Chapter 7

The smell of bleach and human waste hit Alaina like a physical blow as she ran into the chaotic emergency room of the Queens Public Medical Center.

Fluorescent lights flickered overhead. The narrow hallways were jammed with coughing patients and overworked nurses.

Alaina pushed through the crowd, her eyes scanning the temporary holding area near the triage desk.

She found her.

Eleanor was lying on a rusted metal gurney shoved against a peeling plaster wall. The expensive, life-saving targeted therapy IV bags were gone. In their place hung a single, cheap bag of saline. Eleanor's skin was the color of wet ash. Her breathing was shallow and ragged.

"Mom!" Alaina dropped to her knees beside the gurney, grabbing her mother's freezing hand.

She looked up wildly at a passing nurse. "Why is she out here? Where is her medication?"

The nurse looked exhausted. "Her insurance was flagged and terminated an hour ago. We don't have the budget for those drugs without a deposit, honey. We need the bed."

"Well, well, well. Look at the rat in the gutter."

Alaina's blood turned to ice.

She turned her head. Fred Porter was strolling down the dirty hallway, flanked by his two massive bodyguards. He looked completely out of place in his bespoke suit among the sick and dying.

Fred stopped at the foot of Eleanor's gurney. He pulled a folded legal document from his breast pocket and tossed it onto Eleanor's chest.

"Sign the rights to the trust over to me, Alaina," Fred smiled, a cruel, twisting expression. "Or you can sit here and watch her suffocate. Your choice."

Alaina stood up. Her vision went red. She grabbed the document, crumpled it into a tight ball, and hurled it directly into Fred's face.

"You sick, twisted animal," Alaina screamed, her voice tearing her throat.

Fred's smile vanished. His face flushed with ugly rage. He raised his hand, pulling his arm back to backhand her across the face.

Patients nearby gasped and shrank back. No one moved to help.

Fred's hand whipped forward.

Before it could connect, a large, calloused hand shot out from the crowd and clamped around Fred's wrist, twisting it with surprising force. Fred cried out in pain, his arm bent at an unnatural angle, but not broken.

Alaina gasped, stumbling back.

Standing there, wearing a faded gray hoodie and a pair of scuffed boots, was Kyle Wood. His dark hair was messy, falling into his eyes.

For a fraction of a second, Alaina saw a look of pure, demonic murder in Kyle's eyes. But as quickly as it appeared, it vanished. Kyle's face morphed into an expression of reckless, youthful anger.

Kyle twisted Fred's wrist sharply downward. Fred dropped to his knees, howling.

"Get him!" Fred shrieked at his guards.

The first bodyguard lunged, throwing a heavy right hook at Kyle's head.

Kyle didn't use the lethal, bone-breaking martial arts of a billionaire's assassin. He used the messy, brutal brawling style of a street kid. He ducked under the punch, grabbed the guard by the collar of his jacket, and used the man's own momentum to slam him headfirst into the plaster wall.

The drywall cracked. The guard crumpled to the floor.

The second guard hesitated, intimidated by the sudden violence. Kyle didn't wait. He stepped forward and drove his heavy boot directly into the side of the guard's knee. The joint buckled with a sickening pop, and the man went down.

Kyle stood over them, his chest heaving. He shook out his hand, playing the part of a guy who wasn't used to hitting people.

Fred scrambled backward on the dirty floor, clutching his wrist. "Who the hell are you?" he spat.

Kyle turned his back on Fred. He stepped in front of Alaina, using his broad shoulders to shield her from view.

"I'm her boyfriend," Kyle said. His voice was loud enough for the entire hallway to hear.

Alaina stared at his back, completely stunned. Her brain short-circuited.

Fred let out a barking, hysterical laugh. "A boyfriend? Look at you! You're wearing a twenty-dollar sweatshirt. You're a nobody. You think you can protect her from me?"

Kyle's shoulders slumped slightly. He looked down at his cheap shoes, perfectly executing the body language of a poor man humiliated by a billionaire.

Alaina saw his shoulders drop. A fierce, protective instinct flared in her chest. This guy had risked his life for her twice, and Fred was treating him like garbage.

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms tightly around Kyle's waist, pressing her face against his back.

"He's ten times the man you will ever be, Fred," Alaina said coldly.

Fred's face twisted in disgust. He pulled out his phone. "Fine. Play house in the gutter."

He dialed a number on speakerphone. "This is Fred Porter. Get me the hospital administrator. Now. I want Eleanor Wells permanently banned from this facility. If she stays, Porter Pharma cuts off your entire supply of antibiotics."

Two minutes later, a sweating hospital administrator ran down the hall. He refused to look Alaina in the eye.

"I'm sorry, Miss Wells," the administrator stammered. "Our ventilators just... malfunctioned. We cannot safely house your mother here. You have to leave."

Alaina felt the floor drop out from under her. Fred had just locked her out of the entire medical system.

"Twenty-four hours, Alaina," Fred sneered, turning to walk away. "Sign the paper, or buy a coffin."