Taking Jana (Paradise South #2)

by Rissa Brahm

  The child’s brows furrowed, eyes glazed and shifting as if unbelieving her ears.

  “If we don’t do this right now, the infection will spread. And we can’t break our promise to your daddy.”

  The child closed her eyes. Large tears formed and then fell onto the wrinkled white sheets beneath her small body. An echo of pitter pat, pitter pat dictated Jana’s own breath, hitching and waiting until the next teardrop approved a next inhale.

  “Will it hurt?” the child asked through her little gasps.

  Jana’s teeth clenched, gnashing and gritting against each other as if that alone could help hold back her own threatening tear drops.

  When the doctor nodded, Jana stood up, regaining her composure just like that. She smiled softly. “You’ll be asleep, and when you wake up it will be sore for a time, but after that, no. It’ll feel a little weird, but you will learn to walk and run again,” she explained while the team set up anesthesia and got the gurney ready to head to surgery.

  “Okay…I’ll do it for Daddy, and he can help me learn how to use my new leg…because he is super…human…good at everyth…thing…” The child’s hopeful voice trailed off, her eyelids falling as fast as Jana’s heart, knowing the child would wake from surgery to a missing limb and a missing parent. Her father. Her everything.

  *

  Mouth gaping and silent for once, her heavily made-up eyes narrowed, Jocelyn Carlson sat facing Antonio when he turned around to face her. She was straddling her date mid-coitus, bare breasts displayed proudly, each topped by deep rose nipples, sharp, hard, like the sinstress’s glare.

  His glare met hers. “Please get dressed and get out of my limousine, or kindly refrain from placing your shoes or feet against my seats. And,” he added, hyper-conscious of his mellow-yet-deadly sincere tone, “this privacy window stays up. Please choose now, before I continue driving.” His voice had maintained that intended calm but was peppered with sharp darts of anger, almost out of his control. And it competed with nothing but the heavy panting from the man beneath Ms. Carlson and her exaggerating huffing from her flaring nostrils.

  But it was his nostrils that burned, and his head too, as a wave of her perfume hit him and made him want to vomit. It was Michelle’s scent, one and the same.

  “I have never—”

  “Choose,” Antonio repeated, cutting her off while the pornographic scene filling his frame didn’t faze him at all, but he was sure Jocelyn Carlson wished it did. She probably wanted his cock engorged and begging to get out, begging to get into her, begging to fill the insecure empty shell of a woman. But the exact opposite was the case. His entire body’s blood flow was monopolized by his heated face and jackhammering heart pumping out his rage. The woman more than repulsed him. She was the epitome of pathetic, and made his manhood soft and his stomach sick.

  The escort broke the silence. “I’ve lost it, babe—”

  “Jason—”

  “Rob. It’s Rob.”

  “Whatever. Don’t you move a goddamn limb, Rob.”

  “Yeah, I’m done.” Her date pushed her off him, and Jocelyn Carlson landed on the seat with a creaky thud against the leather upholstery. She grumbled while reaching for her dress down around her ankles.

  Her date slid forward to talk directly to Antonio. “Sorry man, you know, about all this. Can you just drop me at the closest titty bar? I know we’re in the strip club district.”

  “You fucking little shit,” the woman spat while Antonio turned back to his steering wheel and brought the partition up. He assumed she was talking to Rob, but it might as well have been meant for both of the men in the vehicle because who, after all, dared to buck Jocelyn Carlson?

  Before shifting from park to drive, Antonio pressed the intercom button. “I’ll drop you at a gentlemen’s club, sir. And then, Ms. Carlson, I’ll bring you back to your condo, unless you want to join your friend?”

  “Go fuck yourself,” she spewed. “Take me home.”

  A smirk formed on Antonio’s mouth as he pulled back onto the main drag. He laughed in his head; a release greater than the largest orgasm was now flooding his entire being. A word came to mind: Liberation. Fucking freedom. He hadn’t felt such a rush in as long as he could remember.

  He stopped at a traffic light a block from the strip club called The Wet Spot. He knew the owner and owed him the business. He felt rage emanating from behind him, Jocelyn Carlson’s crass and self-entitled aura seeping through the partition, under the seats, and through the micro spaces in the privacy window. He wished the witch would get out of the vehicle with her friend, but it almost didn’t matter if she did. The oozing disdain from her royal highness met with the new, impenetrable shield Antonio felt surrounding him.

  “Hey, man, I wanna tip you, but I don’t have any smaller bills. Could you come in for a second, I’ll break this hundred spot she gave me and—”

  “No, man. It’s fine. Go on in and enjoy. I appreciate the thought, though. Really.”

  He never stepped foot inside the clubs. He’d always hated the vibe and what the dancers lowered themselves to. The clubs made him feel gross. Even driving his first gigs in his hometown in Mexico, having to go into those places to wrangle up his clients to get them to the next destination, he’d always felt an urgent need for a sanitizing shower. He’d been nearly obsessive-compulsive about it. But it was always hours before he’d make it home, and that drove him insane. So he held firm to a blanket rule: never go inside.

  His remaining passenger cleared her throat loudly, which, he’d learned from months of driving Jocelyn Carlson, was her most polite version of “fucking drive faster.” He couldn’t wait to be done with her and her special brand of degradation.

  “Take me to my loft in the City instead.” The woman’s shrill directive came through the intercom.

  Of course. Not to her luxury condo in Jersey City, a thirty-minute drive from Newark, but her Manhattan apartment, an hour plus away. Two hours round trip. Antonio reserved certain terms for only the most deserving people, and now she was officially one of them. Fucking cunt!

  Fine, though. He’d do it. But he officially swore on his mother’s grave that he would no longer sacrifice his dignity to meet his financial target, his “number” he called it. No, it didn’t matter how much longer it took him, he’d get back to his home, his Puerto Vallarta, with his chest out and his head held high. Sky fucking high.

  *

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard or seen you cry, Jana Park. Like, ever.”

  Jana hid her face behind her locker door. She’d held it in check until the locker room. Then the dam had broken. But at least, when Ashley had woken up from the amputation, Jana was right where she’d been when the child had drifted off, wearing an expression of sheer strength and bravery.

  “It’s the lack of sleep between back-to-backs.” Jana wiped her eyes but kept hidden still.

  “Your schedule is all screwed up, girl. And I’m the one with the eight-month-old!” Luly laughed, coming up behind Jana and giving her a squeeze. “You need to take something and get some rest.” Luly had been through four years of the grueling MMU nursing program with Jana.

  Jana was the rock, and Luly was the soft green moss, the sweet motherly heart. Jana had kept Luly fighting through to graduation while Luly force-fed Jana home-cooked meals during their years of study sessions. Without Luly, Jana was sure she’d have starved or she’d have overdosed on preservatives from microwave meals. Jana hid it well, but she really loved Luly’s affectionate nature. She needed nurturing, although she would never admit it out loud.

  Luly squeezed her even tighter, and many beats passed. Jana patted her hand in thanks as a signal that she’d had enough, enough sentimentality. She definitely had her limits, and her limit was met.

  Then Ilana walked in. “People die, lose limbs, shit happens, right Jana?” Ilana asked with icy shards in her tone as Luly let go of Jana. “Oh shit…Jana! Did you get the message from your mother? She called like three tim
es! Thanks for sending me to be your personal secretary, though.”

  Ignoring Ilana, not even willing to dignify the other woman’s instigation with a response, she held back the question of what her mother had wanted. Instead, Jana dug through her locker, lifting her purse and coat sleeve to find her phone. Seven missed calls from her mother. And the text from her brother that she’d ignored five hours before for the incoming codes blue and pink. She studied the text, scrutinized it.

  “What is it?” Luly asked.

  “I’ve got to go.” Jana felt dizzy, her mouth dried up, and her breathing turned shallow and strained. Focus. She yanked her things out of her locker and spun around to leave, shifting into high gear to face a new trauma that had just crashed into her world.

  The trauma was in Fort Lee, New Jersey, where she was born and raised, more than an hour away in peak traffic. It was a coronary, a sixty-one-year-old male.

  Her father.

  *

  Jana rushed out and Luly followed close behind her. Despite Jana’s short stride, she moved like a bullet train through the corridors now. Luly ramped up to a jog to keep up, and through her panting, she peppered Jana with questions and supportive instructions. But Jana tuned her out. She needed to make out her mother’s barely audible voicemail, which was in half frantic Korean, and part rushed Spanglish. But Jana got the gist of it.

  Chang Park had been rushed to the Fort Lee Hospital after falling to the floor with chest pains at their family’s Korean restaurant six hours ago. He’d had a heart attack. While she’d been caring for an innocent little girl who’d lost her father, Jana’s own father had been undergoing a quadruple bypass.

  A flood of icy fear rushed from her own chest to her head. She shouldn’t feel bad. After all she’d done for them, for her parents. But damn it, family first. Goddamn it, Jana! Her own dad.

  “I’ll call you from the bus, Luly. And I need to call Nora too. Shit! Can you give her a heads up and that I’ll reach out as soon as I can?”

  “Of course, and no worries on that front. The woman loves you to death.”

  God, she hoped her boss loved her enough to keep her spot on the team open.

  Okay, what else? Jana paused, her belongings held to her chest, unsure if she’d forgotten anything. She should stop at her place first because, God, how long would she be gone?

  Then a voice from down the hall jolted her, ringing painfully in her ears. “I’ll cover your shifts, Jana, if you need to be gone for a while!” Ilana crowed.

  “Screw her. Don’t worry about a thing, Jana. You take care of what you need to, and I’ll handle that one. Call me—like, when-your-ass-hits-the-seat call me. I love you!” Luly’s voice trailed as the automatic doors closed behind her. Jana flagged a cab, cutting off two other hailers without a thought.

  “SoHo, 111 Sullivan then Port Authority. Fast.”

  Cab home, grab essentials, bus across to Jersey. Pray to the traffic gods.

  “Nothin’s gonna be fast right now, lady. Not on hump day. They say it’s the most congested day of the—”

  “Just, please!” Breathe, Jana. “Do what you have to, and drive.”

  Shit, should she have taken the subway? No, she needed not to think right now. She needed to zone. Point A to B. No decisions in between. She tossed a crisp twenty over the partition as the cab crept into the hardly-moving traffic. Maybe she’d switch to the uptown train from her place to the bus station. But she hated to be walking with her roller luggage.

  Relax, Jana. You’ll get there.

  She’d be with her dad within an hour, two tops. By his side like she always had been, and always would be. Despite herself, she always would be. Her hand met her chilled cheek, tears streaming down and picking up the bum-rushing AC. First the little girl, then this. She tucked her chin, hiding her emotion from the rearview. God, she hated anyone seeing her cry.

  CHAPTER 2

  She had to grab a few things and go. That one little piece of luggage at the very back of her closet would do. She parted her hanging clothes with shaky hands. There staring at her, held back by her right hand, was her black skirt-suit in plastic. No, no. She wouldn’t prepare for that. She wouldn’t need that.

  Move it, Jana, let’s go! She tossed the carry-on onto her bed and tore through the rest of her closet. Two pairs of shoes, four days of clothes, bras, panties, and then she moved to her bathroom counter for toiletries. She stuffed then zipped, and then looked around before stepping out the door. Sunglasses on the sideboard next to her keys. She threw them on to cover her red puffy eyes, even if it was midnight. Anything else? Her mind whirled. God willing she’d be back soon anyway. A week, tops. Her dad would be fine, and she’d be home again.

  She locked up and left her SoHo rental piece of heaven to get to the uptown C train.

  She hiked her purse strap high on her shoulder as her feet hit the pavement, and gave a corrective tug to her already disobedient piece-of-crap roller bag. At the corner where she needed to cross, she saw the electronic red hand signaling her to stop, but no cars were coming, the crosswalk beckoned, and time was wasting. She stepped out, her luggage thumped off the curb behind her, followed by the loud screech of tires.

  *

  Thankful to be only minutes from Jocelyn’s place now, he drove through the Manhattan maze of dark city streets. Alleys and small parking lots hiccupped between the blocks of closed-down shops, hotels, and apartment condos. No people, no cars, no movement whatsoever except for the turning of the traffic lights through their cycles. He watched the street signs pass one after another, his eyes squinting and anxious for the final turn to deliver Jocelyn Carlson home.

  Ah, Sullivan Street. He was almost giddy making the slow right onto her street when a blur of something caught his eye in his peripheral.

  His foot slammed on the brake.

  “Jesus fucking Christ!” Jocelyn Carlson screamed after thumping the back of his seat with what must have been her head. At least, this time, he knew the thump was unintentional.

  His pulse racing, he threw it in park. The heartbeat in his ears didn’t help drown out the continued backseat rant, so he looked over his shoulder and snapped, “Be. Quiet.” He huffed. “I will be back in a second.” And, miracle from above, his passenger shut her mouth.

  Antonio jumped out and got to the front of his car where his almost-victim stood panting, no, fuming, palms down on his hood.

  He adjusted his chauffeur’s cap, swallowed hard, and cleared his throat. “Ma’am, are you okay? God, I am so, so sorry.” He had been so eager to unload his passenger that he’d taken careless liberties on the less-traveled side streets. This was his consequence. And even though he’d had the right of way, he knew City pedestrians well enough. Thank God he didn’t really hit her, but from her lack of response, he could safely say he’d scared the living shit out of her.

  The petite woman stayed hovered over his hood, chest heaving, like she was catching her life-breath. Her stance looked as if she’d stopped the car herself, superhero style. And the fact that she wore sunglasses at midnight made the scene almost comical, but deadly serious at the same time. Only in Manhattan.

  “Please, miss, tell me are you’re o—”

  “I’m fine,” she huffed. “Just, for God’s sake, be more careful!” She lifted her chin to catch a glimpse of his face, then flicked down at his plates as she backed away from the limo. “Jersey drivers,” she said, adjusting her purse and little roller bag. Then she shook her head, glanced both ways, and ran across the street.

  “Can I drive you anywhere?” he yelled after her, but she didn’t look back.

  “Can we get the hell out of here already!” His backseat fare shouted, bringing him back to reality.

  *

  After nearly being run over by a stretch limo, then practically groped on the subway, the lone lumpy bus seat was heaven. She inhaled deeply, counted to ten, then let it out, long and slow.

  Okay. It would all be okay.

  At least she got the
front seat. Thank God for small favors. To avoid her inevitable motion sickness, looking straight out at the road ahead or sleeping were the only ways she could keep her queasiness in check. Meds didn’t even work. But music helped. She rummaged through her purse for her earbuds and music player, but, damn it, she’d forgotten them at her place in her mad rush to get out of the City.

  So she pulled out her phone for distraction instead. Reading her text messages was a bad idea, especially as her queasiness waxed with the bus driver’s jerking response to the stop-and-go traffic, but she did it anyway. The ever-so-rare text from her brother. She took off her sunglasses to see her screen better. Ah yes, there were the words from Almighty Dane. And they made her stomach well with nausea. She shut the screen off the next second, then dug her thumbnail into her index finger as a quick anchoring remedy, a trick she’d taught her patients. For adults and kids alike, a small bit of self-inflicted pain to counteract a blood-drawing needle always did the trick. And beyond distraction, the self-infliction gave a slight sense of control, and right now, she’d take what she could get.

  For the moment, she could put off calling her brother, but calling her mother, that chronic pain couldn’t wait. She stopped pinching her finger and hit her mother’s speed dial, trading one needle-like sensation for another.

  *

  Her mother’s report was vague. Her father was now in the ICU post-op, and no one would say anything more. And Jin Park wouldn’t ask anything more because Jin Park didn’t like being out of her own comfort zone. Ever. Instead, she’d wait for Jana. Of course.

  Jana got off with her mother quickly, having had enough before she’d even dialed her and then thought of Luly, a real mom and friend. She’d told Luly she’d call her, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. Lu would force her into tears; her friend’s sheer tenderness would turn on the spigot.

  Instead, Jana did her best to zone out, even without her trusty music player. She entered into a virtual fog of emotional detachment, until the bus got to the dark and claustrophobic Lincoln Tunnel, crossing into Jersey.