Page 22 of Ruthless Son

Of course she did. Margot’s hand shook as she held the shears out, the arthritis evident in her twisted fingers. Even if this woman didn’t actually ask for my help, it was volunteered against my will by my bleeding heart sister. I could see the plea in Margot’s eyes, the strain it must have taken her to hold those instruments out had me reaching for them, a sigh of acceptance swallowed down with my empathy. “I’ll help you out today only.”

“Sure sure.” She shuffled around the island, picking up a large pile of paper from her station. “These are orders that need filling, I’ll tell you what each flower is and get them for you, you cut and trim the thorns, then you’ll need to wrap them all pretty like.”

The large scissors sat in my hand, a weight of responsibility held between my fingers. “You know I know nothing about flowers, right?” What have you got me into, Millie?

“You’re a doctor, you cut things all the time, just don’t kill anything.”

“I’m a nurse,” I corrected her, but she carried on picking out blooms in some semblance of order while I just stood there, wondering what turn of events led me to this scenario.

“Doctor, nurse, same thing really,” she muttered to herself.

“Actually… forget it, just… use me while I'm here.” I shrugged in defeat. She walked quicker now I’d capitulated, knowing I had no other choice but to while away my time in flower hell.

Millie so owed me for this.

Mia

Sweat ran down my back in rivulets, making my skin itchy in places I couldn’t scratch in public. My hair stuck to my forehead, beads of moisture trickling down my neck and soaking my bra. My sweat patches had sweat patches at this point… and I was bloody tired.

I hadn’t sat down since Margot had dragged me in here this morning, my phone reading almost 4 p.m. Neither had I eaten anything, so the roses I was currently handling were starting to look like an appealing snack.

‘Ouch’.

“I told you to mind the thorns,” Margot called over my hiss of pain where she was seated comfortably behind her little desk stamping filled orders.

Little plasters wrapped my fingers from all of the holes that had been stabbed into me today, and now I had another one to add to it. I sucked my finger, trying to ease the sting before I finished de-thorning what I had decided would be my final order. Why on earth I couldn’t wear the gloves since I was doing the dirty work, but according to Margot, there was only one pair and she needed them to keep her hands warm. Though she’d said this with a smirk on her face in a boiling hot shop that felt like a greenhouse.

I must have looked like a wreck too because I certainly felt like it. I spent hours on shift, on my feet all day dealing with patients of all sizes and it seemed like some little flowers and one geriatric were getting the best of me.

Movement in front of me took my attention away from my self-pity. In the worst twist of fate, Rex and another man walked into the little shop, their presence taking up every available inch. I looked like shit and Rex walked in looking like a cover model—his hair pulled back in a knot at the back of his head, and his light-blue eyes fixed on me. His dark jeans hugged his thighs, but fell loosely over his calves. I swept my hungry eyes over him, checking out the man who had got me all hot and bothered last night and then refused my offer of a drink.

With my hands full of stems, I used my arm to wipe the wet hair from my forehead, it’s not like I could make myself even remotely presentable at this point, not that it mattered I suppose. He was in a flower shop for a reason—buying something for a girlfriend? Is that why he wouldn’t have a drink with me?

My inner musings threw scenarios at me. I should have considered that someone who looked like him had a woman at his beck and call. And I bet she wasn’t a haggard, sweaty woman in old leggings.

The other man stood off to himself, glaring at the old woman who returned his look with her own fierce scowl—God, that woman wasn’t afraid of anything. She must have been a third of his size, he could break her like a matchstick and she didn’t even offer a ‘hello’, only a frown of epic proportions.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I said to them both, pasting my professional smile on and taking the initiative, it seemed that if I left it to Margot, we’d be entering a staring competition, and If I was going to help Margot out, I may as well serve her customers too.

The scowling man faced me, and I got a good look at a nasty burn that had scarred one side of his neck. I stared at the disfigurement, wondering how it had happened. It stretched toward and under his chin, distorting the skin below his clenched jaw.

Black eyes narrowed on me, the strange man with the same leather vest that Rex wore glared back, challenging my stare with his own.

I merely shrugged at his annoyance, it was human nature to stare and even more to be curious. I’m sure he was used to it. I saw all kinds of injuries, and sometimes, when bored, I would make up scenarios in my head of how each person gained those injuries—especially if they were old scars and I wasn’t privy to that information.

With how scary the guy looked, I bet he got the puckered burn mark in a Freddie Krueger style story. Some poor villagers thought he was a serial killer and burnt him alive.

As long as he didn’t haunt my dreams for staring at him… I already had one biker who had a starring role in my nighttime, I didn’t have space for another one.

“I need carnations.” The man’s voice was all gravel and rust, a throaty demand that had Margot snorting at his request. I squinted at the old woman, she was never this rude to her previous customers who had walked through the door, greeting the others as if they were long-lost siblings.

“Uh, ok.” I had no idea what carnations looked like. I looked pointedly at the old woman who was trying her best to ignore the conversation. “Any particular color?”

I could swear a blush stained his cheeks, and Margot cackled her evil witch laugh which made the guy look even angrier. “All of them.”

“You’re not very chatty, are you?” I plucked the long stems from Margot as she handed them to me—pink, red, orange, purple—all piled together. I plucked the extra leaves off, before placing the large bunch on the pale tissue paper, wrapping them up as if I’d been doing it for years. Hours in the shop making flower placements had been a little bit therapeutic, even if my fingers and toes were paying for it now. I wouldn’t dare tell Margot that I might have enjoyed it a tiny bit—just a tiny little bit—she’d probably want me back tomorrow, and I didn’t enjoy it that much.

“Princess,” Rex started, I tore my attention from the carnations, his pretty blue eyes brighter than any flower in the shop, “this is Kannon. He’s harmless, but he don’t speak much.” He grinned at me, aware I’d been staring at the big, scarred man just now. Rex’s hidden message was clear though—don’t ask about the burns.

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