Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
“Don’t let him get me,” she whispers weakly before her eyes roll slightly into the back of her head.
My throat tightens.
“Stay with me,” I command her, nearly screaming in the small space. “Anya, stay awake.”
She doesn’t answer. Her breathing turns shallower. Time is of the essence. I know a place not far from here that will treat her immediately, I just have to get there fast enough. The doctor there is efficient, quiet, and obedient. Those are the only traits I need from him.
The clinic door opens the second we pull up. The doctor is already waiting. I’d bet that Sergei alerted him. He always knows what I need before I do.
I carry Anya inside, barking information at the doctor as he guides me to a bed. I lay her down, keeping her jacket in place until he cuts it away. Blood has soaked through her shirt now.
“Open your eyes,” I order.
She doesn’t. The doctor’s hands move quickly. He checks her pulse. Pupils. He presses lightly around the wound and she flinches, even unconscious. He pulls the vest open and inspects the impact point, then the skin beneath it.
“The bullet didn’t penetrate,” he says calmly.
I don’t breathe.
“It’s blunt trauma and bleeding from the impact breaking the skin. The ribs took the brunt of it,” he continues. “It may be superficial. It may be deeper. I’ll need to get her into imaging to make sure.”
“Do it,” I say.
He nods once and calls a nurse over to him. They move me out of the way as they work to clean the wound and get her bandaged. I stand at the edge of the room, hands curled into fists so hard my knuckles ache. My shirt is streaked with her blood.
The doctor wheels her away, leaving me standing there, helpless. All I can do is wait. I pace the length of the small room. Finally, the doctor and nurse wheel her back in after what feels like an eternity. There’s an IV in her arm, and she’s still not awake.
“She has two cracked ribs,” he tells me after a moment. “Possibly three, but there’s a lot of swelling in that area. As far as I can see, her lungs weren’t punctured and there’s no collapse.”
Relief washes over my body, but I can’t fully feel it. She’s still unconscious. I won’t have any kind of peace until her eyes are open and she can speak to me.
“Is there any internal bleeding?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Not from what I see. The bullet really just grazed her. I’m sure you’ve suffered worse.”
His joke doesn’t land the way he wants it to.
“Then why the hell isn’t she waking up?” I growl at him.
“It’s still a trauma,” he answers patiently. “She’s likely in shock and a lot of pain. I’ve put a mild pain reliever in her IV for now.”
My eyes snap up at him. “Why mild?” I ask combatively. “Give her the strongest thing you have.”
He’s about to answer when the door opens and Sergei steps inside. His face is hard and controlled, like he’s holding back a hundred things he wants to say. He looks at Anya on the table, then at the blood on my hands.
“How bad is she?” he asks quietly.
“You may want to take this outside,” the doctor interjects. “She needs her rest.”
I nod and guide Sergei into the hallway so we can speak.
“She’s alive,” I tell Sergei. “The bullet just clipped her.”
Sergei nods once, but I see the relief in his face.
“What happened after we left?” I ask.
“Mikhail’s men pulled back once they realized she wasn’t there anymore,” he says. “They didn’t want police arriving while they were still shooting up an intersection. They’re not stupid.”
“How many did we lose?” I ask.
Sergei exhales slowly. “We lost four, and two are in critical condition.”
My jaw tightens. “What about Mikhail’s side?” I ask.
“Five confirmed down. Possibly two more,” Sergei says. “They were efficient about their retreat. It was hard to get an accurate count.”
I nod once. They came prepared with extraction and cleanup. This was a coordinated move with a fallback plan.
“Any sign who talked?” I ask.
Sergei’s lips tighten. “Not yet,” he confirms. “And it’s possible no one did. I didn’t recognize any of those men. It’s possible Mikhail has had crews roaming around looking for any sign of trouble.”
“No way.” I shake my head. “They were looking for her. They knew she was in that convoy. I need you to find out how.”
“I will,” he promises, and I believe him. Then his gaze meets mine. “She could’ve gotten herself killed.”
“She nearly did,” I snap. “She got hit because she pushed me out of the way. She almost died because she couldn’t do what she was told.”
I’m fuming, but he and I both know that I’m not actually angry with her. She acted with swift bravery. That bullet was meant for me, and she pushed me out of the way.