ch.3

Cassian's pov

I turn from the couch and look at her. Her hair now is in a French-Braided ponytail. She wears a pair of blue jeans that accentuate her curves in a way that would make any man water for her.

“I didn't tell anyone,” she says, fear laced in her tone. I grunt motioning for her to come in. “I didn't say you did.”

“Then why are you here?” she questions, holding the strap of her bag so tight her knuckles turn white. I move from where I was seated, going to close the door.

“Take a seat and I will tell you,” I say, pointing to the couch.

She drags herself to the couch, her chapped lips open as if she wants to say something but decides otherwise. She looks at the gun and blue file on the table taking a seat.

“What do you want?” She asks, her gray eyes wary.

“To talk,” I reply, sitting beside her but leaving as much distance as possible.

“I already told you I will not tell anybody,” she pleads, her jaw set. “I swear.”

I open the file, crossing my legs over the other. “Maya Isabel Sanchez was born on August 23rd, 1997. Mother, Cassandra Isabel Sanchez owns a seamstress shop. Dad, Levi Mateo Sanchez, a local farmer.”

Her fists are clenched at the side and before I know it she yanks the paper from my hand throwing it across the room. Bold.

“What is wrong with you?” She asks, her pale skin now red.

I expected her to be at the corner shaking but looks like she's stronger than she looks. “Pick up that folder, Bella,” I ordered, her name rolling off my tongue like a dare.

“No,” she shouts, standing abruptly her fingers fumbling for the gun. She aims the gun at my chest and then my head.

“Get out of my house,” she commands, her eyes flicking between me and the door.

“Get out of my house,” she repeats.

Her finger twitches on the trigger barely pressing on it, her hold on it is loose and one swift move from me will land it on the ground.

“Don't come near me, you psychopath.”

I take another step, my palm outstretched.

“Give me the gun Maya.”

“No, don't dare me I will shoot this gun,” she spits, leaning on the wall.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, tired of her antics. I knock her hand with my leg knocking the gun out of her hand and circling my hand around her waist. She writhes and wiggles but she can't get out of my grasp, nobody can.

“Let me go,” she commands, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. I chuckle picking up the file with my unoccupied hand. “Let's do this again,” I mumble, making her sit on my right thigh. She tries to wiggle free, making me tighten the hold I have on her.

“You went to Berkshire College and graduated first in your class. Did your internship in Alabama Medical Hospital hospital where you were able to perform a Pars Plana Vitrectomy hence getting invited to the most competitive residency program in LA. “

She looks away as I read the file. “You're really impressive you know?”

“Please let me go,” she begs, her lips set into a thin line.

“No.”

“What do you want from me? I already said I wouldn't say anything.” A stray tear falls and I wipe it away, but she bows her head.

“I believe you,” I mumble, holding her chin.

“Then what do you want?” She asks, her angry grey eyes meeting mine.

“I want you to treat me,” I answer.

“What?”

I take out the contact lens on my left eye. She doesn't gasp, she just stares. Everybody else calls me a freak when they see it, clawing back in fear but she just stares.

“You have Retinoblastoma.”

“Yeah, and I might be going blind.”

“Then why don't you go get treated?” She asks. “Instead of wasting your time harassing me.”

“Do I look like the man who goes to seek medical treatment in a hospital?”

“No, you're a man that should be locked up.”

I tuck a stray hair behind her ear, looking at the dysfunctional clock on her wall.

“Your smart mouth won't work on me, Bella.”

“Neither will your stupid tactics,” she fires back.

“I want you to operate on my eyes.”

“I am a resident and I am not allowed to operate on my eyes yet.”

“I don't care, you saved my brother and I want you to save my eyesight.”

“You should find a real surgeon, someone who can hold a scalpel. I have just finished my internship. I will make you blind.”

“This is not an option Maya,” I add.

She shakes her head. “No, I will not do anything else for you.”

“I will clear all your medical bills and give you a monthly allowance of twenty-five thousand that is enough for you and your family back home. You can even send some for your father's Diabetes medication,” I offer, money works on everyone.

“I don't want your blood money you murderer,” she says, spitting on my face. The liquid lands directly on my cheek and I drop her on the couch, pressing my knee on her stomach.

“You have some nerve to spit on my face. I have killed people for less yet you have the nerve to open your mouth and spit at me?”

Her face contorted in pain as she tried to move my knee from her stomach, a low whimper escaping her mouth. “Please, I'm sorry.”

She opens her eyes and the fear in them has me moving away. “Maya you will treat me one way or another, you should be glad I'm giving options.”

“With my gun behind your back or with you free of your medical debt and a monthly allowance. Choose wisely because one way or another I always get what I want.”

Her chest moves up and down as she looks at me picking up the file and gun.

“You have twenty-four hours to think about it, and don't even think about going to the police or telling anyone about it.”

I glance at her one more time before walking out. The shady building houses all kinds of mannerisms of people, from drunks, prostitutes and even addicts. How can such a beautiful girl like her not be afraid of living in such a place?

I reach my car, gripping the door handle tighter than necessary. Leaf shaped blurs cloud my vision, obscuring the headlights and street lamps. I need Maya more now than ever.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. It's a picture of Maya in her scrubs.