Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
“Have you known each other long?” she asked.
“Yes, a long time. He is a good man.”
“You know what he does?” she asked.
“Yes, I know what he does, but I have also seen what similar men do in his position. I know he is not a good guy, but his heart is in the right place. Like with you, he has opted to make you his wife. Trust me, the man I knew would not just take any woman to be his wife. Elias must care for you.”
She looked at the doctor and hated how hopeful she felt.
“Do you think so?”
Dr. Mansell looked at her and then offered a smile. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
“Do you think that is a bad thing?”
“No. Love is a good thing, but you see, love also makes us do many stupid things.”
“Elias doesn’t love me,” she said.
There was silence and she looked up to find Dr. Mansell looking at her. He had a strange look on his face.
“What is it? Is it infected?”
“No. Your wound is healing nicely, just as I knew it would. What makes you think your husband doesn’t love you?” he asked.
“It was … he … uh, it’s kind of complicated, and besides, Elias isn’t the kind of man to do the whole love thing. You know?”
“Yeah, I do know.” He sighed. “And I also know you don’t know what you’re talking about. Did you know that the man who shot you was working for a piece of shit I would like to see completely removed from this planet?”
She didn’t get a chance to respond as Dr. Mansell started to reel off everything he hated about him.
“Bozo Robins is a small-time pimp. He worked the streets, took advantage of women, and for a long time seemed like a small-time crook. Nothing to write home about. Pimps come and go all the time, and they tend to end up overdosing on the drugs they distribute. Only, Bozo was not just some addict. He was cruel. He knew the way to keep his girls in line was with force. Not only did he take women who were already working the street and force them to work for him, he took ninety-nine percent of the profits they made every single night, leaving them with next to nothing. He’d beat them. He would allow customers to beat them as well. The man was cruel, and I am not even going to paint the right picture.”
She felt sick to her stomach. No wonder Elias had been distracted lately.
“But this fucking Bozo had his sights on taking from Elias. So, he attempted to plant one of the drug-overdosed women at the back of one of his bars. Elias dealt with the problem, but it didn’t make it go away. Bozo was a problem, and there was a chance he might have been able to catch him sooner. Do you have any idea what that is?”
“No.”
“There was a chance that using you as bait might have been too promising for him to not use it. But he didn’t. Do you want any clues as to why?”
She opened her mouth and closed it. Winnie didn’t know what to say.
“Simple. Elias is in love with you, and he was not going to use you to get to anyone else. Elias is not the kind of man to marry a random woman. You’re different. You’re unique.”
“He saved me four years ago … it was a situation, and he saved me.”
“Yeah, and you know, he could have let you go. He didn’t have to marry you, Winnie, but he did. Just like he didn’t have to call me to check on you to see if you’re well, and guess what, you are well.” He changed the bandage. “Some of my best work.”
“Do you think he knows he has feelings for me?”
“Yes,” Dr. Mansell said. “Trust me, Elias knows everything.”
He packed up his kit and she had hoped he would stay a little longer so she could pick over what he had said, but there was no reason to keep him.
“I’ll see you in a couple of days,” Dr. Mansell said. With that, he was gone.
Winnie looked around the apartment. She ran a hand down her face. She wanted to help her husband, but she had no idea how.
****
Elias entered his apartment, and he immediately went looking for Winnie. He found her in the kitchen, cooking.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.
She turned toward him. “I’m cooking dinner, why?”
“Your arm.”
“My arm is fine. Dr. Mansell has already said it is healing well, and I don’t have to worry. I’m able to cook dinner.” She offered him a smile. “Stop worrying.”
“I could order in,” he said.
“And not get my chicken and cheese spaghetti?” she asked.
He cupped her cheek. “You don’t have to cook, not if it hurts.”