My Fight: Men of New York #3 Read online

  My Fight

  Men of New York Book Three

  Samantha Skye

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  Copyright © 2022 by Samantha Skye

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

  ISBN 978-0-6452730-4-5 (ebook)

  ISBN 978-0-6452730-6-9 (paperback)

  * * *

  Cover Design: Angela Haddon

  www.angelahaddon.com

  * * *

  Editor: Nice Girl Naughty Edits

  www.nicegirlnaughtyedits.com

  Created with Vellum

  Content Discovery

  If you are not familiar with my writing I am going to be honest and let you know a few things.

  In this book there is spice, lots of spice. There is also violence, the kind that is descriptive in nature and most certainly on the page. There is also descriptions of family violence and partner violence throughout.

  Contents

  1. Carter Grange

  2. Dr. Catherine Wakeford

  3. Carter

  4. Catherine

  5. Carter

  6. Catherine

  7. Carter

  8. Catherine

  9. Carter

  10. Catherine

  11. Carter

  12. Catherine

  13. Carter

  14. Catherine

  15. Carter

  16. Catherine

  17. Carter

  18. Catherine

  19. Carter

  20. Catherine

  21. Carter

  22. Catherine

  23. Carter

  24. Catherine

  25. Carter

  26. Catherine

  27. Carter

  28. Catherine

  29. Carter

  30. Catherine

  31. Carter

  32. Carter

  33. Catherine

  34. Carter

  35. Catherine

  36. Carter

  37. Carter

  38. Catherine

  39. Catherine

  40. Carter

  41. Catherine

  42. Carter

  43. Catherine

  Catherine - six months later

  Do you want more?

  Also by Samantha Skye

  About the Author

  1

  Carter Grange

  If only Benji would shut the hell up so the pain in my head can subside, that would be a fucking godsend. He is acting like my personal bodyguard, currently shouting at everyone who comes near me as we make our way into the emergency department.

  Clearly, he is worried about me, but he doesn’t need to be. Even though my heart is racing, and my chest feels tight, my anxiety at an all-time high. Though he doesn’t know that bit; just that I’m injured.

  This hospital is not my usual medical clinic, but it’s closer to the warehouse where my fight was. So, Benji, in his world of panic, sped his way here through the dark streets of Philly, and now the bright lights beaming off the stark white walls is enough to blind me.

  The one time my boys aren’t with me and the whole night goes to shit.

  “Benji, slow down. I’m fine,” I grit through my teeth, as he powers through the mass of people here on this manic Saturday night.

  “Nico tasked me with taking care of you. So, I am doing what he asked, and he said to bring you here,” Benji spits out, his eyes laser focused on our surroundings.

  Although it is rare that I need a hospital visit after a fight, it does happen on occasion. Usually, ice and pain medication see me through a few days of aches and pains before I start recovery sessions and training for the next fight.

  Tonight is no different except for this power trip that Benji is on, only to ensure I am not more injured than usual. I’m not, but no amount of telling him that will get him to let up on the situation, so I’ve let him take the lead. If for no other reason but to focus on breathing through the pain and trying to quiet the thumping in my head.

  Pushing through the double glass doors, we make our way inside the busy hospital, where a trauma nurse greets us immediately. Benji called Nico on the way here, and apparently there is a doctor who Dante recommends that can help us. He relayed that the doctor will be discreet, and that they’re on top of their game. They’ll be able to fix me up, no questions asked, and send me on my way. The sooner they can do that, the better, because I already feel my pulse thumping harder and faster after taking two steps inside the door.

  The problem with underground fighting is that it’s all on the downlow—underground—or if you want to get technical… illegal. That combined with the fact I work with the head mob family in New York, it means that anything I do can be a point of interest for some people. Those that have a morbid interest in the inner workings of our family. The men who want to be part of something, the women who want to be wrapped around one of us, neither of whom will ever get a glimpse of what or who we truly are. Although many of them prefer to run away instead.

  I walk like a fucking invalid next to Benji as sweat beads form on my forehead simply from being in this place. All the while, he continues to bark orders at everyone in sight. I hope Nico and Dante are right about this doctor, because the smell of disinfectant is piercing my nostrils and the need to get the hell out of here crawls up my spine, making me shiver. My throat tightens as the memories of my past escape my subconscious, infiltrating my mind. I’ve got no time to reminisce, though, and have no desire to take a trip down memory lane. Especially not tonight.

  How Nico and Dante know a doctor here in Philly, I have no idea. They only ever come down here to watch me fight and ensure that I win, preferring to be in New York with the rest of the team. I used to always be right alongside them, but as of recently, I am spending more and more time down here, building up my gym business with Benji and making new acquaintances for the mob. It works in everyone’s favor.

  As we walk farther down the hall, my grip around my torso tightens. Each inhale I take, brings a renewed twinge of pain, and I wonder if coming to this hospital was actually a good idea for once. Even though my hands feel clammy, and I now feel slightly nauseous.

  “We need Dr. Wakeford,” Benji barks at a young nurse. She looks totally intimidated by his erratic manner, and rightfully so.

  “I’m… I’m not sure…” she stammers before Benji interrupts her.

  “We want to see Dr. Wakeford!” he shouts at her, and she jumps, startled by his tone, rushing away to the nurses’ station.

  “Benji, fucking calm down,” I barely manage to say, while holding back a groan. My arm remains wrapped around my torso, and I hiss as the pain shoots across my rib cage.

  It was a tough fight tonight, that much is sinking in now. My face feels swollen, my ribs hurt, my hands are bruised and covered in blood. Hopefully nothing’s broken because that will put me out for a while. The thing is, though, it’s not much worse than how I find myself after most fights. If anything, my nerves are what’s really causing me the most aggravation. And Benji’s crazy ass isn’t helping either.

  I look up in time to see a male nurse walking up to us.

  “I’m Ian. I can assess you today,” he says calmly, taking in the sight of me.

  Before I can respond, Benji pipes up again. “No one is touching him except for Doctor Wakeford.” His finger points in my direction, and my eyes roll.
br />   “I can appreciate that, but I am the Nursing Manager for Doctor Wakeford’s office, so I can do an initial assessment before I call the doctor.” He’s not taking any crap from Benji, and I need to smother my smile. As I look at Benji, I can tell he’s about to explode, yet he’s holding it in and going bright red in the face in the process.

  “Relax, Benji. Let him do the paperwork.” I’m too tired and sore to argue, and really just want to leave this place as soon as possible.

  We follow Nurse Ian into an examination room, and I sit on the edge of the hospital bed. He passes me an ice pack, and I nod in appreciation as I press it onto my face to try to contain the swelling before it gets out of hand.

  “Would you like to tell me what happened?” Ian asks as he grabs my wrist and feels for my pulse.

  “Just a fight, nothing major,” I reply steadily. I can tell by his expression he doesn’t believe me, but continues with his initial assessment by noting a few details on his paperwork.

  “When will the doctor be here?” Benji asks with a huff. His two minutes of silence must’ve given him a second wind, his demanding attitude back in full force. He paces the small room, not yet settled. Maybe the pressure of being held accountable by the mob if, God forbid, I croak under his watch, is getting the better of him.

  “I’m afraid that Doctor Wakeford is—” Ian starts to say before he’s cut off, much more confidently than the previous young nurse.

  “Tell her that Dante Luciano from New York has sent us,” Benji tells him slowly, almost calculating, and I narrow my eyes as I look at him. What pull does Dante have in this hospital?

  Ian sighs. “Fine, give me a few minutes. I will page Doctor Wakeford for you,” He concedes, before grabbing his clipboard and walking out the door, leaving us in silence.

  Taking a strangled breath, I glance around the room, trying to distract myself. Only, there’s not much to see. Everything is stark and bland, white and clean, and I squint under the bright lights, the pounding in my head increasing. It’s a small room, made even smaller by Benji and me in it, the two of us both tall and broad. Our daily sessions at the gym give us the bulk many men envy and women cower from. The bed linen is scratchy, and while it is quiet in the room, I can hear the running around on the other side of our door, machines beeping, people talking, many of them frantic, probably not unusual for a Saturday night. I hear the security team struggling nearby with what I can assume is some drunk idiot, and I fleetingly think that could have been me had it not been for Sebastian and Dante picking me up off the streets all those years ago.

  “How does Dante know a doctor down here?” I give in to my curiosity, turning to face his direction.

  Tonight, shit was going down in New York, and the boys couldn’t make it to my fight. Hell, I nearly didn’t make it either, because family comes first, and I should be with them. But Sebastian is aware I am trying to build my life down here and told me they had it under control.

  “Nico said the doctor that fixed up Annie after the shooting now works here. That’s why I brought you here instead of that other shithole you usually go to get checked.” He finally sits down in the white plastic chair that looks about as comfortable as a pile of rocks. Rubbing his head, he’s visibly exhausted, his adrenalin wearing off.

  It’s a good thing. I think this power trip of being my manager while the boys are away is chipping at his sanity. I would yell at him if my fucking head didn’t hurt so much. Instead, I close my eyes, attempting to calm my breathing once again.

  I fucking hate hospitals.

  This doctor better hurry up before I lose my mind.

  2

  Dr. Catherine Wakeford

  Pushing my chair out, I stand up from my desk and roll my shoulders, trying to relieve my constantly tight, sore muscles from my stressful daily grind. It has been a long night already. Saturday night at the hospital is always crazy, though. Usually that means the late shift goes fast, which I am grateful for.

  Since performing surgery for a man injured in a car accident, I have been back here in my office, combatting the mountain of paperwork requiring my attention. The most important being the plans and project outlines for the new Emergency Department that the hospital is in the midst of building. While our current facilities are good, they will soon be one of the most technologically advanced in the country. I am super proud that I get to lead it.

  When I made my rounds on the floor earlier, I could see all the usual suspects had come in. Saturday afternoons we were full of kids and families, since the sporting days ensure we are busy with broken bones, sprained limbs, and deep cuts. But Saturday nights are my least favorite, because that is when we get the drunks, fighters, and other questionable characters who have indulged in drugs and other such activities. All of which warrants the high number of security guards we now have down on the floor.

  It is unbelievable that we need security to protect the people who help and heal.

  Walking over to my door, I grab my white coat from my coat rack and put it on, ready to check on what craziness is currently happening outside my door. Something I try to do on the hour, every hour.

  I shouldn’t complain, it is my only form of exercise, and the thousands of steps I do per shift far outweigh any I could accomplish in a run around the park.

  When I accepted this job nine months ago, I negotiated that I only work one Saturday night per month. I love medicine; it has been in my blood for generations, but there is an eight-year-old I love more. Although she enjoys spending the night at her aunt's house, I miss her when I am away.

  Already I can’t wait to see her for breakfast, before I delve into my Sunday soccer mom duties, and then attempt to fix the leaky tap that appeared in my kitchen this morning. Sighing, I grab the photo of Ivy from my desk, willing it to give me the energy I need. As much as I cherish every moment spent with my daughter, the single mom life can be tiring at times.

  I’m lost in thought when my desk phone rings, and immediately my adrenaline kicks in. Being a doctor means hard work and long hours, especially in the ED, where you need to prepare yourself for anything.

  “Doctor Wakeford,” I say as I answer the call.

  “Catherine, we have a few guys down here that are requesting you,” Ian, my head nurse and closest friend, tells me.

  “Requesting me?” I ask in surprise. I can’t say that anyone has ever requested me personally like this before. That piques my interest.

  “Yes. White male, late twenties, presented himself with what looks like injuries to his face, abdomen, and hands.”

  “A fight?” My brow furrows, wanting Ian to get more specific.

  “Yes. A pretty brutal one, if you ask me. But they won’t let me assess. His friend is highly agitated and said that a Mr. Dante Luciano sent them to see you.”

  I still for a moment, memories flooding my mind.

  “Fine, Ian. Tell them I will be down in five minutes,” I reply, before hanging up the phone.

  Dante Luciano. Second in command of the New York Mob. He brought his girlfriend to the emergency room with a gunshot wound back when I worked in New York over a year ago. Something I should have reported to the police, but instead, I kept it quiet because he offered cash to do so. While it wasn’t my finest hour, I needed the money to get Ivy and I to safety.

  I hope karma doesn’t come back to bite me.

  Accepting money from the mob was also not the smartest thing to do; I recognize that now. As a woman who worked her ass off at med school and received top honors, becoming the youngest woman to lead an Emergency Department in the country at the age of thirty-five, I am held in high regard. I followed in my dad’s footsteps, and if he, or anyone else, ever found out about my small indiscretion, then I would lose the career and reputation I have worked so hard to build.

  But, if I had to do it all over again, I would still take the money. For Ivy. While I love being a doctor, I love her more. She will come first every single time, and getting out of New York was somethi
ng I had to do. Even though my father is still seething about the move and constantly trying to make me move back.

  I fix my white coat and brush down my navy dress underneath. Quickly, I check my cell phone to make sure my sister hasn’t called with any issues with Ivy, and with a sigh of relief, I get into business mode.

  The mixture of noises hits me first as I step out of my soundproofed office. Rushed voices of panicked patients, and firm assurance from our nurses and doctors. Rattling wheels of gurneys and beeps of medical equipment. Calls over the speaker, and the distant whir of a siren. This is chaos to anyone else, but to me, the sounds belonging to a hospital immediately get my head in the game. Striding down the corridor, I duck and weave past a few staff and patients and make my way to the nurses’ station to see Ian.

  Ian is one of the best nurses I have had the pleasure of working with, and is not only professional, but also a lot of fun.

  “Okay, what should I know?” I ask as I sidle up to him behind the counter.

  “As I mentioned, white male, abdominal bruising, cut above his eye, swollen cheeks, bruised and swollen hands…” He passes me a clipboard, and I quickly look over his vitals, but find the paperwork mostly blank.