02 | Illegal Activity

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I WATCHED, PARALYSED, AS A man who shouldn't even be able to get up on his own, let alone quickly, thrashed his way out of a hospital bed. I was a nurse, but the sight of him tearing an IV drip from his vein had me feeling light-headed.

His face contorted with pain, but he set his teeth and threw the ECG monitor away from him, stumbling to his feet.

It was at that moment that I finally regained the ability to react.

"Sir," I began shakily, holding out my arms as if to stop him. "Sir, you need to get back onto that bed."

         He didn't even acknowledge me. He paused only to examine his injuries, wincing at his two gunshot wounds before proceeding to launch himself in the direction of the door.

          I knew, in that moment, I had a decision to make. Either I could let him throw himself through the door, meeting the two police guards outside and likely worsening any pending charges against him, or I could stop him.

          I wasn't a bold person. I was quiet, thoughtful and usually pacifistic.

          But in that moment, I was bold. I jumped between the man and the door, closing my eyes and hoping for the best as he came closer and closer.

          I opened one eye a crack and saw him staring at me, just half a meter away. The sight of such a masculine guy in a hospital gown was almost enough to crack my worried expression into a smirk, but I refrained.

          "Move," he demanded sharply. His voice was deep and gruff, yet he held a distinctly upper-class British accent. For some reason, I hadn't been expecting that, and as adrenaline caught up with me, I realised I was breathless.

          When I didn't respond, the man began to move forward but I quickly stopped him with the words, "there are police."

         He halted again and I blew out a relieved breath as he studied me. His charcoal eyes took in my face, that I'm sure was arranged in some oddly nervous expression, and then my clothes. His face seemed to relax somewhat when he saw I was in nurse's scrubs, and his dark gaze flickered back up to mine.

          He pointed at the door without looking away from me. "Out there?" I nodded. "How many?"

          "Two."

          "B'lyad'!" he growled lowly, eyes finally flickering towards the door.

          (Fuck!)

          "Um," I mumbled, thinking I had misheard something, "what?"

"Never mind."

He stepped away from me at last and finally I could breathe. I focused on taking deep breaths and keeping my mind away from any thoughts revolving around the prospect of me being in danger.

The man scanned the room quickly but thoroughly as I watched in shocked silence. His movements were clearly being impeded by the pain he must have been in, but what he managed to achieve with one arm in a sling was impressive.

"I need some clothes," he said to me expectantly.

I shook my head. "You can't leave, your injuries—"

"—are irrelevant," he finished.

"But the police outside aren't. There's no way out of here."

I folded my arms to keep them by my sides; I didn't want to think about the further damage he'd be doing to himself by straining fresh wounds. It took everything in me not to fuss over him; nursing was in my nature.

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