Can't Compete

two

ELLA WAS DRIVEN out of her slumber by the heavy vibrations from her cell phone. Pulling her silk gold sleeping mask from her eyes and resting it on top of her head, she retrieved her phone whilst sitting upright.

'I'm here'

She had been placed in a food coma from all the food she and Lily consumed. Not long after, Lily uber'd her sick self home.

Ella moved her legs from the warmth of her covers and her feet instinctively found themselves in her pink fluffy house heels on the floor. She could see her bedside clock flashing bright red numbers, '02:32'.

Cascading down her the staircase of her home, she opened the front door but not before disabling the house's security system.

"Christian," she greeted second-naturedly, as she looked up at him expectantly.

He grunted in reply. With a duffel bag on his shoulder, he sidestepped Ella and made his way to her kitchen. She trailed behind him into the kitchen and retrieved the first aid kit from under the sink.

Christian seated himself on one of her kitchen stools and took off his bloodied shirt, leaving his rock-hard, caramel light-skin six-pack on display.

Ella wanted to shake her head at the customary scene. She had already predicted it happening. Christian Lloyd, Ashton's right-hand man and best friend, coming in the middle of the night to disturb her precious sleep.

He was a dangerous, illegal tournament boxer who handled the dirty side of the Fernandez business, but foremost, Ella's longest childhood friend. They had a bond like siblings. Christian and Ella have known each other from diaper days. He lived right across from her, where their parents used to bring them together for playdates.

She stepped closer to Christian and inspected his face. He sported an ugly cut on his cheek where the blood seemed to have dried now. Other than that cut and a couple of bruises on his face that were slowly forming but weren't as noticeable due to his chocolate complexion, Ella thought today's injuries weren't that bad until her eyes progressed down to his stomach, where she saw the one bullet hole.

Ella was used to gnarly outcomes. Christian would come in the middle of the night once or twice a week, depending on his mood, to be fixed up. He didn't like to inconvenience himself by having to drive to the hospital located in lower Manhattan that was dedicated to all members of Ashton's business.

"Do I want to know?" she asked, as she began to wipe away the dried blood.

He shrugged. "I'm alive, aren't I?"

"Right. Did you fish out the bullet?"

Christian wordlessly nodded and looked away at the window. Ella concentrated on his face before moving down to his stomach, stitching the wound together.

She supposed it was useful for her to know all about the medical side of things, considering she was going to inherit her father's hospitals and medicine related businesses. But that wasn't what she wanted to do with her life.

Ella wanted to become a psychologist.

"Where's the alcohol?" Christian gruffed.

"Why?"

He shot her a glare that she didn't catch, as her sole concentration was on his bullet wound. "Ella, I'm in fucking pain. That's why,"

"Then don't get shot next time,"

He mumbled some incoherent words that she couldn't catch, causing her to let out a sigh.

"You started a fight didn't you," she said more as a statement than a question.