Page 1 of Devilish Prince

1

SOFIA

Laughing at a wisecrack made by a coworker and probably the best friend I’ve ever had, I shrug into my thick puffy coat and zip it up. Winter has a death grip on the city and despite the steam that rises from the sewer grates along the sidewalks, it’s too frigid to walk anywhere. Even my below-zero-rated coat isn’t warm enough, so I’ll be a walking ice cube by the time I get to my car in the garage. Normally, I’d hail a cab or take the subway, but I chose to drive today. I just hope the old run-down Camry starts up the first time. The battery is weak.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” I wave at the gang before dipping out of the breakroom. Jen snickers at her own joke and waves too. It’s been a long day and all of us are exhausted. There was an eighty-car pile up on the George Washington Bridge and all of the victims were brought to Bellevue until we were so full we had to divert to other hospitals. As a trauma surgeon I’ve seen a lot of things, but I did more surgeries today than I have all week combined.

Nurses and orderlies nod at me with smiles as I pass by. Everyone knows my name, but I am shit at remembering otherpeople’s names, except my patients. I remember them all, every detail. It’s what makes me the most prominent trauma surgeon in the country despite being only two years out of my residency. I took my studies seriously and I take my career seriously too.

The wind whips around me as I walk through the breezeway from the hospital ER to the parking garage. It’s so cold the air hurts my face, and if I’m not careful I’ll get frostbite out here. I turn my collar up and jam my hands into my pockets. I forgot my hat in my locker, but at least my gloves are in the car still. They’ll take a minute to warm up but the car has to run for a bit to circulate the oil anyway. I fumble in my pocket for my keys and wrap my thumb around the fob.

In New York people are always on their guard. Thugs and gang members like to do their dirty work after dark like this, and the hospital parking garage is no stranger to criminal incidents. So I keep my senses alert as I head down the stairwell to the second floor below ground. It’s not windy but it’s still cold. I’m shivering by the time I reach my old Toyota and my hand is so cold I almost drop the keys as I point the fob at the car and push the remote start button.

As expected, the car engine struggles to life, barely turning over with the weak battery in the cold. I need to get that looked at, but at least it’s warming up as I approach it. I’ll enjoy a hot bath and a mug of cocoa to relax after I get Calvin in bed for the night. He depends on me for everything since his crippling accident ten years ago, so even after a daunting day like today, my work isn’t finished until he’s cared for. I love my brother dearly though, so I care for him in the best way I can.

The light above where I parked seems to be out, maybe it burned out today sometime, but it makes me more cautious as I approach. I glance around the garage but there is no one herebut me. So I hurry the last few steps and duck between the cars to open my car door when I hear a voice calling out.

“Hey… Lady.”

The deep baritone reverberates around the garage, echoing off the walls. I turn to see where the call came from but the hair on my arms and the back of my neck stands on end. My gut says “get in the car” but my feet stop, frozen to the cement beneath them as terror courses through every cell in my body.

My hand rests on the door handle and as I turn to climb in, something thick and scratchy drops over my head. I swat at it, pulling the material but there are strong arms around my middle picking me up. I can’t breathe, and my screams are muffled.

“Hey, stop! No!” I scream and punch and kick, but whoever has hold of me is stronger than I am.

“Get the van,” a distinctly male voice barks and I hear tires squealing.

“Put me down! Help!” I scream as loud as I can and hear my own voice bouncing around in the cavernous space, but the squealing tires grow closer. “Help!”

“Shut up!” the man shouts and I tremble. He jerks me violently as I thrash about whimpering like an idiot. I drop my car keys and pummel his body as hard as I can, but there is no use fighting him. I’ll damage my hands and then how will I perform surgeries.

“Now, get her in here before someone comes!” Another voice joins the fray after a van door is slid open. The metal upon metal is a very discernable sound, and once I’m tossed in, I hear it shut. The vehicle roars to life, tossing me against the wall as I try tosit up. I reach for the bag over my head but someone grabs my hands and pushes me back to the floor.

“Stay down,” the first man says and I comply with him. I’m terrified, sniveling and whining as tears form and my body releases sob after convulsive sob. Just moments ago I was thinking of cocoa and a hot bath. Now I just want to survive.

“Where are you taking me?” I barely squeak the words out. If they wanted to assault me they’d have done it already and thrown me out of the van. This means I’m worth something, and the only thing I’m worth to anyone is for my skill as a surgeon. I have no money, no one to call in a ransom to. I’m broke and paying back student loans and my paralyzed adult brother depends on me in one of the most expensive cities on the planet.

“Shut up, bitch.”

“Just hurry up, Norm, Renzo is dying….” The second man’s voice sends shivers down my spine. I don’t know who “Renzo” is or why he’s dying, but I know why I’m here.

The van speeds through curves and turns too fast, tossing me around the back like a rag doll. I’m bruised and battered by the time it stops, and they yank the door open. I try to sit but my bones ache and I’m shivering again.

“Get up!”

“Take the bag off my head.” I won’t do anything for these animals unless I. know what I’m getting into.

“Get the fuck up, or I’ll shoot you.” The man sounds serious but if his buddy is really dying, he needs me. I gamble my life on that fact.

“Shoot me and ‘Renzo’ dies. Now take the fucking bag off my head.” I’m tempted to pull it off myself but the last time I tried the man next to me slammed my face into the floor of the vehicle.

“Just fucking take it off. He’s going to crash.” I can’t tell who is who at this point, but one of them yanks the sack off my head, clearly made of burlap. It scrapes along my face and clings to my hair, and I blink my eyes a few times as they adjust. I have no clue where we are, parked inside a building that looks abandoned. I see plastic sheeting suspended from metal cables hung from the ceiling. Most of the place is dark, but beyond the sheeting is illuminated. I can see folks in scrubs moving about, hovering over a gurney in the center.

“What is this place?”

“Enough… now get in there and fix him.” A man dressed in all black stands with a gun pointed at me. He gestures with the barrel toward the makeshift medical area and steps aside. Two more thugs stand near the van too, both with their own weapons. I slide out of the dirty van and shake my head. There is no place to scrub in, no sinks to wash my hands. No fucking heat to keep my fingers warm enough to operate.

“I can’t do this. I need an operating room. I’m not a combat medic; I’m a trained surgeon.” My protests anger them.

---