Taking Jana (Paradise South #2)
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Authors: Rissa Brahm
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Author’s Note
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Taking Jana
HEA. So enjoy your wild trip through the story and we’ll meet up at the happy end! ~Rissa
For Linda.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
T
he sharp kick
to his seat might’ve been the last one he thought he could take.
A fight to the death. Antonio’s hot Mexican blood coursed through his body and to his face, battling his calm, serene nature, and decades of martial arts and meditative training. His genetically predisposed fury threatened victory. Threatened to overtake him.
All from that one, hard kick.
It was all too reminiscent of the haunting kick to his ego—and heart—by his ex, Michelle. But it didn’t matter who or what the source of the fire, he was so done swallowing his pride.
Because for ten long months now, Ms. Jocelyn Carlson, Antonio’s highest paying limousine fare, had pushed him to his threshold with her relentless and chiding orders. She had all the class of a trailer park whore along with half of her billionaire
ex-husband
’s wealth. It was a mean mix. Antonio had, up to then, taken it. He had become a slave to her every whim, every jolt, and every goddamn demand for far too long.
Well, almost every demand.
But damn the steady
ten-fold
fare. It wasn’t goddamn worth it anymore.
Keep an even keel, Antonio.
He pulled his earbuds out and chucked them onto the passenger seat. All the damn good they did. With his music on the highest volume, the backseat moaning still carried. He took a full breath then cleared his throat in warning while his finger remained where it was. On the button. Which allowed the upward motion of the center partition window to continue. He needed to drown out the noise, it was making him sick.
But then another shot to his seat rocked him forward toward his steering wheel.
A deep growl rumbled in his chest. This second kick, even more violent than the first, reverberated through Antonio’s already screaming lower back. His jaw clenched and he stomped on the brake. Then he switched into the other lane, barely avoiding the tailgate of the truck in front of him.
But all the while—
fuck her!
—he kept his index finger heavy on that privacy window button. It continued its ascent, humming its smooth automatic buzz, almost blocking out her voice along with her heavy intermittent breathing, from the backseat. And within inches of Antonio’s auditory freedom, the woman’s moaning morphed into a
follow-up
to her kicking spree, a directive that met his ears like a
slow-turning
screwdriver.
“Tony, I swear, keep that fucking! Window! Down!” With that, she resumed her panting under her energetic and submissive male escort.
It wasn’t even the demeaning mess she’d leave on his limo’s leather upholstery that he’d spend an hour cleaning after dropping her at her condo on yet another late night, never earlier than one in the morning. What twisted his ego and stomped it flat into the dirt was the humiliation that he knew she intended for him. He sensed her purposeful luring, her pathetic attempts of enticing him every time she put on her backseat show. She’d challenge his eyes, daring them to peek in the rearview. Her rotating boy toys would narrate their sex play per her instruction, probably since Antonio would never give in, never glance up into his mirror, not even once, to see her bare body writhing and thrashing to match the sounds echoing in the backseat of his limousine.
His
limo. His business, his livelihood. His ticket home.
Since the very first time she’d ridden in his vehicle, she’d vehemently insisted that the center privacy window remained down. And until tonight, until now, he’d caved, let her have her way. But the countless scuff marks and upholstery rips and tears from her spiked heels would be no more. And her shrill and demeaning blitz of commands?
They’d end now.
*
He slowed, signaled, and pulled the car over.
Stopped at the side of the road, he lowered the privacy window all the way down, flush with the
leather-clad
partition. He pulled his seatbelt strap away from his slowly heaving chest. His anger filled his lungs, only kept in check by his mind, which focused solely on preparing the perfect words, as few as possible, to say to his tormenter.
He took in a slow and even final breath, while outside his window, the trickling truck traffic of the Newark, New Jersey industrial district zoomed by, as if moving past at a hundred and fifty miles an hour, but he knew they were all only going about the speed limit of
forty-five
. There were too many speed traps; he knew them well.
The glaring neon lights of the line of strip clubs, bail bondsmen, and pawn shops caught his eye as he turned his body to look directly at Ms. Jocelyn Carlson and her
twenty-something
playmate.
*
Jana Park ignored Ilana Simon as best she could. The other woman traipsed around the locker room naked, bragging to another newbie about some recent sex tape Ilana had made, set in one of her daddy’s many limos.
“And it went, like
crazy
viral,” Ilana said with a disgusting giggle.
God, Jana wished she couldn’t hear the woman’s monolog. It made her nauseated. Not the ‘spreading her legs to the World Wide Web’ part; what the hell did Jana care? And not the sex part, in a limo no less; no, that sounded, well, pretty fun. She knew she could use more of any type of sex, in any place at all, really. But her lifestyle didn’t lend to any
extra-curriculars
. Her only focus now that she’d finally landed a spot on the Head Trauma Team was to snag the lead position.
But what made her ill was Ilana Simon’s use of sex. It’s how the woman had gotten her position there in the first place while Jana had sacrificed everything and worked her ass off to obtain her dream job. And to rise still to the highest ranks possible, she’d continue her
hyper-focus
, ready to eat, breathe, and
hardly-ever
-sleep her job for the foreseeable future.
Ilana Simon had skipped all that, and it more than racked Jana’s nerves.
Stop dwelling, Jana, and get your things.
She needed to get home, get a shower and a nap, and get back in eighteen hours.
*
Ilana, thankfully, had left the locker room, giving Jana a second’s peace and quiet. She was about to pull her stuff from her locker when a text message pinged her phone. She took a quick glance.
Dane?
The first contact in nearly a decade.
What the hell did
he—
“Jana, need you,” Luly said from the doorway, interrupting Jana’s confused wonder.
“Okay, Lu? What’s up?”
“A father/daughter. Codes blue, pink.” And her best friend vanished the very next instant.
Jana tossed her cell in her locker and hurried out. She’d read the text later. And go home later. Sleep later.
Priorities.
*
Two rights and a left through the blinding white MMU emergency room maze, and she was in the thick of it, her blood pumping hard like she loved.
Her ears selectively caught the vital sounds and urgent directives being thrown about. “Spanish speaker over here,” shouted the lead resident on duty at bed five.
Jana spun around toward the call, as she was as fluent in Spanish and Korean as she was in English. She’d saved dozens of lives by cutting the time it often took to find an interpreter. “On the way,” she called, closing the gap from twenty feet away.
“Hey, I got it.” Ilana Simon was already at the curtain.
Hell no.
She might be good at fucking the chief resident, which had gotten the elitist bitch a spot in the ER in the first place—without merit and, in Jana’s opinion, without much skill or an ounce of heart, to boot––but Jana wasn’t about to let Ilana muck up a code blue and pink. Not with the bullshit
level-one
Spanish she’d scrounged up from her year abroad, another tidbit the other woman boasted about.
Constantly.
Fuck that. And fuck her.
Hell, if Jana’s daddy had invested in her the same way Ilana’s
rich-ass
father had in Ilana, Jana would be chief resident by now. But Jana’s father hadn’t. In fact, it had been the opposite. So here Jana was, shy of a year into her position, and this bitch waltzes in one month ago, all because she’s not shy about spreading her legs.
“No Ilana.” Jana controlled her voice and breathing, always in control, never emotional––a point of pride. “The nurse’s station needs you, and the waiting room is packed. Go help take their load, please.” Ilana puffed out her chest as she liked to do, rolled her
heavily-lashed
eyes, and reluctantly moved toward the nurse’s station as Jana pushed through the curtain to bed number five.
Instead of looking at the victim on the gurney, Jana put her full attention to Tamara, her favorite charge nurse. She was always on it, always in high gear.
“The poor thing saw her leg and passed out. But I’m waiting for Dr. Pierce, anyway,” Tamara said checking the drip line to the unconscious child. Seven years old, maybe eight. Her shinbone had a
ninety-degree
break in its
mid-section
, bulging through her
blood-soaked
pants, a
death-red
blotch spreading, growing, taking over the pale pink material of the girl’s pants with each passing moment.
“Cut the pant leg while we—”
“Jana, curtain three please!” Luly called from a few beds away, a
next-level
urgency in her voice, rare for the mother of five. Nothing much fazed that woman, except for pending fatalities. Jana was sure it was too close to home for her friend; from the surfacing fear of her own kids lying before her, their life draining out by the second. For that reason, Luly’d been trying to get out of the ER and into a standard unit for months. Until then, she’d call on
iron-hearted
Jana to face the beast.
“Coming to three.” Jana made her way down the long hallway. She was petite and most of the time her legs didn’t move as fast as she wanted them to go. Her quickened steps made her feel like she was on a treadmill with too much time between points A and B, never enough ground covered, but certainly time enough for a thick knot to develop in her throat. She knew she was heading toward the father of the little girl she’d seen.
She pulled back the curtain to three. Luly turned to face Jana, her eyelids halved and solemn. Then Jana looked down at the man’s chest.
Shit
. Jana approached the gurney and silently checked the chart: José Amarillo, father,
thirty-five
years old.
Only
thirty-five
, Jesus.
The curtain rings rapidly clanked along the cubicle frame, startling Jana as Dr. Pierce charged in on high alert. But one glance at the man on the gurney, the doctor let go a loud sigh while Jana closed her eyes for a moment to settle her nerves. It didn’t help. She actually felt a little queasy.
Why the hell was she letting this scene get to her? She’d seen worse only hours ago. But below her tough skin, she knew full well why. As the doctor glanced at the monitors, then at the patient, she felt a sinking in her chest. This was different. This was too close to home.
The doctor gave an imperceptible shake of his head to Jana, then he whispered, “I’ll meet you at bed five.”
Jana handed the chart to Luly as the patient’s eyes opened, staring wide, squarely into Jana’s, asking a billion wordless questions all at once.
She spoke to the barely lucid man in quick but clear Spanish. She knew there wasn’t much time. She kept her voice steady, rhythmic, and he seemed to be listening to her explanation, to his prognosis, to her soft, summarizing close.
And as she spoke, she glanced at his wound through his opened shirt. An angel wing tat with the name “Ashley” in black cursive over his left pectoral; there was a
12-cm
-long gash, as deep as it was long, through the bottom of the tattoo’s wing feather. Dark blood oozed out and down his ripped torso.
Her heart ripped a little more from the sight. She swallowed back tears. It was the confirmation of his love, for his baby, for his Ashley.
Goddamnit
.
A deep guttural cough from the man interrupted Jana’s thoughts and the threatening emotion she tried so hard to bank. The look in his eyes,
God
, a plea for air enough to speak. Then he found his voice.
“
Dondé esta m’iha
?
Ella esta bien
?
Ella esta bien!
” His desperate search for news of his daughter trailed off, replaced by the resounding beep of the monitor’s flat line. It rang heavy in her ears as the trauma unit got small and quiet.
She called the time of death in her head, her pounding head. Jana’s own pulse raced, counter to her seemingly
slow-motion
exterior. The energy, the stress of it all had to show up somewhere, and it was usually right up the center of her forehead.
The knowledge that this father was gone tightened her chest and closed her throat. And God, he’d loved his little girl. She felt it when he’d spoken his last words to her. It was raw and real love. And now it was all gone.
The Resident on duty, Dr. Bose, rushed in and called it out loud. “Time of death, 21:06.”
Jana snapped her gloves off, trashed them, and moved back to bed number five to assist Dr. Pierce with the now fatherless girl, Ashley.
*
Jana read from the wristband, though she didn’t need to. “Ashley, blink your eyes if you can hear me, Ashley.”
Ashley squinted in an attempt to blink, dropping three large tears like cannon balls down her round, smooth cheeks.
“Good girl. My name is Jana, I’m a nurse. Sweetheart, you were in a car accident. You have one hurt leg that we’re going to take care of now.”
“Where’s Daddy?” the
seven-year
-old
blue-eyed
angel whispered.
“Sweetie, he can’t be here right now.”
*
As it turned out, there was no mother to call. Jana Park took the child’s hand while the team prepped Ashley’s leg for amputation. As soon as they could get the form’s
sign-off
from Child and Family Services or as soon as ten minutes passed, whichever came first, they’d get the child to the OR.