Dark Consequences (Dark Angels #2)

Prologue Lily

Another monstrous mosquito lands on my arm. One so large, I can actually count the stripes on the blood-sucking dinosaur as I watch it stick its needle into my flesh.

Bastard.

I would smack the damn thing and send it back to the hell it came from if I wasn’t busy helping keep a man’s intestines inside his body.

As painful as the sting the bug leaves behind on my body after it drinks its fill and flies off to find its next victim, it’s nothing compared to how our tent of war-torn patients feels. I gaze at the overflowing cots and makeshift gurneys with an inward sigh. Another attack on a helpless village has left dozens of innocent men, women, and children dead or injured. So many families have been torn apart as a result of a war they never wanted. So many lives destroyed…

While an emergency doctor in Chicago for a couple of years, I thought I’d seen it all. Bullet holes and stab wounds are elementary when faced with full-body chemical burns and partial disembowelment. I once saved a man who came in with a knife sticking out of the side of his neck, but here…I’m losing patients left and right because there’s just not enough help, medicine, or technology.

Accepting and understanding the harsh reality around me is enough to make me ache for home, and I take nothing for granted anymore.

My current team and I have been in Columbia for a few weeks now doing relief work. This is my third rotation over the past year. It’s not always like this—no, that’s a lie. It is. I like to think my presence here is helping, however small or large that is, and for the most part, that’s why I keep coming back. But to be completely honest, the pay for three months’ work here is almost the same as an entire year's salary back home, and I have a mountain of student debt to pay off with big plans for the future. I want to buy a condo, get a new car since my old beetle is on its last leg, and take a really long vacation where I spend more time in a bikini than scrubs.

“He’s crashing! Get the paddles!” the lead doctor shouts. A moment later, she’s yelling, “Clear!” We all step back with our hands in the air.

My eyes lock on the black computer screen, willing the green line to correct itself, but it remains flat.

“Again! Clear!”

I glance at the patient, and my heart sinks at the sight. His face is pale, and his lips are turning blue. He’s gone. It’s clear as day, and the lead doctor knows it too because after one final attempt, she calls his time of death.

“Dr. Song!”

I raise my head and turn in the direction of the person who called my name. It’s Dr. Cole, and he’s frantically waving me over. I snap my gloves off and tug my protective apron off, tossing both in the trash bin, and hurry over. When I step up, a nurse hands me a set of new gloves and an apron.

“What do we have?”

“Six-year-old girl with an open compound fracture to her left arm. I need to set it, but she only speaks Spanish and won’t calm down.”

I lean forward and smile at the terrified girl before asking her in Spanish, “What is your name?”

She whimpers in loads of pain but latches on to the familiar language. “Louisa.”

“Hi, Louisa. My name is Dr. Song, but you can call me Lily. All of my favorite patients do.” I wink at her and earn a small smile and giggle in return. I glance over at my coworker, and he nods. Turning back to Louisa, I try to assure her as best I can. “Now, I understand your arm hurts, right?” She nods meekly. “Well, my friend here will help you feel all better, okay? But first, tell me what your favorite color is.”

“Pink,” she admits right away.

“Really? I like pink too. Okay, so once Dr. Cole has fixed your arm, we’ll wrap it in a pretty pink cast. How does that sound?”

Louisa nods before the brave little girl steels herself. I glance at the nurse beside me and ask in English, “Where are her parents?”

The nurse shakes her head solemnly. “She came in alone.”

I sigh. It’s unfair and cruel to leave an innocent young girl like this all alone in the world. An orphan in the blink of an eye. So many children have the same story, the same uncertain future, and I hate knowing the pain and fear they’ll face in the coming days.

Of course, programs exist to offer assistance to orphaned children of war and extended families who may be willing to take them in, but that’s not always the case.

I tried to keep up with the children during my first rotation, but there were so many that it became impossible. For my sanity, I imagined each one had a happy ending. Even though, realistically, I know differently. It’s just easier sometimes to believe in the fictional.

By the end of my shift, it feels like I ran a 5k…in the rain and wind, through the mud, and then up a hill…wearing a weighted vest while hungover. All I want is to soak in a tub and sleep for a week, but that's not an option out here in the forests of Columbia. There is no Hilton nearby. We live in shared tents that make my camping trips as a kid look like a resort stay. Our showers are outdoors, and no matter what time of the day, you’re sweating even while you shower, making the entire effort pointless.

“Hey, there you are.”

I look up and see Dr. Rodriguez approaching. The man gives me the creeps. And that’s putting it mildly. It’s my first rotation serving with him and hopefully my last. Something in the way he looks at me sets every warning bell off in my head. And I’m not alone. Several of the nurses and other female staff share the same opinion.

His eyes roam over my covered body, and I tighten my cardigan anyway as if the thin fabric will somehow shield me from his lecherous gaze.

“How can I help you, Dr. Rodriguez? Did I forget to fill out a chart or something?”

He holds up a bottle of what I can only assume is alcohol of some kind. Alcohol isn’t exactly forbidden since it’s a favorite way for many team members to deal with the stress of the job, but I’ve never been a fan of the hard stuff. I’m a wine and spirits kind of gal.

“A little nightcap?”

“Not tonight, but thank you for the offer.” I hate having to be polite, but he’s technically my boss, and like I said, I need the job.

He sighs like my rejection hurt him, and I can’t find the energy to really care if I did. I’m exhausted, and if I can’t soak in a tub, then I just want to take my sweaty shower and pass out beneath my mosquito net.

“I heard about the guy and the kid whose parents were killed,” he says. “Sounds like a tough day. Are you sure you don’t want one little shot? It’ll take the edge off and help you sleep.”

I lean forward and rest my elbows on the wood railing, swallowing my groan of annoyance. Glancing around, I search for anyone who might help get me out of this awkward situation, but dinner is still being served, so this side of the base is empty.

“Come on. Just one shot?” Dr. Rodriguez pushes again.

“I’m really tired and just want to get ready for bed. Next time, swear.”

“Please?” He pouts. “I promise to leave you alone afterward. Look. It’s just, I had a bad day too and could use the company.”

I take a deep breath and blow it out hard. Fine. A shot would help take the edge of the day off, and if it will at least make the man shut up and go away, I’ll do the damn shot.

“Okay, just one, and then you really need to go find Dr. Cole or someone else to drink with. Deal?” I tell him and then turn away as he grabs two plastic cups to pour the alcohol into.

He holds one out to me, and the powerful smell of whiskey invades my nose. He clinks his cup against mine, like there’s anything cheerful to celebrate in this war-torn country. In a hurry to get this over with, I toss back my glass and wince as the bitter taste slides down my throat. It’s almost nauseating, but I manage.

“Thank you, Dr. Rodri—”

“Call me Joe.”

I blink hard, my eyes suddenly tired from the day. I’ve always been a bit of a lightweight, but one shot is a little odd. When was the last time I had a drink, anyway? Back in Chicago? Or at Sarah’s birthday party? That was months ago. No. It was the week before I came to Columbia. Right?

“Dr. Rodriguez, I think I’m going to call it a night.”

“Joe, please.”

I try to tell him it’s not professional, but my face feels heavy. I take a step back and stumble.

“Whoa, my dear! Careful now.” He rushes forward and wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me flush to his chest. I try to push back against him, but my arms won’t work.

“Wha-what’s-what’s going on?”

Dr. Rodriguez brushes my light hair from my face, and there are two of him in my vision now. “You’ve been teasing me ever since you arrived.”

No, I haven’t. I’ve barely said more than six words to the man outside of a case.

“And well, I’m done waiting for you to make the first move.”

He leans forward. Black rushes from the corner of my eyes. I try to resist its overwhelming force, but it's relentless, weighing me down, and I've never felt so helpless.

I’m trained to save lives…but who will save me?