Page 4 of Provoking Bryan

Bryan searched the crowd for her, but she was gone. All that remained was the faint scent of her perfume and the unmistakable memory of the fire in her eyes.

He clenched his jaw. This wasn’t the last he’d see of Sara Gray. Of that, he was certain.

2

BRYAN

The sweltering sun pressed down like a weight, baking the cracked earth beneath Bryan’s boots. He wiped sweat from his brow and knelt beside an elderly woman seated on a stool fashioned from a tree stump. Her lined face was taut with pain, her gnarled hands clutching her swollen knee.

“Tell her this should help with the inflammation,” Bryan said, his tone gentle but firm as he handed the local interpreter a small bag of medication. “Two pills in the morning, two in the evening, and keep her leg elevated as much as possible.”

The interpreter nodded and relayed the instructions in the local dialect. The woman murmured her thanks, her tired eyes glistening as she gripped Bryan’s hands with surprising strength.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, offering her a reassuring smile before rising to his feet.

The makeshift clinic buzzed with quiet activity. It was every bit as busy as the ER, but the energy felt more hopeful than hopeless. Bryan’s colleagues tended to villagers beneath the shade of an ancient baobab tree, their supplies spread out on collapsible tables. Children darted between them, their laughtera sharp contrast to the mostly deplorable conditions in which they lived.

Bryan scanned the faces around him, noting the mixture of gratitude and apprehension in their expressions. These people had lived under the shadow of violence for too long, and the cartel’s presence was a specter no one dared to name aloud.

“Dr. Mena.”

He turned to find Lara, a fellow volunteer, approaching with a clipboard. Her face was drawn, her usual cheerful demeanor replaced by worry.

“More patients waiting?” Bryan asked.

“Not exactly.” She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder. “A group of men arrived earlier—local militia, I think. They’re asking questions about you.”

Bryan frowned, his jaw tightening. “What kind of questions?”

“They want to know why you’re here. And they mentioned the gala attack.”

The air seemed to grow heavier. Bryan’s mind raced. He’d thought the violence at the fundraiser was an isolated incident, but now it appeared his work here was stirring up something deeper.

“I’ll handle it,” he said, his tone firm. “Where are they?”

“Near the entrance to the village,” Lara replied. “Be careful, Bryan.”

He gave her a curt nod and strode toward the edge of the camp, his pulse quickening. The path was lined with dry shrubs and the occasional rustle of unseen wildlife, but the real predators awaited him at the clearing.

Three men stood near a battered pickup truck, rifles slung casually over their shoulders. Their leader was tall and wiry, his face a mask of suspicion as he watched Bryan approach.

“You’re the doctor?” the man asked, his English heavily accented but clear.

“That’s right,” Bryan replied, keeping his tone neutral.

“You should leave,” the man said bluntly, his grip tightening on his rifle. “This is not your place.”

Bryan crossed his arms, his gaze steady. “I’m a doctor. I’m here to help these people medically. Nothing more.”

The man stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “You brought trouble here. You think we don’t know about the gala? The people you killed there?”

Bryan’s breath hitched. “I didn’t kill anybody. That wasn’t my doing.”

“It doesn’t matter,” the man snapped. “Your presence disrupts the balance. The cartel will not tolerate it.”

Before Bryan could respond, a low whistle cut through the air, followed by a soft thud. The man staggered, clutching his neck where a small dart protruded.

Bryan turned sharply to see Sara Gray emerging from the shadows, her movements fluid and calculated as she dropped the two other men.

---