Doctors' Orders

By Ashlyn Fables

Wanted: One Healthy Kidney 
Reward: One very thankful sister…never been touched...

Desperate to heal my sister, I did what any loving sibling would do—I offered the goods. Wouldn't you know, she threw a fit and forced me to take it down.

But not before hot-shot doctor Riftan Renkey replied, offering an experimental cocktail that would put my sister's medical issues behind us. No payment necessary, but there is a catch—we have to live on a private island with Riftan and his two business partners. And wouldn't you know it, they're smokin' hot.

With my sister in quarantined, I spend most of my time alone, a pariah to the three handsome men aboard the island. I catch their glances, their ice-cold stares, but when the island's benefactor finds me with an injured ankle, I learn the truth: they agreed not to let me come between them.

So in order to keep any one of them from getting jealous, I have to take them all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fabled Passages
• Release date: Jan 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224685608

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

SERENITY

Wanted: One Healthy Kidney

Reward: One very thankful sister…

Angela’s eyes widen with realization. You can’t seriously post that.

I nod in agreement. You’re right.

Phew! Because for a moment, I thought you were offering sex for a goddamn kidney.

I add, ‘Never been touched…’ to the end of my reward.

No! Absolutely not! Angela tries to grab my phone, but before she can, I hit submit.

"Holy shit—you can offer that. Not after everything I’ve done to get you on the right track."

I fold my arms across my chest. Says who?

The law!

Relax. There’s no way I’d ever get convicted with the sob story I’ll lay on them. Growing up with a crappy mother, not knowing my father, barely having enough food.

That’s beside the point. What if someone responds? What if someone were to take you seriously? Are you willing to go through with what you’re offering?

Yes, I say without a second thought.

As terrible as it sounds to barter my virginity for an organ, it’s better than the alternative, life without my sister, for as much as I could complain about how unfair life has been to me, she’s had it far worse than me and anyone else I’ve known.

Of course, I’ve dreamed about meeting Mr. Right. That perfect someone that will sweep me off my feet and make all the wrongs in my life right. I used to dream of rich businessmen getting lost and ending up at the diner I work at, needing a hot cup of coffee and conversation to pass the time.

I get enough attention from men, but not by anyone worth my affection. Old men, married men, asshole thugs—that’s who I attract, and that’s why I have no problem giving my virginity to someone who doesn’t mind parting with their kidney, because right now, I need that more than any amount of money.

Angela buries her face in her hands, frustrated that she doesn’t have the control over me she once did. I didn’t raise you so you could end up like mom.

What I’d be doing is nothing like mom. She fucked for meth. I’m doing it to give my sister a shot at life.

Please! Angela begs, her eyes brimming with tears. I didn’t ask you to do this.

And I didn’t ask you to raise me, but you did it anyway.

Don’t you want your first time to be with someone you love? Someone worth loving back? Don’t you think that by bartering like this, you’re probably going to end up with the very definition of asshole for your very first time?

We never talk about love and sex, because we both know the dangers they pose. They make women careless. In my heart of hearts, there’s a secret hideaway I sneak off to where my prince charming resides. He loves and adores me, doing anything he can to make me smile. His eyes only see me, and I only see him.

And when I think about him at night, my thoughts aren’t of love and smiles, though I am adored. It’s stupid that I should ever want a man when they so often break a woman’s heart, but how do you stop the sinful yearning that returns each night? The powerful feelings I try so hard to ignore?

If I wanted sex, I could get it. My long blonde hair would look good if I had time to style it, and if I didn’t have to work so hard, my nails would grow long and pretty.

Finally, I reply with, I get it. I fucked up.

And you’re going to remove it?

I’m angry that I have to make these tough decisions. Hasn’t life already been unfair enough? For once, why can’t something just be easy?

I can’t take the post back since I’ve already hit submit, but as soon as it goes live, I’ll pull it.

Relief floods my sister’s face.

Tomorrow I’m going to see if local churches will request their members get tested to see if they’re a match. Let them buy their way into heaven.

She shakes her head morosely. I think we need to accept the fact that my time here is drawing to a close.

Her words feel like a sharp slap to the face. How could she say that? How could she just give up? I need her. She’s the only person I have left in this world, and I’m scared to think of what I’ll become without her around.

But it’s not like I can blame her. She’s exhausted. I would be too. Her whole life, all she’s ever done is take care of other people, never once enjoying the luxury of having someone care for her. Why would she want to stick around this shit hole? It’s not like I’ve made her life any easier with my attitude, not that I meant to be so difficult. I was just so full of rage and anger and all the turbulent emotions of a teenager coupled with extreme poverty.

And shit—I owe my sister this. I’d fuck a prison full of men if it meant saving her.

But it’s too late to dwell on things I can’t change. I guess it’s time I learn to let go. Tomorrow morning, after the post has been approved, I’ll remove it, just like I promised Angela I would.

No matter how much it kills me.

CHAPTER TWO

RIFTAN

You know you won’t find any good candidates on a damn message board. Alec shakes his head in frustration. So why waste your time?

Alec has always been a pessimist, seeing storm clouds on the brightest of days, but lately, there’s no denying he’s been right far more than he’s been wrong.

I’m beginning to think I should take your advice, I say, clicking to the next ad.

Most of them are addicts looking for a fix, Alec adds. You’re better off trolling hospices.

I exhale an exhausted breath, not bothering to argue, because I know his point is valid.

ReachMed started as a Craig’s List for the medical community. Hospitals with unique cases would post, asking if there are any doctors familiar with rare diseases or procedures that aren’t often done. Eventually, patients gained access, posting in hopes of finding doctors familiar with treatments not available in their area. Clinical trials are often posted, with portals for those who wish to apply. There was even a listing of hotels that offer extremely reduced rates for the families of patients staying in the area.

But as with anything, people abused it, and now it’s a shell of what it could be.

I snicker. Testing on hospice patients will all but guarantee no long-term data, and could quite possibly make our product look far worse than it is.

Alec tosses a beanbag in the air as he does when he’s deep in thought. That’s kind of the conclusion we came to long ago, but they’re the easiest to get approved for treatment due to the Right to Try legislation.

It sucks that the only people we can get approved to treat will tank our chances at an accurate clinical trial.

Alec frowns. I know you think I’m a Debbie Downer, but at this point, we’re better off selling our research and going back to cancer drugs.

How could you say that after all we’ve discovered? We’re literally on the verge of reversing damaged organs in what’s considered the most dire cases. We’re on the leading edge of science and medicine.

Because it’s one thing to research stem cells, it’s another thing entirely to put them to use. Even though we source them from the placentas of healthy babies, the word and practice are reviled by many.

Narrow-minded assholes. The amount of good that can be done is incalculable, and yet we’re hindered by people who don’t even understand what we do and how we do it.

Oh, they understand, Alec says darkly. They just play favorites. They know we have a cash cow on our hands, and they’re angry we wouldn’t sell our research. They want to develop the method themselves and price it out of reach of everyone we’ve vowed to help.

Fuck—he’s right. But I already knew everything he’s telling me. I’m just stupid enough to let hope in.

For three long years, we’ve dedicated our lives to researching the effects of stem cells and how they interact with unhealthy organs. We were able to produce astounding results on monkeys and other animals, and were eager to try out our method on humans.

We thought we’d be celebrated and that they’d roll out the red carpet for us. Instead, countless articles against our work have been published across leading medical journals. If that wasn’t bad enough, we plunged heavily into debt funding our work, thinking that we’d be approved for research grants when we unveiled our findings.

But no matter how bad it’s been for me, Alec has had it worse.

His wife left, taking everything he had when she walked out the door. I was so busy with my research I never got around to starting a family. I’d hook up with women at conferences, but it never extended beyond a night. Now, I’m thirty with a stalled career and no one to pass the time with. Other than Alec.

My eyes fall on a rather unusual ad.

Wanted: One Healthy Kidney

Reward: One very thankful sister…Never been touched…

It’s certainly more interesting than an iPhone, I say under my breath.

Alec cocks a brow. What do you mean?

Oh, just some woman offering her virginity for a kidney for her sister.

Which means she’s young…

My jaw involuntarily clenches as disgust churns my gut. Didn’t think you cared whether they were young.

Alec dons an offended expression. Jesus Christ, I meant the patient. Most of the transplant candidates we come across are at least sixty. If the patient is sisters with this girl, chances are she’s young, which makes me wonder how she even got herself into this mess. Genetic defect? Drug use?

I exhale, relieved that my partner isn’t the pervert I accused him of being. I see why he’s interested, not that it matters. The powers that be will never allow us to treat the girl.

You know what? You’re right. We should go back to cancer drugs. It’s lucrative, and there are a heck of a lot of people that need them. We’ll still be doing good for the world, just not in the way we had hoped to.

And in a surprising turn of events, Alec replies with, I think we should respond to the ad.

Why, when you know we’ll never get approved to administer treatment?

He clears his throat. You remember that guy I told you about? The one that owns like five islands out in the Pacific.

Maxwell…Anders?

That’s the one.

What about him?

He’s no doctor, but he knows money, and what makes it. A while back, I’d discussed investment opportunities with him, but we could never get past animal testing, so negotiations fell flat. He reached out not too long ago, and we discussed the issue. Get this, he told me that at least one of his islands is outside the lawful jurisdiction of…well, everywhere.

I arch a brow. What are you saying?

Whatever we do on that island, we’ll suffer no repercussions. Our medical licenses will stay intact, and we can administer treatment and observe the effects on our own terms.

Talk about shock to the system. I want to believe that what he’s saying makes sense, but it can’t be that easy.

Why haven’t you told me about this? And why hasn’t someone cracked down on it?

I didn’t know about it until Maxwell clued me in, and I guess governments like that these areas exist, as long as they do so quietly. It allows them to get around laws.

That’s preposterous. They can’t just do what they want because they’re on unclaimed soil.

The governments can’t, but they can make their needs known and if someone happens to make use of loose jurisdictions and gets them what they need, they’ll pay handsomely.

It’s an island. Will it even have what we need?

There’s a building we can use as a clinic and bungalows we can live in. I’ve seen pictures; it’s nice.

What’s the catch?

Maxwell gets a third of everything with his name on the research.

I shake my head forcefully. Absolutely not. He’s not a doctor. He’s just an investor.

Rif, sometimes you have to take the only deal on the table or risk losing out on your dream. Maxwell isn’t a bad guy, and he has something we need.

But I’ve seen how men like him work. We’ll do the research, we’ll even get the product to market, at fifty-thousand dollars a dose. I’m not interested in helping rich assholes, thank you very much.

Well, without him, there is no product. And look at it this way, every rich asshole that pays fifty-thousand dollars won’t be taking up a spot on the transplant list. So people of every class, rich and poor, will benefit.

There’s no denying his logic. Even if we only help fifty people a year, those are fifty people that won’t require additional