Addicted To The Ruthless Surgeon Heiress

The metal zipper stuck halfway up the canvas bag. Evie Vasquez grabbed the rusted slider and yanked it hard. The teeth gave way, but the jagged metal sliced into the pad of her index finger. Blood welled up instantly, dark and thick.

She didn't flinch. She didn't even hiss. She just wiped the blood on her faded jeans, leaving a bright smear across the worn denim.

The thin metal door of the trailer shrieked on its hinges as it was kicked open. Wind and rain whipped into the cramped space, scattering the few papers on the counter. Marge Kowalski stood in the doorway, her bulk blocking out the gray light. The stench of cheap vodka rolled off her in waves.

"Where do you think you're going?" Marge squinted at the canvas bag, her bloodshot eyes narrowing. "You think you can just walk out? Give me the welfare check first."

Evie looked up. Her black eyes were flat, devoid of any emotion. It was the kind of stare you gave a cockroach before you stepped on it.

Marge recoiled slightly, a shiver running down her spine despite her alcohol-induced haze. The look in the girl's eyes was wrong, It was dead. Marge hated that look, it made her feel like prey. She raised her hand, her thick fingers curling into a slap. "You little freak!i

Evie tilted her head. It was a tiny movement, barely an inch, but it was precise. Marge's hand sailed past her ear, the momentum throwing the older woman off balance. Marge stumbled forward, her hip slamming into the plastic sink.

Crack.

The cheap plastic edge snapped under the impact. Filthy water from the leaky pipe sprayed out, soaking Marge's polyester pants and splashing across the linoleum floor.

"You crazy bitch!" Marge screeched, trying to regain her footing on the wet floor.

Evie grabbed the heavy canvas bag. She didn't hesitate. She stepped right into the puddle, her cheap sneakers splashing the dirty water onto Marge's legs. She walked toward the door, stopping just inches from Marge's furious face.

"The support beam is completely rotted," Evie said, her voice raspy and cold. "This trailer won't survive the hurricane tonight."

Marge gaped at her, then let out a harsh laugh. "You're not just a piece of trash, you're a psycho too! Get out! Go drown in the gutter!"

Evie stepped out into the storm. The rain hit her like a wall of ice, soaking through her thin jacket in seconds. She didn't look back. She walked past the rusted cars and broken lawn furniture, heading straight for the abandoned gas station sign at the edge of the park.

It was the perfect spot. No cameras, no witnesses.

She stood under the flickering neon sign, the rain blurring her vision. Then, two bright beams of light cut through the darkness. A black SUV with New York plates was speeding down the flooded road. It slammed on the brakes, stopping just inches from a massive puddle. Mud and water splashed up, but Evie didn't move.

The tinted window rolled down half an inch. The driver, Arthur Finch, leaned forward, frantically checking the GPS on his phone. He looked up, the windshield wipers clearing the rain just long enough for him to see the girl standing exactly on the coordinates.

His boss had been very specific. The Surgeon was notoriously reclusive and never showed their face. The coordinates were the only way to make contact.

Arthur hit the unlock button. The passenger door popped open. "Get in! We don't have time!"

Evie stared at the open door. She noticed the thick, bulletproof glass and the smell of expensive leather that wafted out. This wasn't a random ride. But the sound of sirens wailed in the distance. The cops were raiding the trailer park for drugs. If she stayed, they'd run her ID. She couldn't let that happen.

She tossed her canvas bag into the backseat and slid into the passenger seat. She pulled the heavy door shut with a solid thud.

Arthur didn't ask questions. He assumed the silence was The Surgeon's arrogance. He slammed his foot on the gas, and the SUV shot forward into the storm.

Not ten seconds later, a man in a black raincoat ran out from the shadows of the gas station, waving his arms frantically. He was shouting something, but the roar of the engine and the storm drowned him out.

Arthur didn't check his rearview mirror. He left the frantic man in the raincoat standing in the downpour, quickly becoming a speck in the swirling storm.