Ruin (Rhodes #1) by Rina Kent

                             Screw you, old man. I don’t take orders.

                             If only there was a way where I can tend to trauma cases with no one forcing me to go home.

                             I sneak back into the emergency hall in search of one last case before I go back to my house.



                             . . . . .



                             I throw my weight on the mattress. My keys fall somewhere, my bag somewhere else. Early morning light slips through the curtains. Grey shadows cast in the room. I should eat. Shower. Act more like a human, but all my body wants is sleep.

                             The hectic shifts are helpful. Not only do they offer a distraction but they also make me prioritise my body’s needs before my mind’s.

                             My eyelids flutter closed. And there she is. Mae. No matter how worn out or half-dead I am, Mae visits me every time before slumber drifts me away. As if she made a deal with it.

                             Her radiating smile burns behind my lids. Her lips are wine on my tongue. Her body a soft texture in my palms. Her playful voice music to my ears. Her citrus scent ravishes my nostrils.

                             She owned all my senses. All. If I could argue with one, the others would knock me down.

                             Most my effort in the past year is because of her. I wanted – no I still want – to be worthy of her. But deep down, I know it’s impossible. I’d never be completely cured. It’s something I have to live with for the rest of my life. I would never subjugate Mae to bear this with me.

                             She deserves better.

                             So I hoped to forget her. How foolish to wish for the impossible. Neither my body nor this thing beating inside my chest could let her slip away. Mae touched them with bare hands. Squeezed them out. Emptied them of blood. Then put them back together again.

                             Fighting the urge to go back to her is even harder than battling with the voices or ignoring bloodlust. And that says something. I’m too weak to fight both, but I’m strong enough to leave her life in peace. I sigh.

                             This unselfishness thing is tiring. I want my selfishness back.

                             The door to my apartment clicks open. I jolt up and pull the knife from under my pillow. The Pit’s bastards won’t leave me the fuck alone. It’s been three months since the last one. I thought Tristan and Dylan already took care of them.

                             Faint rays of light beam through the balcony. I hide behind the sliding doors, only taking small inhales and exhales. Loud clicks of shoes echo in the hallway before they enter my bedroom. Whatever idiot they sent this time doesn’t care about keeping himself unnoticed. I clutch the knife between my thumb and forefinger. There isn’t that rush to see blood, it’s merely a focused aim for precision. Kill a bastard. Get it over with.

                             The intruder clicks the switch. White light engulfs the room. What the...?

                             “I know you’re hiding behind the door. Come out.”

                             Tristan.

                             When did he come to Australia?

                             I release an exasperated sigh and emerge from my hideout to slump back on bed. Tristan is in his business suit. Was he working this late? Workaholic freak.