I woke slowly, stretching under the covers, the feel of the sheets against my skin more luxurious than words could express. I was sore in all the right places, the memory of Aiden’s hands on my body making my nipples stand up on end and my clit think seriously of coming out to play. I reached for him, but he wasn’t there. I groaned, opening my eyes on the bright sunlight coming in through the French doors. Aiden was gone and the Monday morning after a four-day holiday weekend was glaring me in the face.

I lay there a while longer, enjoying the comfort of my own bed, of my nakedness in the warmth of the sheets. I could smell his scent on the pillows, the sheets, and loved the way that smell enveloped me. But I had work waiting to be done and a day to face. I eventually had to get up and do exactly that.

I moved slowly, tugging on underwear and a pair of shorts, topping it with a t-shirt from the drawer I emptied out for Aiden’s use. It smelled more of laundry sheets than of him, but it was still a comfort to have something belonging to him wrapped around me. And I knew he wouldn’t mind, especially if I lost the shorts and underwear before he got home.

I hummed under my breath as I made my way downstairs. There was a note on the fridge that made me laugh aloud. Aiden had left me a bowl of fresh, cut fruit, his note announcing that he was turning over a new leaf because he fully intended to spend the next fifty years at my side.

I loved it. I loved him.

I took the bowl out to the back deck and settled in my single wicker chair, thinking I should buy another. And a table. And maybe a barbecue grill.

I knew now that I wanted this to continue. I wanted to be with Aiden for the rest of my life, if that was possible. I knew it meant I’d have to tell him about my past and that was a hurdle that would be tough to overcome, but I was pretty sure he’d understand once it was all out in the open. And the danger that had haunted me all these years? I was beginning to think that maybe it was over.

It’d been a year. Even as careful as I’d been, if they were going to find me here, they would have. Right? And I couldn’t run forever. Maybe Aiden and his family could offer me some help, maybe they could find a way to end this craziness I’d been living with for so long. Maybe there was a reason why I’d chosen Memphis, why I’d purchased a house next door to Aiden, why we’d been drawn to each other. Maybe he was supposed to be my knight in shining armor and I was meant to be his damsel in distress.

It sounded stupid—even to my ears—but maybe there was reason to these seemingly random events.

I picked at my fruit, trying to formulate a speech that I could give to Aiden.

I was minding my own business, just doing my job, when this man—

I heard what sounded like a motorcycle engine cut out very close to the front of my house. I sat up a little straighter, thinking of those guys who were outside Jack’s gate last night. Was it foolish of me to sit outside when those people were causing trouble for the Stone family? Did I have reason to worry for my own safety around them? I didn’t think so, but it still made me a little uneasy.

I waited a few minutes, but I didn’t hear anything else. I settled back to my breakfast, my thoughts slowly returning to Aiden and the confession I needed to make.

I was living in Boston. I was lucky enough to be given a—

A hand suddenly clamped down on my mouth—a grimy hand that smelled of gasoline and tasted like the bottom of an ashtray. I jerked my body forward, knocking the bowl of fruit to the floor of the deck where it shattered, bright red strawberries and watermelon staining the light wood a bloodlike red. My head was yanked back against the wicker chair, offering me a brief view of the man holding me. He was tall and fat, rolls of flesh bulging against the neck of his black t-shirt. I didn’t know him, didn’t recognize him from any part of my life, current or past.

“Hold her still, Chappy.”

Hands moved over my legs, sliding between my thighs. I jerked again, straining to see who was in front of me. He was kneeling, his head turned away so that I couldn’t see his face. But when he did look up, I knew him instantly. He wasn’t the man with the scar along the left side of his face. But he was trouble.

I remembered him from last night. He was the biker who’d locked eyes with me as we left the party last night.

I mumbled against Chappy’s hand, asking who they were and what they wanted. But he held me so tight that I couldn’t form the words well enough for them to understand. The guy on his knees just laughed, his hand moving along the inside of my thigh again.

“You’re a bad girl,” he chided as he touched me. “You pissed off Mr. J so royally that he’s got people looking for you all over the country, from New York to fucking California.”

That was what this was about.

A part of me hung on to the hope that this was just a couple of motorcycle club idiots trying to screw with Aiden’s head. But that wasn’t it. This was about me and my past. This was what I’d been waiting for all this time; what I’d just begun to convince myself would never happen.

Welcome to reality, Carson. This was never going to be over.

“We’re going to fuck you up,” Knee-guy said. Chappy laughed, foul-smelling spittle falling all over my face. And then Knee-guy pulled a knife.

I cried out as he slid the knife under one leg of my shorts and yanked upward. The thin cotton material gave way easily, splitting open to reveal the soft pink of my panties. He ran his finger over my crotch, making a horrible groaning sound as he did. Then the knife slid up against my belly and he ripped up again, splitting Aiden’s t-shirt wide open.

I struggled, lifting my hips, pushing at the chair, trying to get away. The guy on his knees yelled at Chappy to grab my arms. He let go of my mouth and I screamed, yanking and pulling my arms as he struggled to get control of me. I lifted my knee, missed the guy on his knees. I’d wanted to smash in his big fucking nose, but I missed. I tried again and he slammed his elbow into my thigh, creating an intense charley horse that forced my struggle to end.

“Damn bitch!” he screamed, moving so close to my face that I could see the little pinpoint hemorrhages around his nose caused by too much drinking. “They told us to mess you up and now I can see why. You’re don’t know when to stop, do you?”

“Let me go!”

“Or what? Your little boyfriend going to come after me?” He laughed. “Imagine, this pretty little snitch just happens to be hooking up with a Stone! It’s our lucky fucking day! Take out a Stone and make Mr. J happy. Two birds, right, Chappy?”

“Sure, boss.”

He ran his hand along my thigh again, his thumb hooking itself under the corner of my panties. I jerked my hips away, but that only made him laugh.

“The more you fight, the more fun it is, sweetheart.”

He reached down to unbuckle his belt and I saw my opportunity. Chappy was still holding my arms, but no one was holding my legs. I slid over just a few inches and slammed my foot up, catching Mr. Knees right in the cock. He was hard and sensitive, not a good time to clock a man down there. He cried out, but he didn’t fall over like I’d expected. No, this guy was insane. He fought the pain, tears streaming down his face, as rage built in every nerve and every muscle in his body. He plunged forward, slicing that sharp knife right into my abdomen.

Pain flashed red hot through my body followed immediately by the heat of my own blood flowing down over my hip. Chappy let me go and I pressed my hands to the wound, my hands instantly covered in thick, bright red blood.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Chappy yelled as he slapped himself in the head. “What’d you do?”

Mr. Knees jumped back, gaining his feet, the loosened buckle of his belt slapping against his upper thigh.

“They said to slow her down. To incapacitate her. They didn’t say kill her!”

“Shut up, Chappy!”

“They said not to hurt her! They’re going to kill us!”

Mr. Knees shook his head. “No, they won’t. This’ll just make it easier for them. Either they show up here and she’s dead, or she’s in the hospital and they can take her out easier than if we’d just done what we were planning.”

“But, boss, they specifically said—“

“Shut the fuck up, Chappy! Let me worry about it!”

Mr. Knees stood there and stared at me for a minute longer, his eyes wide as he took in the flowing blood coming from the wound he’d put in my stomach. Then he grabbed Chappy’s arm and ran off the side of the deck.

"Let’s get out of here."

I could hear their boots pounding on the packed earth as they ran around the side of the house. Then the sound of their motorcycles starting. I had to get into the house, had to stop the bleeding. I sat up and pain once again shot through me, narrowing my vision to nothing more than a thin tunnel for a long moment. I took a couple of deep breaths and tried again, managing to make it to the floor of the deck before the pain overwhelmed me and I passed out. I don’t think I was out long, a minute or two. A little pool of blood had formed under me. I pushed myself up onto my hands, the sliding glass doors suddenly miles away instead of just a few feet. And the glass from the bowl was under my hands, cutting into my flesh.

The pain was overwhelming. I tried. I’d never tried harder in all my life. But the tunnels were back and my vision darkened. I was gone again, out of it long enough this time that I could feel the substantial pool of blood that had gathered under my body when I woke again.

“Carson? Carson, babe, open your eyes!”

Aiden was there, somehow. And I was on my back. When I opened my eyes, the sunlight burned, shaded only a tiny bit by the roof of the deck. Aiden was leaning over me, his hands smacking at the sides of my face.

“Babe, you’re hurt. Someone hurt you.”

He sounded confused. I held on to his voice, held on to keep the darkness at bay. His eyes were wide, filled with fear. I wanted to make that fear go away.

And then he pulled out his cell phone.

“I’ll dial 9-1-1. An ambulance will be here in just a minute.”

“No.”

It was a croak, no louder than the smallest of whispers. I tried again.

“No!”

He frowned, but he didn’t put the phone down. I reached up, my arm a leaden weight. I barely brushed his elbow before it fell to the floor, too weak to do much more than that. But he was still holding the phone and I had to stop him.

“NO!”

That frown again. “Carson…”

“No ambulance. No hospital.”

“You’re bleeding, babe. It’s bad.”

“I know. But no hospital. They’ll find me.”

That got through to him. He disconnected the call and set the phone on the floor, close in case he decided he needed it again. He leaned over me, his ear close to my lips so that he could hear me properly.

“They found me. They’ll come again.”

“Who found you?”

I shook my head. There wasn’t time for that.

“I can show you…” I closed my eyes, the effort to speak too much. I took a deep breath. “I’ll tell you what to do.”

He shook his head, confusion burning in his eyes. “How?”

“I’m…doctor…”

I was losing too much blood. I was so weak I couldn’t even think of the words I needed to explain this to him. I needed him to just understand, to let me do what needed to be done. I needed his hands, his eyes, needed the pain to stop.

When I opened my eyes again, I was floating in the air. I could barely feel his arms around me, but I recognized the ceiling of my house. He was taking me upstairs.

“Kitchen.”

He paused, then turned and headed back down. He lay me on the kitchen table, panic making his eyes wild.

“Over fridge.” I made a vague gesture with my arm. “Cabinet…”

He went over and searched in the deep cabinet, coming back with the medical kit I’d carried around since Boston, a kit one of my medical school professors had given me the day my life forever changed. I’d passed my boards and the results had been posted that morning. He stopped by the hospital that evening, making a big show of the gift in front of my co-workers, all of whom made jokes about it behind my back for weeks afterward.

Aiden set the kit beside me on the table. I sat up a little, crying out as pain shot through me. I reached inside and grabbed a glove, my energy disappearing as I fell back down. I closed my eyes, everything going dark for a moment. Then Aiden was slapping my face and I was pulled back into the pain, into the weakness and the dizziness that was completely disorienting.

It was a struggle to hold on to what I was doing and what I needed done.

“Betadine,” I managed to croak.

Aiden searched through the bag, spilling things as he desperately sought what I asked for. He pulled out the bottle of dark liquid and popped the top, pouring a healthy amount on the wound. Pain seared through me. I screamed, my hands clutching the sides of the table as I fought the darkness that wanted to overcome me once again.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Aiden groaned.

When the pain subsided as much as it was going to, I lifted my hand, indicating the glove. Once again, Aiden acted without having to be told, sliding the glove over my hand, securing it around my wrist. I hyperventilated a little, preparing myself for what came next.

I had to check the wound. I had to make sure there was no internal bleeding, no foreign object imbedded inside. I had to make sure that if we closed the wound, it wouldn’t just be delaying the inevitable.

“Fuck, Carson!” Aiden cried as I slipped my fingers inside the jagged wound.

It was about five inches long. It went through outer and inner layers of dermis, puncturing the abdominal wall. I could feel the lower edge of my liver. It appeared to be undamaged. The bowel was harder to check. Pain was coursing through me. I had to stop moving every few seconds, take a few deep breaths before trying again. The darkness was there around the edges of my vision. I wasn’t going to be able to hold out much longer. But I had to know.

I ran my fingers around as deep inside the wound as I could stand to get, aware of Aiden pacing beside me. I wasn’t at the right angle, couldn’t be sure there wasn’t a puncture of the bowel. I knew what would happen if it was punctured and we didn’t repair it. But Aiden was already pacing, cursing repeatedly under his breath. He was barely going to be able to handle sewing the wound itself. He would never manage a repair to the bowel.

I had to cross my fingers and pray.

I let my hand fall free of the wound and closed my eyes, trying to focus on the protocol for such a wound. It kept my brain working, kept the darkness at bay. I knew I was doing this all wrong and I was putting my life at risk, but we were both at more risk the longer we stayed there. It was time to get this over with.

“Sew,” I mumbled. “Can you sew?”

Aiden came back to me, leaning over me so that he could hear me.

“Sew?”

“Yeah,” he croaked. “I can sew a hole in my shirt.”

I closed my eyes and nodded. “Close enough.”

I reached for the bag, but the pain was too intense. He picked it up and held it over my chest so that I didn’t have to move as far to see inside. The suture kit was right on top, but my arm was just too heavy to lift.

“Tell me what you need.”

“Suture.”

He reached inside, moved a few things around, and pulled out the right thing. I nodded, gesturing toward the wound.

“You want me to sew it?”

“Got to…stop blood.”

“Carson, I’m a soldier, not a doctor. I can’t do this!”

I managed enough strength to grab his shirt. I saw the blood stains there, the blood soaking through to his skin. There was blood on his hands, too, even his face.

I’d done this. I’d soiled him with my past. How could I do that to him?

“Sew. Then go, Aiden.”

He shook his head. “I won’t leave you.”

“Kill…”

Tears burned my eyes. But he only shook his head again.

He tore open the suture kit and studied the contents for a long time before he slowly began to put it together, figuring out how the sutures worked with the curved needle. He covered his hands in Betadine before sliding on a pair of gloves, pouring more of the antiseptic over the gloves before picking up the needle. The first puncture of my skin sent waves of pain through me, bringing back the darkness. With the second, I was gone.

*

I woke for a moment, aware of movement. Then I was gone again.

*

Consciousness is a funny thing. We all take it for granted, but when it becomes fleeting, reality becomes intangible. There were snapshots, moments of clarity, but mostly darkness. And sounds. I heard voices. Arguing. Music and the clatter of medical instruments. I heard Aiden whispering my name, heard my mother talking to me, urging me to fight. But most of the time it was just the darkness.

*

I came out of the darkness for a moment sometime later, my side on fire. I didn’t know the ceiling that rose above me, didn’t know the sheets that scratched against my bare skin. I wasn’t in my own bed, wasn’t in my house. But I wasn’t in the hospital, either. I had no idea where I was, but some instinct told me I was safe.

*

The moments of darkness slowly shifted to dreams. I saw my mother, touched her face for the first time in eight years. She told me I was beautiful. Told me to keep fighting, that it would all be worth it in the end. And I dreamed of Aiden. I saw him on the battlefield, saw him fighting beside his friends, saw him digging his friends out of the twisted metal of their destroyed Humvee. I saw him weep for what was lost, then saw him turn that grief on me.

I felt hands touch mine. Heard quiet voices, but I couldn’t quite decipher what they were saying. And I felt pain.

The pain was the only constant.