Victor - Her Ruthless Husband (Ruthless Triad 3)

“I'm almost seven months.”

“You're not sure how you ended up here. So this is probably a fight with your dealer or pimp. If it involved drugs, are you currently on anything right now?”

“What? No! I was mugged,” I remind her. “Someone took my purse, shoved me, and just ran off.”

If the nurse is even a little remorseful about her mistake, it doesn’t show. “But you don't have insurance.”

“No, I do have insurance,” I answer. “I just don't have an insurance card.”

“Uh-huh,” the nurse answers with a super skeptical look. She plops down my chart at the foot of the bed. “What kind of insurance? United Healthcare? Aetna? Blue Cross Blue Shield?”

“It's Allegheny Health Plan.”

“Never heard of it!” the nurse shoots back like she’s caught me in a blatant lie.

“That's what the other nurse said too,” I answer, rubbing at my head. “And as I explained to her, it's a local insurance out of Pittsburgh.”

“Like I said, we are really busy,” the nurse tells me, re-hanging my chart.

Oh no, she’s about to leave. But she’s the only hope I have. “I just need someone to make the call to the number on that business card.”

“Okay, give me the card. I’ll see what I can do when I have time.”

She holds out her hand, but I have to remind her, “I gave the business card to the other nurse.”

The woman looks like she wants to scream at me, and I scramble to come up with an alternative solution. “Maybe one of you could call the hotel I was staying at. It was a Sunshine Inn? Maybe they can get a message to my co-worker who was here with me yesterday.”

“Which street?” she demands.

“I don’t remember the street exactly,” I admit, “But it’s near Sixth Avenue.”

I can tell the nurse doesn’t believe that part of my story either, and that really makes me dislike her. But I’m desperate, so I keep trying. “Listen, can you just talk to someone for me, convince someone to help? Charge me whatever. I’ll figure out how to pay it. I just need to make sure my baby is okay.”

My desperate plea earns me an aggrieved eye roll. “I mean, I’ll see what we can do. But this would be a lot easier if you had insurance.”

“I do have insurance! I just don't have the card,” I start to explain again.

But I might as well have not wasted my breath. The nurse is already halfway back down the hall.

Leaving me alone again. And on the edge of a crying fit. I’m so scared and angry that no one will help me.

I haven’t felt the baby kick since I woke up. And I know it’s not the nurses’ fault that I got mugged, but I’ve never felt so utterly alone.

I’ve gone from an A+ to an F in adulting in the space of one day.

However, a few moments into my self-pity spiral, I hear footsteps coming toward me from the other direction. The nurse came back! She actually came back!

Oh my God, thank you! I send up gratitude as I turn to look over my shoulder and have my faith in humanity restored. Maybe her coming back so soon is good news. Maybe they’ll take me right away to a room with an ultrasound where the baby can get checked out.

But what appears before me isn’t good news.

It’s Victor. My heart…no, my entire body trembles.

He comes to a stop right beside my parked bed. His face is completely enraged. Then his eyes drop to my stomach.

22

DAWN

Victor.

Victor is here. And he’s staring at my baby bump.

My throat locks up with the urge to scream and gasp at the same time. If not for the IV stuck in my hand, I imagine I would’ve instinctively taken off running as soon as I saw him.

His expression is furious as he advances toward the bed. Toward me.

And I brace for what comes next.

His rage, his accusations, and most of all, his wrathful promises about what he’ll do to me, the revenge he will visit upon me for keeping this from him.

He stops again. This time right next to the bed. His eyes shift from my face to my belly, then to my face again.

My throat has a sore lump, it’s clogged with so much fear. I can't speak, I can't explain, I can't even breathe. All I can do is watch him put it all together.

Then suddenly, he raises his hands…and pulls me into his arms.

Wait, what? He’s holding me so close that I can smell the soap from a recent shower on him. So close, I can hear how fast his heart is beating underneath his fine high-thread-count shirt.

With anger, I assume at first.

But then he leans back to sign, “Are you all right?”

He asks this with one hand as if he’s afraid to let go of me with the other. And the question is so direct, so unexpected, I tell him the truth.