I couldn't breathe as his hand tightened around my throat. Panic flooded me, and for a moment, I thought this was it—this was how I would die.
After everything I'd survived, to die like this felt wrong. I clawed at his arm, desperate to break free, but he was too strong. His power overwhelmed me.
Then, without warning, his grip loosened. He stepped back as if realizing I wasn't a threat to him.
I collapsed to the floor, landing hard, the pain shooting through me, but I bit down on it, refusing to show weakness.
I forced myself up, my legs shaky but determined. I wasn't going to let him get the chance to hurt me again.
The look in his eyes was wild, unpredictable. Maybe I'd scared him, but I couldn't understand why. I had saved his life, and this was how he repaid me.
He started muttering in a language I didn't recognize. For a moment, I thought it might be Spanish. Panic surged through me. How were we going to communicate if he didn't speak English?
I wanted to say something, but my throat throbbed. My hand drifted to the spot where he'd grabbed me. If he hadn't let go when he did, I might've... I shook the thought away, trying to stay calm even as my body trembled.
He was a soldier, and I was a stranger. What was I thinking? When he woke up, who knows how he'd react to finding me here.
"I don't even understand him," I muttered, fumbling for my phone. I needed to call John. He had to tell me the truth about his boss, or I was kicking him out.
"You speak English?" His voice startled me. His eyes were on me now.
"Yes, I do," I whispered, rubbing my neck where the pain still lingered. "You almost killed me."
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, his face full of regret. The lights were still on, and he looked weak, like the fight had drained him completely.
He tried to sit up but collapsed back onto the bed.
"We'll talk about it tomorrow," I said, pouring myself a glass of water, my hands still shaking.
"I said I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice barely a whisper now.
I hesitated but walked closer, slow and careful, afraid he might lash out again "how are you feeling?"
I glanced at the wounds on his chest and stomach. They looked awful when I treated them earlier.
"I'm in pain," he said, his eyes clouded. "Who are you?"
"I'm your nurse. John's sister," I reminded him. How could he forget that he came here on his own? I didn't drag him down here.
"What's your name? I can't remember what he told me."
"Hailey."
"I'm Derrick," he grunted, clutching his stomach in pain.
"Is it hurting a lot?" I asked, seeing the strain on his face.
He nodded, and I reached for the painkillers Alice had brought. I handed them to him with a glass of water. It wasn't easy for him to take them, since he could barely sit up, but he managed.
"You'll feel better when you wake up," I reassured him, not wanting to ask too many questions. He needed rest more than anything. "Are you hungry?"
"No, I'll sleep so the pain goes away," he whispered, closing his eyes. Within minutes, he was out, breathing slow and deep.
I felt a wave of relief wash over me, but deep down, I couldn't shake the worry. What would happen when he woke up again? Would he be the same?
The night stretched on, and I couldn't sleep. He kept murmuring, his voice low and broken.
I moved closer, trying to make out the words, but they were lost to the pain that gripped him.
I had done all I could. Even though I was paid to care for him, I was risking so much more for Derrick—and for John.
Morning finally came, and Alice stopped by on her way to work. She peered at Derrick, still fast asleep.
"Are you sure he's not dead?" she asked, staring at him with wide eyes.
"God forbid! He won't die on my watch, much less in my house. He's alive," I said, forcing myself to sound confident. Her words rattled me, though.
"Thank goodness," she said, placing a hand on her chest, a little too relieved. "It'd be a shame if all that handsomeness went to waste."
I rolled my eyes. "Stop admiring him, Alice. He's sick, not some trophy. When he gets better, you can confess your undying love."
Alice laughed and left for work, leaving me alone with Derrick. I took a quick shower, made breakfast, and tried to settle my nerves.
I had to stay home again, so Shawn would cover for me at work. But if I asked him to do that again tomorrow, he might get suspicious and come over. I couldn't let that happen. No visitors. No risks.
My phone buzzed—a notification from John. He had sent five thousand dollars, for anything Derrick might need. Clothes, shoes, whatever.
It was clear Derrick wasn't just anyone. John wasn't the generous type, so for him to send that much meant Derrick was important.
I had to take care of him until he was back on his feet. That was my job.
With nothing else to do, I grabbed one of my Julia Quinn books from the shelf. I slipped on my earphones, letting some romantic music play while I read.
I walked back into the living room, past Derrick still lying on the couch—except this time, his eyes were open.
I turned to face him, and before I could react, he grabbed my hand, pulling me down to his chest.
His lips crashed against mine, and I froze. His kiss was urgent, his wet tongue exploring my mouth, searching for more. I was shocked, my body stiff, my mind spinning like never before.