Branded

by Tara Sivec

  “Oh, my God! What the hell happened?”

  I recognize Finnley’s voice next to me and see her kneel down out of the corner of my eye and grab one of Phina’s hands.

  “She passed out after donating platelets. Is she diabetic?” I question Finnley as I unwind the oxygen mask from the tank and place it against Phina’s mouth and nose, gently wrapping the head strap around her to keep it in place.

  “No. No, she’s not diabetic. She’s given platelets a ton of times before and nothing like this has ever happened,” Finnley informs me with worry in her voice.

  Grabbing the Accu-Chek glucometer from the bag, I power it on, lift up Phina’s hand and prick her finger with the sterilized test needle. After a few tense seconds, the machine beeps and I look at the screen.

  “Jesus Christ. Her glucose level is 23. She’s hypoglycemic,” I mutter, tossing the machine to the side and snatching a Glucagon syringe from the side pocket of the bag.

  “What does that mean? What are you doing?” Finnley asks frantically.

  “It’s alright, babe. It just means her blood sugar is way too low,” Collin reassures her from somewhere behind me. I can hear an edge in his voice and know he’s thinking the same thing I am, but doesn’t want to voice it out loud in front of Finnley. If Phina isn’t diabetic, there is no way her blood sugar would have dropped this low without some help. Not even a platelet donation would cause a reaction like this.

  “I knew she wasn’t feeling well. I should have kept her on the truck longer,” the nurse from the vehicle says as she squats across from me, checking Phina’s pulse for herself.

  I glare at the nurse, but keep my mouth shut. Right now, I just want Phina to open her eyes and look at me.

  “Finn, I need you to pull her pants down for me,” I tell her as I ready the syringe.

  She doesn’t question me, just quickly leans over Phina’s body, grabs onto the waistband of her scrubs and yanks her pants down to her knees. With a quick stab, I press the needle into Phina’s thigh and release the glucose into her system.

  Handing the needle over to the nurse for her to dispose of, I press the stethoscope back to Phina’s chest and wait. It takes almost twenty minutes for her heart rate to slow to a normal level before Phina slowly opens her eyes and squints at me.

  “Hey there, Fireball. Welcome back,” I tell her with a smile, trying not to kiss every inch of her face and pull her into my arms.

  I’ve never had to work on someone I know. When I’m on the job, I’m a robot, doing what I need to do to save someone’s life. I never think about who they are, what would happen to their family if I couldn’t do my job or how me possibly fucking up in a critical situation could end their life. I do what I’m trained to do and then I walk away. Kneeling here next to Phina, I didn’t even realize I was praying to God the entire time, begging Him to keep her safe. As much as she pisses me off, she’s wormed her way into my life and I can’t stand the idea of her not being in it. I want to know everything about her. I want to know why she’s so angry and why she won’t let me in. I want to know what makes her tick and there is no fucking way I’m going to lose her before I can get to that point.

  Phina reaches up and pulls the oxygen mask away from her face before pushing herself up on her elbows. I finally let myself touch her, wrapping my arm around her back to help her sit up. Placing my hand on her back, I rub slow, comforting circles there, the constant touch the reassurance I need that she’s really okay.

  I watch as she looks down at her bare thighs and then quickly scrambles to pull her pants back up. When they’re in place, she holds her hands against her hips at an awkward angle before shooting me a dirty look.

  “Why the hell were my pants off? Did you look? What did you see?” she fires at me.

  I start to bristle at her attitude towards the man that just saved her fucking life when I see tears forming in her eyes. I have no idea what she’s so upset about. It’s not like I haven’t seen her with her pants off before.

  “It’s okay, hon. He had to give you a shot of glucose in your thigh,” Finnley tells her comfortingly as she pats her leg.

  Phina yanks her leg away from Finnley’s hand and quickly gets up from the ground. I jump up next to her and try to grab onto her arm, but she swats me away.

  “Will you stop being so fucking stubborn? You were out cold for over twenty minutes because your blood sugar plummeted. I’m guessing you forgot to eat this morning?”

  She rolls her eyes at me, pulling the oxygen mask strap over her head and tossing it to the ground. “I’m not an idiot. Of course I ate this morning. There’s no way my blood sugar dropped that quickly just because of my donation.”

  She’s absolutely right and before I can let that thought fester and turn into outright panic, the nurse comes back outside from the truck after disposing of the glucose injection syringe.

  “I don’t know how this could have happened. This truck is always monitored. I should have double-checked,” she says worriedly as she rushes over to us with a couple of vials of saline in her hand.

  “What are you talking about?” I question when she stops in front of us.

  “At the end of a platelet donation, we have to inject a little saline to finish off the process and flush out the I.V. We keep them in a line on the table and use them in order for each donor. Someone switched the vial of saline that was supposed to be used for her with insulin.”

  She holds the vials out to me and I grab them from her. Sure enough, a small vial the exact same size and color as the saline is mixed in with all the rest. The word insulin is printed in small script on the label, but it’s been partially scraped off. The donation truck has been a zoo all day with people coming in and out for donations non-stop. The nurse looks like she’s ready to burst into tears and as much as I want to shout at her for not checking the label of the vial, I know it was an honest mistake on her part. She grabbed the supply right next to her, not even fathoming that it wouldn’t be what it was supposed to.

  I look up and see Phina staring at the vials in my hand. The tears from moments ago are completely gone and she’s back to looking like she wants to kick someone’s ass. I can handle angry Phina. At this point, I’m a fucking pro. I don’t know what the hell I would have done if she broke down right in front of me and started crying. That, along with the compassion I saw from her today, would have completely done me in.

  “Are you ready to let me fucking help you now?” I ask her in a low voice.

  Without answering me, she gives Finnley a quick hug and pecks Collin on the cheek.

  “We need to call the police. Clearly he’s got someone on the outside trying to get to you,” Collin tells her softly before she backs away from him.

  Phina doesn’t acknowledge the fact that everything is all out in the open now that I know about her scumbag father. She has no reason to push me away and exclude me from this shit because she has something to hide. I put myself in her shoes and think about how I would feel if one of my darkest secrets was out there for everyone to know.

  I would hate that kind of vulnerability. I would be pissed at everyone around me and take it out on anyone I could. More than ever, I want to just pull this damn woman in my arms and tell her to let me take care of her, but I know just by the look on her face that she’ll never allow it.

  She laughs cynically at Collin and takes another step away from him.

  “Don’t worry, my father doesn’t need anyone on the outside, he’s been released. All of this twisted shit is being done by his own hands. Stay out of it, Collin.”

  With that, she turns and walks away. Finnley calls her name and goes running after her.

  “I have to call this in. She’s going to fucking hate me, but I have to do it,” Collin tells me.

  I nod and let out a huge sigh. “I have the number of someone you can call. He already knows about the notes and he’s been looking into things.”

  Pulling my phone out of my back pocket, I text the number to
Collin before packing up my first responder bag.

  I saved her life, but Dax is going to save the day.

  Fucking Dax. I really should have beaten his ass when I had the chance.

  Checking out my reflection in the windows on either side of the door to the firehouse, I briefly wonder if the outfit I chose is a bit much for Fight Night. The A-line, black leather skirt barely covers my ass and crotch and the knee-high black stiletto boots look great paired with it, but could easily be confused for hooker boots. Adjusting my dark green shirt that hangs down off of one shoulder and perfectly compliments my green eyes, I realize I don’t give a fuck if the outfit is too much. It makes me feel bold, sexy and in control, something I am in dire need of after this morning’s events.

  Another note was taped to my front door when I got home from the fair, this time asking me if I enjoyed being the ‘damsel in distress.’ It was bad enough to faint in front of a park full of strangers, but to have DJ see me so weak and pathetic was just too much for me to handle. I know I should have thanked him for what he did. He saved my life. If he hadn’t been there to give me that shot of glucose, who knows what would have happened? I was too busy worrying that he saw my scars and what he would think of me to bother with thanking the man for making sure I didn’t die. A part of me wished he saw them, hoped his eyes roamed over the burns on my hips and realized just how incredibly fucked up I am. Maybe then he would leave me the hell alone and I wouldn’t have all of these conflicting feelings about him. I wouldn’t be afraid that he knew the truth about me and I wouldn’t be having second thoughts about paying him back for what he did to me in high school. My father is out of prison, sending me notes and trying to kill me. Clearly I have more important things going on in my life than worrying about what some guy thinks of me. Tonight, I’m going to waltz into this fucking firehouse and be the person I’m comfortable with: bitchy, in control and independent. I don’t need anyone to save me and I don’t need anyone to protect me from the big bad wolf. If they look close enough, they’ll realize I’m the one with the sharpest teeth. And I definitely like to bite.

  Pulling open the door to the station, I head inside, following the signs through the reception area pointing towards the truck bay where Fight Night is to be held. Halfway down the hall, I hear clapping and cheers, indicating the fights have already started. I step through the open doorway into the bay and I have to say, I’m pretty amazed by what I see. All of the trucks have been removed and the wide-open space has been transformed into a boxing arena. Right in the center of the room is a large, professional looking boxing ring, and there are two men in the middle duking it out. Several rows of chairs are set up all around the ring, currently occupied by people sitting down to watch the fight while a hundred or so other people are content to stand behind them, screaming and giving each other high-fives. Walking over to the cafeteria table next to the door, I pay the twenty-dollar entrance fee and make my way through the crowds of people to the only quiet corner in the place. Pulling a flask out of my purse, I discreetly tip the small, stainless steel container back and swallow a few huge mouthfuls of tequila. I feel a hand tap my shoulder and quickly hide the flask behind me. Being that this is a government building, I don’t think they would take too kindly to me having alcohol in here. Turning around, my eyes meet the bare, muscular chest of Dax. Even though the sight of him does nothing for me, I’m woman enough to appreciate the fine specimen that he is. I trail my eyes up his chest to find him smirking down at me.

  “Go ahead, say it. I’m the hottest piece of man meat you’ve ever seen,” Dax says with a grin.

  The tequila has made it’s way into my system, warming my skin and easing the conflict pounding through my brain, turning it just fuzzy enough for me not to care. Tossing my head back, I let out a full belly laugh before shaking my head at him.

  “I don’t know how you manage to fit through doorways with your giant head,” I reply. “And man meat? Please tell me that doesn’t usually work for you.”

  “It’s a tough job, but somebody has to do it,” he tells me with a shrug, holding his hand out in front of me. “Give me that flask you’re hiding behind your back.”

  I raise my eyebrow at him as I bring the flask around and shove it into his waiting hand. “Going by your half-naked body and the gloves tucked under your arm, I’m assuming you’re joining in on proving your masculinity in the ring tonight. Should you really be drinking?”

  He raises the flask in my direction in a silent toast before tipping it into his mouth.

  “I could take any man in here with both arms tied behind my back and a whole bottle of tequila in my belly. Don’t worry about me, love.”

  He hands the flask back to me, leaning closer so he doesn’t have to shout over all the yelling and cheering.

  “I heard you have quite an eventful morning. I think I should be the one asking you if you should be drinking.”

  I look away from his concerned gaze, scanning the crowd. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

  He tsks me and chuckles. “I’m well aware of the fact that you think you can take care of yourself, but this is getting serious. What happened today isn’t just about a love note taped to your front door. He tried to kill you, Phina. If DJ hadn’t been there to save you-”

  “Don’t,” I stop him. “Don’t even finish that sentence.”

  I’m pissed that Collin took it upon himself to call Dax and tell him about my father. It’s bad enough he had to tell DJ. I don’t need someone else in my life feeling sorry for me.

  “We don’t even know for sure if it was him. It could have been an accident.”

  Now it’s Dax’s turn to raise his eyebrow at me. “If you believe that, you’re not as smart as you look. I called his PO today after I got off the phone with Collin. Your father has yet to check in with him since he’s been paroled. He’s off the grid and no one knows where he is. I’m putting a cop on you twenty-four-seven and if you argue with me, I’ll have DJ spank your ass. I’m sure he’d enjoy it.”

  I really wish they would let women participate in this fucking Fight Night. I’d grab a pair of gloves and beat the snot out of Dax.

  What he’s saying makes perfect sense. I’m not an idiot, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I don’t need someone following me around, getting into my business. I like my privacy and the thought of some overweight, donut-eating annoyance trailing me like a puppy everywhere I go pisses me off.

  “I swear to God, this guy better stay as far away from me as possible,” I concede with a frown.

  Dax smiles before wrapping his arms around me, pulling me in for a tight bear hug.

  “I’ll be nice this time and I won’t force you to tell me I’m right, even though it would be so nice to hear.”

  Untangling myself from his arms, I shove him away and can’t help but laugh. Dax makes it easy to follow his directions when he can’t be serious for one second. I’ll never tell him that, though.

  “Get away from me. You smell like sweat and testosterone. Go up there and kick some ass. If I’m feeling generous, maybe I’ll even place my bet on you,” I tell him with a laugh.

  Pulling his gloves out from under his arms, he slides them on his hands, punching his fists together a few times while bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet.

  “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, motherfucker!”

  The gong of a bell echoes through the room along with a deafening cheer and I watch as a few guys jump up into the ring to help their fallen comrade, practically dragging him out from under the ropes and down to the ground.

  The announcer flips on the microphone and attempts to calm the crowd down as he begins introducing the next pair of fighters. He starts listing Dax’s stats and how long he’s been with the police department, while his brothers in blue scream and clap so loud I almost feel the need to cover my ears. Dax raises his arms above his head, pumping his fists in the air as he gives me one last smirk before jogging through the crowd a
nd up to the ring.

  “Ladies and gentleman, we’ve had a slight change in the lineup tonight. I’m proud to announce that we have a new opponent set to fight against Dax Trevino.”

  Half of the crowd boos while the other cheers. I crane my neck to try and see through the crowd, wondering who will be the poor sap that has to go up against Dax.

  “Hey there, hot stuff,” Finnley says with a smile as she steps around a few guys and bumps shoulders with me.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be working the food table?” I ask, still trying to see through the crowd.

  “I took a break. This is definitely a fight I don’t want to miss,” she laughs.

  Before I can ask her why, the announcer’s voice booms through the microphone again.

  “From the fire department, let’s give a big round of applause to DJ Taylor!”

  Everyone from the fire department starts jumping up and down like kangaroos on crack, smacking each other on the back and chanting DJ’s name.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” I mutter.

  Finnley laughs, sliding her hand around my arm. “Collin almost shit himself when DJ agreed to fight a few minutes ago. We had a last minute cancellation from the guy in our department who was scheduled to fight Dax. He came down with the flu or something. Collin’s been begging DJ to fight for weeks and he kept turning him down. He barely had to say two words to DJ tonight and he jumped at the chance to fight Dax. So weird.”

  Yeah, not that weird, my friend.

  I watch as DJ easily bends down to slip under the ropes. He stands up to his full height and walks into the middle of the ring and my brain immediately drops right into my vagina. I’ve seen him without a shirt. I’ve felt his bare chest against the inside of my thighs, for Christ’s sake. There’s just something different about seeing him shirtless in the middle of a boxing ring with his dark blue work pants hung low on his hips and pure, unadulterated rage on his face as he circles Dax. The muscles in his chest and arms ripple as he smacks his gloved fists together. Just seconds ago, I watched Dax do the exact same thing and I rolled my eyes at his attempt to look macho. Watching DJ do it makes me want to drag him out of the ring and fuck his brains out.