Runaway Hearts: Seduced by Danger

1. Take Me Away

Chapter 1

Take Me Away

J ust one more hour until I can leave this place. As the clock nears midnight, I speed through the sterile halls of Palco Springs’ Hospital. My pulse quickens with excitement. Just one more hour until my grueling shift ends, and my long-awaited vacation begins.

Oh, the sweet pull of freedom...

Before I round the corner, I see Victor leaning against the security station with a smirk. “Ready to escape, Marianne?” he teases, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. The old man’s stare had a peculiar light that whispered of a troubled life and a thousand wild adventures. That light usually puts me at ease.

But I chew on my lower lip and glance at the nurses’ office at the end of the corridor. “Is she in there?” I ask, my voice in an angry whisper. I don’t want to confront my boss right now.

Victor replies while sucking on his never-ending mint, “You know it.”

“I’m cursed!” I shake my head in despair, but a small smile tugs at my lips when the man’s calloused hand lands on my shoulder. Its warmth envelops me like a shield. The only masculine touch that doesn’t make me recoil.

“You’ve handled worse,” he says with a sad smile.

Yeah, he’s talking about my ex.

A painful sniff flies out of my nose, and I lift my big brown eyes at the man I consider my grandpa. “Doesn’t make it any easier. My shift ends at midnight, but she’s short-staffed, and I can’t say no to her.”

Since Eric, standing up to authority has been impossible. His voice still echoes in my mind, criticizing my every move. At work, it’s easier to comply to avoid confrontation.

“You can do this, Care Bear.”

No, I can’t. She makes my blood boil, and I don’t even know why. Maybe because she’s a raging bitch?

With a quick flick of my wrist, I sweep my thick, dark brown bangs away from my face and tie them in a high ponytail. “Only one hour left, and I’m going on vacation.”

Victor wiggles an eyebrow. “Beach and books?”

“Yes. Gotta catch up on my reading goals for the season,” I say, earning a nod. I want to finish the second book in my current fantasy series and join the sexy intergalactic arms dealer, Seito, in his spaceship. I have a sweet spot for fictional villains. The darker, the better.

The story is unlikely, but I’ve been hooked since the first page when Seito escaped an interstellar jail. I want to hug the thug, to run my hands through his blazing red hair. He would look at me with piercing purple eyes and hold me close in his tattoo-covered arms. I wish for him to whisk me away to a distant galaxy where I could slip out of my skin and be somebody else.

I always thought villains loved better.

But it’s a fantasy that exists only within the pages of my books.

Real men are assholes.

“Text me when you hit the road,” Victor says before returning to the ER’s entrance. “And be careful with who you pick up.” He stops halfway and pops another mint in his mouth.

Since the day I met my best friend Arietta by picking her up on the side of the road, I haven’t stopped picking up hitchhikers. My therapist said it was a hidden need for adventure. I call it “helping people.” A small thing that makes me feel good about myself.

“Sure thing, Pop-Pop. Don’t get in trouble while I’m away,” I tease my pretend grandpa and give him a corner smile.

“Trouble always finds me.” He chuckles, shaking his head.

I sigh and make my way to the ER sorting unit. I pause at the nurses’ station, where my boss, Carole, stands, scowling as she barks orders at the staff.

Carole’s gaze narrows, and the air ices as her bright red lipstick glints under the fluorescent lights. Her perfect hair bounces with each step, and her crisp white coat rustles against her skirt as she approaches me.

I’m trapped.

“Hey, Marianne,” Carole greets me, and my blood freezes. “You’re almost done with your shift, right?”

I force a tight smile, my shoulders tensing with the weight of her haughty stare. “Yeah, just a few more minutes.” Twelve minutes until midnight.

“Well, don’t think you can leave until I say so.” Her voice carries a hint of disdain bubbling just beneath the surface.

Her condescension fuels an ember within me.

I know better than to challenge Carole, as well as the consequences of standing up to my boss. More work hours. Switch to Friday nights. Forgotten hours on the timesheet. When she glares at me, it’s like walking on thin ice, waiting for the inevitable crack and plunge into freezing water. She’s a master at exploiting my innate need to help others, twisting it for her own gain.

A little PTSD, perhaps?

But a part of me longs to defy her, to break free from the suffocating grip of her control.

It’s been so long since I had any control at all.

As if sensing my inner turmoil, Carole’s expression softens, though the venom in her voice remains. “Listen,” she says. “I hate to ruin your plans, but we’re short-staffed tonight. I need someone to stay for a few extra hours.”

My stomach churns at the request, the prickling hot needles of anger in my throat burning away my resolve. I must leave for Nay tomorrow morning to get to my beach house. But I’ve never been able to say no.

If Eric ever taught me one thing, it’s to avoid confrontation at all costs, for it might cause bruises—physical and emotional.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I force out through gritted teeth.

Carole’s lips curl into a smug smile, her eyes gleaming triumphantly. “Good, I knew I could count on you to do the right thing.”

As she turns, my eyes roll back, and I stick my tongue out to her.

How would Seito, my manga book hero, deal with such a bitch?

Option one: A swift slit of the throat during her sleep—efficient yet messy.

Option two: A dose of cyanide introduced into her coffee—witnessing the gradual disintegration of her internal organs.

Option three: A poetic push off the balcony—a symbolic descent mirroring her character.

Oh my. Marianne. Stop thinking like that!

My overactive imagination sends a wave of laughter through my body, causing my eyelids to flutter, but no sound comes from my closed mouth.

I step into the sorting unit and check on the new arrivals written on the board.

Five people were injured in a car accident; four teenagers were beaten in a brawl, three heart attacks, two factory accidents, and a little boy who bit an electrical wire.

Amid the commotion, I spot two teenage girls being wheeled in on stretchers, their faces bruised and bloodied.

I rush to the nearest stretcher, where one girl lies, trembling, her tear-streaked face a mask of pain.

“What happened?” I ask as I assess her injuries.

Her arm is likely broken, and bruises are blossoming across her skin like dark petals.

She winces as she recounts the events that led to the brawl. “We... we were just hanging out at the park,” she says, her words punctuated by gasps of pain. “And then these guys showed up, looking for trouble. We just told them we weren’t interested, you know.”

I do.

My heart clenches with empathy, and I shake the irritating memories trying to surface—times I said no, and shit happened anyway—focusing on the task at hand.

“What’s your name?”

“C-Chloe.”

A few hours and I’m on a twenty-one days’ vacation.

“You’re safe now, Chloe,” I say, my voice a soothing balm against the frantic noises of the ER. “I’ll take care of you.”

As I work to treat the girl’s injuries, a bitter flavor coats my mouth.

I nod my chin toward the two young men, slightly injured and cuffed to a bench near the entrance of the ER, who came in with her and her friend. “These two?”

She dips her head and looks away. The guys’ postures scream their arrogance, from the cocky smile to the way they sit large, knees wide apart, arms stretched on the backrest. They’re local gang members, probably. Or worse, like members of the Kwunarus.

My skin prickles with unease at the thought of the ruthless Japanese organization that controls criminal activities around here. In Palco Springs, most drug users I see in the ER are somehow connected to a sub-dealer under Kwunarus’ control. Even the prostitutes who pass through here are under their influence. However, they tend to keep to themselves and stay out of sight in our quiet town.

Like faceless whispers of a nightmare.

Then, the two attackers possibly aren’t affiliated with them because, one, what they did causes attention, and two, they got caught. If I were running a mob, I wouldn’t want loud pieces of shit like this in my crew.

So, local gang, it is.

However, this girl doesn’t show any signs of drug use or marks of association with any criminal group. It means she was attacked for simply saying no, as a display of pure masculine egomania.

I already guessed the answer from the teenage girl, but it’s part of the job to ask. “You wanna press charges?” I sigh. “I can assist you.”

A derisive scoff exits her nose, but it ends up with a grunt. “No way.”

Vacation by the sea.

While I work, a familiar tightness grips my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs.

“Report me, princess?” Eric sneered. “For what? Making my girlfriend behave? That’s glorious. Just take a pill; it’ll help you push these bad thoughts away.”

In a flash, my eyes burn from unshed tears, and memories crash into each other in my head.

A condescending snort flew out his nose. “Like I’m the bad guy here. Jeez. None of this would’ve happened if you said yes right from the bat.”

Vacation, vacation, vacation!

But a sudden roll of her eyes stills my hands trying to install the IV as if she wandered far away despite lying right there. Her fingers begin to twitch, and a subtle, rapid movement is barely noticeable. Then her muscles tense, every fiber of her body straining as if responding to an invisible force. A low, involuntary murmur escapes her lips. She shakes, and her breathing grows shallow and irregular. A brief, sharp gasp breaks the quiet, followed by her body convulsing, each spasm more violent than the last.

I push down my anxious thoughts, focusing on what needs to be done. With practiced hands, I stabilize her head and clear the surrounding area to prevent further injury.

“She’s having a seizure. Get me a tongue depressor and a towel!” I bark, my voice cutting through the chaos of the emergency room.

People rush to fetch the supplies as I continue to assess the girl’s condition.

But her entire body stiffens, muscles locking as if gripped by an invisible vise. Her face contorted in agony, a silent scream trapped in her throat. Blood trickles from the corner of her mouth, a stark red against her pale skin. Her breathing becomes shallow gasps punctuated by longer pauses.

Shit, that’s internal bleeding.

“Get Dr. Evans. Now!” I scream as I push the red button.

I carefully position the girl on her side, ensuring her airway remains clear. My fingers probe for the source of the blood, finding a deep bruise on her abdomen. My touch is firm but gentle, assessing the extent of the injury without causing additional pain.

The desperation in my heart is overwhelming, and I beg silently, pleading for the universe to let her survive. She doesn’t deserve to suffer or die because she refused herself.

Just like me...

Every fiber of my being is screaming at her to hold on, to fight, to cling to life with all her might.

“Stay with me,” I whisper, my voice cracking with emotion as I gently stroke her hair. “You’re going to be okay. Just keep breathing.”

But doubts creep into my mind as I count the irregular, shallow breaths.

Am I doing enough?

The weight of responsibility presses down on me, threatening to crush me under its unbearable burden. But as the seconds tick by, her condition remains unchanged. My heart sinks as I realize that, despite my best efforts, I may not save her.

“No,” I whisper as I hold her. “Come on, Chloe!”

Please! Prove to me I have some worth.

Another nurse arrives with a crash cart, and I attach an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose, the soft hiss of the gas a reassuring sound.

Any worth at all…

As soon as I spot Dr. Evans, frustration takes over, and I snarl rather than talk. “Severe seizure, possible internal bleeding, left abdomen. She’s been unresponsive for about two minutes.”

The doctor nods, assessing the situation. “Let’s go! Prep for an ultrasound to check the internal damage.”

Why didn’t I examine her thoroughly before making small talk?

But even in the face of despair, I refuse to give up. Deep down, I know that helping others is the only thing that gives my life meaning. And no matter how many times I fail or how many lives slip through my fingers, I’ll never stop trying. Because, in the end, it’s the only thing that keeps me going.

The chaotic crew disappears in a blur, and I’m left with failure, choking my soul out of any value I have. Until a tall male nurse puts his hand on my forearm, and I snap back to reality.

“You did great,” he says, his voice cutting through the chaos of the emergency room. “We’ll take her to the ICU, but she’ll likely be okay, thanks to your quick response.” His soft brown eyes calm my mind.

I nod, a wave of relief washing over me. Despite the lingering ache in my muscles, there’s a glimmer of hope in his words that eases some tension.

“Thank you,” I choke out.

The man offers me a reassuring smile before walking off.

I pause a moment to collect myself. My hands still shake with adrenaline, but peace settles over me. Knowing that my actions made a difference and helped save a life is a feeling like no other. This is one of the main reasons I became a nurse—the ability to turn a negative situation into something positive. A tiny glimpse of control I’ve longed for since the breakup.

But as the adrenaline wears off, my limbs get heavier; my mind fogs with fatigue. All I can think about is escaping, fleeing from the madness of the emergency room, and finding solace in quiet solitude.

“God, I need that vacation,” I murmur, a tired pout playing at the corners of my lips.

It’s been a long day, a long week, a long year.

After a rough breakup with my boyfriend four months ago, I’m determined to reconstruct my broken heart. Even if said heart is hidden beneath layers of curves, outlined by ice cream and true crime podcasts, I’ll mend it.

The smell of sanitizer and sweat lingers as I check another teen’s injuries and mental state, my focus strong despite the growing fatigue in my body.

“Hi, I’m Marianne, the nurse appointed to you. What’s your name?”

“Wilson. Darla Wilson. Is Chloe going to be okay?” she asks, eyes hooked on where her friend disappeared.

I hope so. “I’m not at liberty to say, I’m sorry.” I run my thumb over her hand and give her my most sympathetic look, leading her to nod sadly.

Maybe I need rest and an adventure. Anything outside those walls.

While treating the fourth teen’s wounds, a shadow looms overhead. It’s Carole. “Marianne,” she snaps, her pinched face looking down at me. “What are you still doing here?”

“I’m working. You told me—”

“Your shift is over.” She frowns at me. “I found someone else to do the extra hours since you’re so eager for your vacation.”

I swallow my pride. Do I have any?

“I’ll go home when I’m done putting the IV line on Miss Wilson here.” My eyes dart between the teenager and her. Does she think I’ll take off in the middle of a procedure?

Carole huffs. “Fine, but hurry.” She strides away, leaving a trail of disapproval in her wake.

I sigh and turn back to the boy, my fingers working to adjust the drip of the IV.

When I finished the last patient, I headed to the locker room to change. As I open my locker, a written note falls to the floor.

“The sea is the best place to unwind and find your true path. Have fun. V.”

“Damn, you’re a sweet old man.” I slip the small piece of paper into my pocket. “Last but not least,” I whisper, putting a new mint jar in his work jacket.

My first meeting with Victor was two years ago. He entered the emergency room with a man who had been tasered for assaulting a doctor. After caring for the patient, I tended to Victor’s busted lip. But I noticed his strong booze smell and his glossy eyes, and I gave him a pamphlet for Alcoholics Anonymous as discreetly as I could. He frowned at me, then extended his hand for me to shake.

“Victor Salem, security of any kind.”

“I won’t report you yet, Victor.”

His thick white brows furrowed, and he swallowed hard. “What do you want in exchange?”

“Nothing. Just get the help you need and do your best.”

Because he didn’t have any family or friends, I went to his first meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous as moral support. After a few weeks, his eyes lit up, his gait became more assured, and his voice radiated new confidence. He attended every session, determined to overcome his drinking habit. That motivated my decision not to report him.

Watching him conquer his addiction made me wish I could muster the same courage to confront my demons.

But I’m not there yet.

He’s never wanted anything from me, but I feed his mint cravings.

It’s the least I can do.

When I leave the hospital, it’s 4:30 a.m., and I only have one idea: beach house!

But before anything else, I must sleep. Sleep deprivation tends to unleash my panic attacks, and I refuse to allow my anxiety to dominate my thoughts. I spent the last three months learning techniques to ease my mind, and I won’t let something as trivial as the lack of sleep unravel my hard-won achievements.

As soon as I get home, I slip into my cozy Care Bears pajamas, pull up the covers to my chin, and sink into my soft, plush mattress, savoring the feel of my head sinking into the fluffy pillow. No alarm setup. I’ll wake up when my body decides.

My steady heartbeat lulls me into tranquility, and my mind relaxes. I no longer need my anxiety medication, which fills me with pride. The last two pills have been in the bottle for ten weeks. Despite Eric’s hurtful words during our breakup, I’m okay.

Suck it, jerk.

With a happy sigh, I close my eyes and let the sweet release of slumber wash over me.

But as I’m halfway into a peaceful sleep, my car alarm sets off, jolting me awake. I groan, fling the covers off, and scramble out of bed. My heart pounds, matching the steady blare of the alarm cutting through the peaceful night. I tiptoe to the window and peek outside, but there’s no one in sight.

Not a single soul.

I rub my temples, squinting against the bright lights flashing from my vehicle. With a sigh, I grab the baseball bat stashed in my closet, my fingers curling tight around the grip. A mere illusion of toughness. I hesitate for a moment before unlocking the front door and stepping out.

But I have no fucks left to give, so I walk out. Maybe I need to prove to myself I can be brave, only for a fleeting moment. Somehow, it’s easier when I’m alone.

With no one to witness if I fail.

The defiance I couldn’t show my boss earlier surfaces—a desperate bid to reclaim some strength. Or power? Something that could be mine. A tiny parcel of rebellion steaming from years of feeling powerless under Eric’s control.

It’s okay; there’s no one here.

Despite the chill biting at my skin, I silence the car alarm with my remote and make a quick inspection for any damage. Much to my relief, there’s nothing out of place—not even a stray cat. Sighing the useless tension in my body, I retreat inside and crawl under the covers, hoping to get some more sleep.

Stupid car.

As I settle back into bed, the echo of the blaring alarm resonates in my mind, singing a dark lullaby of vulnerability that lingers. The mask of a good girl I wear every day is nothing more than a flimsy shield against the gaping hole in my soul. The absence of strength and peace feels more pronounced than ever.