Stripper by Night, Doctor by Deception

RYAN

I caused this.

The thought twisted in my mind as I stood before Ricardo, the man I had spent years hunting.

Four months of watching him lose his mind over his own body’s betrayal. He had no idea that his impotence was my doing.

To get close to him, I had conspired with his private doctor, slipping a drug into his system that slowly wrecked his ability to have sex. Every failed attempt, every frustrated outburst… it was all orchestrated by me. And now, standing here in front of him, I was about to undo it.

Not out of mercy. Not out of guilt.

I was going to fix him so that I could kill him.

I’d kill him. Just like he killed my mother.

Ricardo sat on the couch, legs spread, his fingers tapping against his knee. His dark eyes were locked onto mine. "You really think you can fix this?”

I forced a neutral expression, keeping my posture relaxed. "I wouldn't be here if I couldn't."

Reaching into my medical bag, I pulled out a syringe filled with the antidote. A mixture designed to counteract the drug I had been slipping into his system for months.

His gaze shifted to the needle, then back to me. "And you're sure this will work?"

I nodded. "Positive."

This was it. The final step before I put an end to him.

I pressed the needle against his skin and injected the antidote.

Ricardo exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as if expecting to feel an immediate change. He flexed his fingers, then glanced at me with a smirk. "Now, how do we test if it worked?”

I let out a slow breath, lifting my head. "You’ll feel the effects soon enough," I said smoothly. "Your body needs time to respond."

“Bullshit," Ricardo chuckled. "If you're as good as you say, prove it. Make me hard… right now. Have sex with me.”

What?

My stomach dropped.

My jaw locked, but I didn’t let my expression waver. Inside, my pulse was thrumming so fast I thought my ribs might crack under the pressure.

Ricardo leaned back, his smirk deepening. "I want completely normal sex so that I can believe your treatment was successful," he muttered. "Right here. Right now.”

Oh, shit.

This wasn’t part of the plan.

I hadn’t done this before. Never even thought about it. But if this was how it had to go, it would make my job easier. He had just handed me the perfect opportunity to kill him.

My fingers brushed against the inside of my coat, where the second syringe lay hidden. The one that would end him.

I swallowed, forcing my shoulders to stay relaxed as I glanced at the couch. “If we’re going to do this, I need you to sit back…”

“Oh no, Doc. You don’t get to call the shots here.” Ricardo snapped.

In a single movement, he reached behind his back and pulled out a black gun. “You’re gonna do this now or I’ll blow a hole through that pretty little head of yours.”

I exhaled slowly, keeping my hands steady even as my stomach twisted.

I could do this.

I had to do this.

I reached for my belt, my hands shaking so badly I could barely undo the buckle.

But I couldn't stop now. I couldn't let him see how much this was tearing me apart inside.

As I finally stepped out of my pants, I felt exposed in a way I never had before.

Not just physically, but emotionally.

This wasn't me. This wasn't who I was. But I had no choice. I had to keep going.

Ricardo took a step closer, his gun still loosely pointed in my direction. "Now," he said with a low growl. "Let's see if you're the best."

His smirk widened as I approached, reached for his belt and yanked his trousers down.

He let out a low chuckle, clearly amused by my aggression.

"Feisty, aren't we, Doc?" he taunted.

I didn't respond. Instead, I grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him back onto the couch. He landed with a grunt, his gun slipping from his hand and clattering to the floor.

For a moment, l thought about going for it, but I knew I wouldn't be fast enough. He'd kill me before l even got close.

So I did the only thing I could. I climbed on top of him, my hands gripping his hips as I positioned myself. My mind was screaming at me to stop, to run, to do anything but this. But I couldn't. I had to finish what I started.

Ricardo’s lips curled into a smirk as he tossed a small bottle toward me. “You’re gonna need that.”

I grabbed the bottle, my hands trembling slightly as I flipped it open and poured the lubricant over myself.

I pushed inside him, and his breath hitched. His eyes widened in surprise, but then, to my horror, a low moan escaped his lips.

His hands gripped the couch cushions, his body arching into mine as if he couldn't help himself.

The sound sent a shiver down my spine, and I hated myself for the way it made my stomach twist.

"Fuck," he muttered.

"Didn't think you had it in you, Doc."

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to keep going. As I looked down at him, at the way his head fell back, his lips parted, his chest rising and falling with each breath, I felt something I hadn't expected.

Something I didn't want to acknowledge.

Ricardo's hands moved to my hips, his grip tightening as he pulled me closer, urging me to go faster. His eyes met mine, and for a moment, I saw something in them that made my chest ache.

I hated it. I hated him. But most of all, I hated myself for the way my body responded, for the way my heart raced, for the way I almost forgot why I was here.

Almost.

But not quite.

I reached into the pocket of my discarded pants, my fingers closing around the small syringe I'd hidden there. My mission. My revenge. That was all that mattered. Not this. Not him.

Just one push. That's all it would take.

But then…

Ricardo let out another deep groan, his fingers digging into my hips, his head falling back against the couch.

For a split second, I was tempted to keep going. To lose myself in the moment.

No.

I clenched my teeth, forcing myself to focus. The syringe was in my grip, hidden against my palm. It would soon be over. Ricardo would finally pay for what he did to my mother.

I adjusted my position slightly, bringing my hand closer…

BANG!

The door burst open.

I froze.

Ricardo's eyes snapped toward the door… then back to me.

And then, slowly, his gaze lowered… to my hand.

To the syringe.

A deep, bone-chilling silence settled between us, and his smirk faded.

"What the fuck," he muttered. "Why the fuck… are you holding a syringe, Doc?"

I forced myself to stay still.

I could feel his pulse against my skin, could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.