Built for Sin: Rebel Souls MC #3

1.0 Carrie

Four am. The witching hour.

And the longest single hour of an overnight shift. Anybody who does shift work would tell you that. At least the nurses. I couldn't exactly speak to another profession. It was my third and final shift of the week. I'd been offered an overtime shift on Friday or Saturday night. And I'd seriously contemplated it. I didn't necessarily need the money, but what girl didn't like a little extra cash. Overtime with night shift and weekend shift differential? Even better. But I'd stupidly promised CJ I'd go to the Rebel Soul's club with her. If I bailed, she'd kill me.

But I had no desire to go. Those bikers terrified me. The tattoos. The drinking. The women. The danger. Charlie said they didn't hurt women. But how could she possibly know that was true?

And more than that, girls who looked like me weren't welcome there.

Thicc girls were only okay if they had a small waist to go with their ass and thick thighs. I definitely had an ass and thighs, boobs too, but my waist was not small.

It wasn't for lack of trying.

Letting my best friend of twenty years convince me to do reckless things was pretty much on par for our relationship. She was the bad influence. And I loved her for it. Because of her I'd lived in high school and college instead of just letting the time pass me by studying.

But this was by far the most foolish decision I'd ever let her talk me into.

Before my mind could wander too far and I could start my research on the latest diet trend, the alarm sounded, letting me know my ninety three year old Alzheimer's patient was climbing out of bed. Again.

All three nights the day shift nurse told me she was the sweetest little lady. Well, she had a serious case of sun downing and turned into a little gremlin lady with the strength of the hulk as soon as my shift started.

Seriously.

Standing from the chair in front of the computer where I was charting I walked into her room. "Mrs. Sanders, do you need help?"

"No. I don't need help from you," she seethed. I took a deep steadying breath. "Go eat another cheeseburger," she snapped.

The witching hour. Every damn night.

"Mrs. Sanders, it's the middle of the night. Four in the morning."

"Lies!" She shouted.

I had to calm her down because if I didn't and she tried to stand, she'd fall, which could potentially break her hip. Which would most likely kill her. Not the fall itself. But men and women of her age with that type of fracture rarely lived another six months.

"No wonder you're not married," she sneered. "Men don't like fat girls." Taking another deep breath I pulled my ASCOM phone out of my scrubs and called the charge nurse.

"Suze, it's Carrie. I'm in room twenty-two. Mrs. Sanders. Can you please bring me point five of Ativan?"

"Be right there," she said.

Mrs. Sanders continued her verbal assault on me. I tuned her out, but stayed close enough that if she tried to stand, I could catch her when she fell. Ignoring her was easy as she rambled, but I still caught a few of her choice words. Fat. Pig. Gross. Ugly.

She was ninety-three and had dementia, but she was only repeating the words everyone else thought when they looked at me.

The words stung, but I wouldn't fall apart at work.

"Here ya go," Suze said. Taking the needle and syringe along with the vile. Pulling up the chart on the bedside computer, I scanned the label of the medication and then the patient bracelet on Mrs. Sanders' wrist while Suze distracted her. Once the medication was scanned and confirmed to be right I let Suze distract her while I pushed the medication into the IV.