No words would form, only a garbled yell. She picked up his shoe and threw it at his head. He dodged.

“Goddamn it!” she yelled as it hit the wall, making a thwack that was not nearly as satisfying as the sound it would have made against the block he called his head.

He left without saying another word, carrying his shoe. He wasn’t limping.

Angel dug a clean pair of scrubs from her drawer, dressed, and then slicked her hair back into a ponytail, still damp. No makeup, no lotion, just as she was. Cloaked in misery and hostility.

The clinic halls were slow at this time of the morning. She stalked up to Dr. Collins’s office and knocked, hard. She refused to show fear.

No answer. Knocking again, with still no reply, she cracked open the door. “Dr. Collins?” She didn’t hear any movement, stepped in. Maybe he asphyxiated on his evil stench and died.

No such luck. The office was empty.

Heavy hands dropped on her shoulders from behind. She whirled around but immediately regretted it. She was in Dr. Collins’s arms. She hadn’t heard him come in or shut the door.

“That’s right. Shh.” He pushed his skeletal length against her, holding her head to his chest as if to comfort her.

Okay. Okay. Breathe. You knew this was coming. What are you going to do?

The doctor smoothed a hand down her back, pressing her more firmly against him. His palms grazed over her buttocks before Angel gathered her wits.

She knew exactly what she was going to do: quit, no matter the loss. Nothing was worth the humiliation and disgust she felt right now, for him and for herself. She wrenched against the doctor, but his arms became locked steel. One hand cupped her bottom and squeezed.

Angel grunted and swung to the side. The sudden movement broke his hold, but he managed to capture her forearm before she was completely free, his encircling fingers a painful vise just above her wrist.

She quieted herself. “Let me go,” she said calmly, glaring up into his face. I will get control here.

Instead, he forced her hand to the hardened lump in his pants.

Rubbing Angel’s palm back and forth over his zipper, he arched into her. Sweat glistened at his temples, his lips a bright red against his pale skin. The doctor’s twisted grin frightened her more than his hold on her. Revolted, she tried to yank her hand free.

“This isn’t going to happen!” she whisper-yelled at him, her mind razor sharp for the first time in days. “Let the fuck go!”

“Careful, darlin’,” Dr. Collins drawled in his faux southern accent, pressing himself harder against her open hand, holding her wrist so tightly her hand ached and tingled from lack of circulation. “Or I won’t give you your present.”