Black Rose With Bloody Thorns

Love was far on Rose's mind as she settled in a chair... But then again, the devil was in the details, and she didn't know then that love was slowly but surely creeping up on her.

"Help! Somebody help!" Someone cried out, making her snap out of her reveries and spring into action at once, calmly but also efficiently.

Three men were helping steady a fourth one whose white shirt wasn't as impeccable as it should be. Admittedly, all four men looked roughened up, but moreso him. The man was holding a hand to his abdomen, seemingly to put pressure on a wound... not that it was doing much good. Indeed, if the blood was any indication, Rose could guess it was either due to a gunshot wound or multiple stab wounds.

She didn't mind the sight of blood nor the rough looks... She just knew she needed to help this man.

She was quick to point out to a bed where the three men helped him into... The man didn't even grunt, never mind saying a word of protest, even though he was conscious, and she briefly wondered what kind of tolerance for pain he had.

Rose paged the surgeon before anything else.

She was then about to inspect the wound when the man, pale and breathing with difficulty, still managed to shoot her a deep penetrating look as he asked, "Who are you?"

"You can call me Rose," she said in a soft tone of voice which was meant to reassure him. "I will be your nurse for the time being."

The man, who was in need of immediate medical attention, still grumbled, "Where's Leila?"

Rose tilted her head to the side in a quizzical manner, "Leila? She's not available at the moment."

"I don't want you touching me," he rasped in between pants.

Rose raised an eyebrow at him in mild disbelief, and then told him stubbornly, "Leila is not here, but I am not sure you can afford to be picky, sir. Let me help you."

The three men then shot her cautious looks before one of them nodded, seemingly in approval, to which the injured just averted his face. Rose assumed she was then allowed to do her job, and was soon inspecting the wound under the men's watchful gazes.

She didn't know who the bigshot was – and she didn't care who he was if she were to be honest – but she would rather someone didn't die on her watch, not if she could help it.

While she was doing her job, she almost thought he was losing consciousness, for there was no reaction from him whatsoever. She shot him a look of concern... He was still hanging on his consciousness. And yet, no grunt, no grimace, nothing to indicate he was in pain really, save for the way his eyes narrowed.

** ** **

One surgery and many hours later, the injured man laid in bed, looking pale, and still a little bit out of it – which was normal all things considered – when Rose came to check up on him.

Even though he wasn't admitted in the ward where she usually worked, Rose had been worried, and thus decided to check on the peculiar patient before the end of her shift.

He was resting as to be expected. She released a sigh of relief, and fought another sigh – of dismay this time around – as she recalled the way she had handled him. She had learnt halfway through her shift that he wasn't just a bigshot with bodyguards, but rather a mafia boss with underlings... Leave it to her to act defiantly! She just hoped he would understand it was for his own good.

Rose loved her job, and loved helping people, whereas his role in the world consisted of doing the opposite – getting rid of those he considered a nuisance.

Nevertheless, she was somehow fascinated by him, more than she would like, and more than she would care to admit. Truth be told, he had strikingly good looks, but she was sure they could spell the word danger in a heartbeat.

His men watched her as she went around the bed, cautious not to wake the man, and then proceeded to dab a wet cotton across his lips.

"What do you think you're doing?" The man himself asked in a hoarse tone of voice while opening one eye and then the other.