Page 24 of Rage

Konrad stands tall, his imposing figure radiating rage as he faces off against Dr.Peterson.The usually slimy doctor looks small in comparison, his face pale and eyes darting nervously.

“I’ve had enough of your behavior, Peterson,” Konrad’s voice booms, echoing off the sterile walls.“The way you’ve been treating the female staff, especially Dr.Beckham, is completely unacceptable.”

Peterson attempts to interject, but Konrad cuts him off with a sharp gesture.

“No, you don’t get to speak.You’ve done enough talking, enough leering, enough ‘accidental’ touches.It ends now.”

A small crowd has gathered, nurses and doctors alike watching the confrontation with wide eyes.I feel a hand on my arm and turn to see Dr.Ramirez, her face a mix of concern and satisfaction.

Konrad continues, his voice lowering to a dangerous rumble.“I’ve compiled a report detailing every complaint, every incident.It’s going to the board today.You’re done here, Peterson.”

Peterson’s face contorts with rage.“You can’t do this!I’m a respected physician.”

“Respected?”Konrad scoffs.“You’re a predator hiding behind a white coat.And I’ll be damned if I let you terrorize one more woman in this hospital.”

My heart swells with gratitude and relief.Konrad’s eyes meet mine for a brief moment, and I see the promise there, the promise of protection, of justice.

Peterson, sensing his defeat, attempts one last desperate move.“You have no proof!It’s her word against mine!”He jabs a finger in my direction, and I flinch involuntarily.

Konrad steps between us, shielding me from Peterson’s accusing gaze.“Oh, but we do have proof.Security footage, witness statements, even your own incriminating emails.Face it, Peterson.You’re finished.”

As if on cue, two security guards appear at the end of the hallway.Konrad nods to them, and they approach, flanking Peterson.

“These gentlemen will escort you to clear out your office,” Konrad says, his voice cold.“The board will contact you regarding the official termination proceedings.”

Peterson’s face crumples, the realization of his downfall finally sinking in.As the security guards lead him away, he throws one last venomous glare in my direction.But this time, I don’t flinch.I stand tall, meeting his gaze with steel in my eyes.

The hallway erupts in hushed whispers as Peterson disappears around the corner.Konrad turns to me.“He is such a lucky fucker that we are in the hospital or he’d have his ass beat.”There is the biker, with his fierce dark eyes.

I laugh.“It’s tough being professional sometimes, isn’t it?”

All of the workers start clapping and the women surrounding us are grinning happily.

Hours later, the day is over, and it was so much better than when Peterson was running around.

Meet me at my place in an hour?I text Mason and he replies back almost instantly.

I will be there.Dinner?

I hurry home, my heart racing with anticipation.The stress of the day melts away as I step into my apartment, thoughts of Mason filling my mind.I take my time in the shower, letting the hot water soothe my muscles.I shave meticulously, running the razor over every curve and plane of my body.The coconut scent of my bodywash fills the steamy air as I lather up, imagining Mason’s hands on my skin.

After drying off, I slather my favorite vanilla lotion on my body, its rich scent mingling with the lingering coconut from the shower.I debate on what to wear, finally settling on soft leggings and an oversized sweater that slips temptingly off one shoulder.Comfort is key, but I want to look good for him too.

I fluff the throw pillows on the couch and light a few candles, their warm glow adding to the cozy atmosphere.My stomach flutters with nerves and excitement as I hear a knock at the door.

Mason stands there, looking devastatingly handsome in dark jeans and a soft Henley that clings to his muscular frame.He’s holding a bag of takeout that smells divine.

“Hey, darlin’,” he greets, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down my spine.He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my lips.

We settle on the couch, the aroma of spicy Thai food filling the air.Mason’s thigh presses against mine, a line of heat that sends tingles up my spine.I can’t help but steal glances at him as he unpacks the containers.

“Pad Thai for the lady,” he says with a wink, handing me a steaming box.

Our fingers brush, and electricity zips through me.I fumble with my chopsticks, nearly dropping them.

“Smooth,” Mason teases, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the soft clink of chopsticks and the low murmur of the TV.I savor each bite, the flavors exploding on my tongue.

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