The Monster (Boston Belles 3)

She went to a nearby sink, dumped her elastic gloves, and scrubbed her hands with soap before putting on a new pair as I glared at her. She had a point. Her access to this place could be beneficial to me. There was no reason why old Gerry needed to know his daughter was being an idiot as long as it worked in my favor.

“Can I see your ticket?” she asked, her back to me.

“What the fuck do you mean?” I frowned.

“To the show you are apparently watching. Get out, Sam. I’m working here.”

Concealing my surprise (and delight at discovering this bossy side of her), I leaned against the door, giving zero fucks about Angus, who was still in the reception with his dangling arm and porn star moans.

“I think I’ll stay and see you in action, if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind.”

“Allow me to correct my statement—I don’t care if you mind. I’m staying.”

“I won’t treat him,” she threatened but was already getting to work cutting his shirt vertically with a pair of scissors.

“Yes, you will. Your need to be helpful overpowers your hatred toward me.”

“Don’t be so sure,” she muttered, working quickly and efficiently, removing the bullet from Becker’s lungs without breaking a fucking sweat.

“Your Hippocratic Oath, then.”

It was beautiful. Watching Aisling, the girl I knew since she was seventeen, withdrawing a bullet from a man’s lungs with the steadiest of hands while he was writhing in pain, twisting underneath her. I could tell the bullet didn’t pierce through the lung, but it was still damn impressive.

“Any news?” she asked as she began stitching him up.

“About?”

“My father and the media circus around him.”

You mean the one I created by hacking into that poor woman’s cloud just to satisfy my bloodthirsty tendencies?

It only mildly satisfied me to see Gerald shitting bricks in front of his entire family while he tried to explain that headline. I had much bigger plans for him, and I was going to execute them. Soon.

“Still working on it.”

“A bit slow, aren’t you?” Her delicate brows pinched together as she wove the needle in and out of Becker, who at this point was passed out. She looked like an English rose working on a quilted dress, not like a doctor stitching up a B-grade mobster.

“You got a problem, speak to my manager.”

“You are your own manager,” she pointed out.

“That’s right…” I paused for effect “…and I don’t care what you think about my services, so tough fucking luck, Nix.”

“So taciturn,” she tsked, treating me like I was no more than a boy, like Sparrow would when I had preteen meltdowns and didn’t know what to do with my energy. “Almost like you have something to hide.”

“Looks to me like you’re the one with the juicy secrets. Tell me about this friend of yours who is operating this place.” I motioned with my hand around us. Maybe it was time to replace Dr. Holmberg. This place looked legit, and the equipment was much better.

“I will do no such thing. I respect his privacy.”

Interesting.

I scanned the back of her head, her raven-blue locks twisted together into a braid, flung over one side of her shoulder. The contrast of her dark hair with her pale everything—eyes, skin, features—made her delectable and forbidden, much younger than her twenty-seven years.

“You know I’ll find out either way. Do yourself a favor and give me the information now,” I hissed, not used to people talking back to me.

Another first for me, sponsored by the unlikely Aisling Fitzpatrick and her newly found spunk.

She turned around, a hint of a smile on her lips.

“I’d like to see you try. Now please help me return Dumb to the reception, and fetch me Dumber. Go on, now.” She waved me off with a huff.

Nix went on to put Angus’ arm in a makeshift cast then proceeded to tell him how to tend to his injury, talking to him like she was a teacher and he was a schoolboy who had just crapped his pants in the middle of morning assembly.

As I watched her, I reminded myself that my need to fuck her was really about my desire to fuck Gerald Fitzpatrick over. Nothing more. She was a great fuck, sure, and a fairly harmless girl who’d been chasing me around for a decade. Of course I wanted in her pants. What man wouldn’t?

I just wanted to ruin another thing that was precious to Gerald.

Only in Aisling’s case, I was going to spare her. Or spite her by not giving her what she wanted. I really wasn’t sure which of the two had driven me to not touch her. All I knew was I had healthy instincts, and my instincts told me to stay the fuck away from this woman—far away.

When she was done, and both soldiers were waiting for me at the reception, she sauntered back to the small sink for another vigorous scrub of her hands and arms, still ignoring me like her life depended on it.