Chapter 1 - The Touch
By the time they wheeled him into Trauma One, three bullets had already stolen too much blood.
One was buried in his shoulder.
Two more were lodged near his ribs.
Every heartbeat brought him closer to death.
Yet no one dared save him.
Vincent Mercer lay bleeding across the operating table while an experienced trauma surgeon slowly backed away.
"I can't touch him," the surgeon whispered.
Vincent opened his eyes.
"Then leave."
Within seconds, every doctor had stepped outside.
Six heavily armed bodyguards surrounded the room, but none of them could help the man they had sworn to protect.
Everyone in Chicago knew the horrific story.
Eleven years earlier, the woman Vincent trusted most had drugged him, locked him inside his burning lake house, and left him to die.
He survived the assassination attempt.
But his mind never truly escaped the fire.
Since that terrible night, even the lightest touch against his bare skin triggered violent panic.
Renowned doctors had tried to treat him.
Expensive specialists had failed completely.
One foolish man left with two broken fingers after placing a hand on Vincent's shoulder without warning.
Now his blood pressure was crashing dangerously low.
His heartbeat stumbled erratically across the glowing monitor.
Someone had to reach him before death finally did.
That someone became me.
I wasn't the hospital's most respected trauma nurse.
I was simply the easiest one to sacrifice.
Years of being mocked for my weight had taught people they could overlook me until they needed someone to take the risk nobody else wanted.
My supervisor shoved a heavy trauma kit into my hands.
"You're going in there," she ordered.
I looked through the thick glass window.
Vincent had ripped away his oxygen mask.
Dark blood soaked the pristine white sheets beneath his massive frame.
One of his terrifying men stepped toward me.
"If he dies—"
"If you waste another second threatening me," I said, "he'll die before I even reach him."
Silence swallowed the busy hallway.
The massive guard slowly stepped aside.
Inside the room, Vincent's stormy gray eyes locked onto mine.
"Stay away."
"I will," I answered calmly.
I opened a package of sterile gauze without moving a single inch closer.
"My name is Nora, and you are still bleeding."
"I said stay back."
"I won't touch you unless you ask me to."
His breathing became painfully ragged.
The trauma room fell impossibly quiet.
Slowly, I raised one empty hand where he could clearly see it.
"No surprises," I whispered.
"You stay in complete control."
For a long, agonizing moment, he only stared at me.
Then something inside the most dangerous man in Chicago finally broke.
His deep voice was barely audible.
"...Do it."
I stepped forward and rested my palm gently against his scarred chest.
His entire body jerked violently.
His heavy fingers shot up and clamped around my wrist.
I braced my body for sudden violence.
Instead, he held on to me like a drowning man.
Tears filled his cold eyes as he whispered his desperate plea.
"Please... don't let me burn again."
I swallowed the heavy lump in my throat and immediately went to work packing his deep wounds.
His bruising grip on my wrist never loosened, using my pulse to ground himself in reality.
The catastrophic bleeding from his shoulder finally began to slow down under my intense pressure.
Just as I reached for the surgical clamps with my free hand, the operating room doors swung open.
Dr. Evans, the cowardly chief of surgery who had abandoned the room earlier, marched back inside.
He arrogantly announced that he was taking over the procedure now that the patient was compliant.
Vincent's massive body instantly went rigid beneath my hands.
I watched Dr. Evans pull a syringe filled with a clear liquid from his pristine white coat pocket.
He uncapped the long needle, moving swiftly toward Vincent's intravenous line.
I glanced at the emergency medication cart and realized no pain killers had been authorized or drawn.
I looked at the tiny label on the syringe hidden in his palm and saw the chemical formula for potassium chloride.
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The respected doctor wasn't trying to save the mafia boss.
He was trying to induce a massive, untraceable heart attack right in front of me.
