a doctor. I’d seen a lot of miraculous things, a lot of unlikely near-misses. But this was the first time that I’d been on the other side, coming within inches of my own demise, and only surviving because my bastard of a father had forced me to learn how to fight as a child.

I should’ve been dead, but I wasn’t, and I felt a strange, eager giddiness.

Fiona showed up ten minutes later, looking haggard, wearing sweats again. She stormed into my place and grabbed the towel from me, prodding at the wound and shaking her head.

“This has to stop now,” she said. “This has to end.”

“Time to move to an island?”

She gave me a hard look. “Time to go to the police.”

“Not yet.” I shook my head and instantly regretted it. “We don’t have enough.”

“What more do you want? A bullet wound?”

I grimaced. “Not particularly.”

“Then this has to be done.” She pressed the towel back down hard against my scalp. “Where’s your medical bag?”

“Bathroom, under the sink.” I took the towel from her as she stomped off. I could tell she was angry and couldn’t really blame her. I wondered when the last time was she stitched someone when she sat down next to me, dropped the medical bag on the kitchen table, and glared hot death.

“What were you thinking?”

I blinked once. “Thinking? I guess I wasn’t.”

“You should have run, why the hell would you fight them?”

I laughed, unable to help myself. She had no clue what my father had done to me growing up. “It wasn’t so bad, honestly.”

“You look like shit and your forehead’s ripped in half.” She took the towel away and prodded at the wound. “What the hell, Dean?”

“At least it’s not in my hair and you won’t have to shave me.”

“Like I would.”

I smiled at her as she prodded at the wound again then took out antiseptic from the bag. She dabbed it on a clear bandage and pressed it against the wound. I sucked in a breath but forced a smile on my face.

She shook her head, annoyed, and got out the needle and thread I kept tucked in a pouch.

“There’s a syringe for the pain,” I said, nodding.

She frowned and fished it out. “You shouldn’t have this.”

“Like Mercy would notice one missing.”

She shook her head and took the prefilled syringe from its packaging. She held it up and glared at me. “I’m serious. Because I get to work, tell me what you were thinking.”