Page 15 of Night Shift

“Get your hands off her!” I advanced, ready to unleash the rage and fury I’d been restraining thus far. Sam deserved better than this—better than him. And whether I wanted to admit it or not, I cared about what happened to her. Damn it all, I cared.

“Unhand her,” I commanded, my voice low and resonant with a menace I rarely allowed to surface. This wasn’t the controlled environment of the ED; this was raw and unscripted.

Sam’s face flushed with embarrassment. A muffled plea escaped her lips as she tried to wriggle free from Mac’s grasp, but he only clutched her closer, his body swaying with intoxication.

“Stay outta this, buddy,” Mac slurred, spittle flying from his mouth. “Family matter.”

“Let! Her! Go!” I shouted. Each word punctuated the air, a clear warning shot.

But Mac was too far gone, lost in his own despair and anger. He yanked Sam against him, causing her to stumble.

I couldn’t stand by any longer. In two strides, I closed the distance between us. My years of martial arts training kicked in, and my hand shot out, gripping Mac’s wrist, twisting it just enough to break his hold on Sam without snapping a bone. With my other hand, I drove the heel of my palm upward into his nose.

Shrieking, he stumbled back as a string of curses flew from his mouth.

“Atti—” Sam started to protest.

“Step back, Sam,” I instructed, keeping my eyes locked on Mac’s, which were wild with rage.

With Mac momentarily disoriented, I shifted my stance, sliding behind him and locking my arm around his neck. The chokehold was tight but controlled—I wasn’t aiming to harm, merely to incapacitate. His struggles were fierce but futile. I had the advantage of sobriety and discipline.

“If you ever touch her again,” I hissed fiercely into his ear, “I will kill you.”

Mac’s body went limp as he realized the seriousness of my threat, the finality in my tone. For a moment, there was silence save for our ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city waking up.

“Okay, okay!” he rasped. I released my hold incrementally, ensuring Sam was well out of his reach before letting him go completely and giving him a shove.

He stumbled forward, catching himself against the grimy wall, and I put myself between him and Sam.

“Get lost, Mac,” I said, leaving no room for argument. “She doesn’t want you here.”

“Fine,” he spat, backing away but throwing a venomous look over his shoulder. “But this isn’t over, Sam. Not by a long shot.”

Without another word, he disappeared, melting back into the shadows he’d emerged from. For a fleeting moment, gratitude washed over Sam’s features and her eyes softened, but it was swiftly replaced by a flush of embarrassment that crept up her neck and spread across her face. Her mouth opened slightly, as if to say thanks, but then closed abruptly, her lips pressing into a thin line of discomfort. I wanted to reach out and hug her, to assure her that she wasn’t alone, but I hesitated, suddenly uncertain.

“Are you okay?” My question was terse. The adrenaline that still coursed through my veins was affecting even my speech.

“Y-yes, thank you,” she managed, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.

“Will he come back?” I asked, though I knew the answer. Men like him always circled back to where they perceived weakness.

“Probably,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper as she attempted to regain her composure.

With a shiver, she wrapped her arms around herself, fighting off the remnants of fear or perhaps the cold—I couldn’t tell. My concern for her welled up, jumbling with a frustration about my inability to immediately fix what was broken in her world.

“Thank you, Atticus,” she said, lifting her eyes to meet my gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the line we’d just crossed—from professional boundaries to personal entanglements.

“Anytime.” It was more than just a courteous response—it was a promise. “Let’s get you inside. You’re cold and shaking.”

“No,” she said quickly, almost reflexively. “I—I can manage.”

“Are you sure?”

“Please, Atticus, just…leave it be.” Her eyes pleaded with me for understanding—or perhaps for the distance she thought she needed.

“All right,” I conceded, the unease settling heavier in my gut.

With that, she turned to ascend the steps to her apartment.

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