Page 119 of Wicked Arrangement

We can’t take Artem to a hospital. It would be the first place Innokentiy and Sharkozi come to look for us, we’d be sitting ducks. But Artem needs help. Fast. If we don’t get him to a doctor soon, he’ll bleed out.

“Sergei, pull over at that gas station. Andrey, run inside and buy a sewing kit, vodka, and a burner phone,” I order.

Both do as they’re told and within minutes, Andrey returns, items in hand, and we speed off.

“Sergei, head for the private airspace, we’ll take the plane.”

“But, Boss, won’t Innokentiy and their men head straight there? They know you’ve got the plane there and us slashing their tires will only buy us a small amount of time.”

“It’s a risk we’ll have to take, Artem will die if we don’t,” I respond grimly.

Artem has been slipping in and out of consciousness, I tear his shirt off him so I can get a good look at the wound. Without me applying pressure, blood begins to pour out but I’m able to tell that the bullet went straight through. I’ve no idea if it hit any major organs though.

“Hand me a needle and thread and the vodka,” I bark at Andrey who quickly complies.

“Sorry old friend, but this is gonna hurt,” I say to Artem who weakly nods his consent.

I pour the vodka onto the wound to clean it, and he winces, letting out a sharp exhale. Then, I begin to roughly stitch his skin together, closing the wound.

“He’ll need proper medical attention, and soon. But this should stem the bleeding for now and buy us enough time to get there,” I say taking a swig of the vodka and passing it around the group.

I gesture for Andrey to hand over the phone and make a call.

“Gillihan, it’s Volkov,” I say.

“Yaroslav? How the hell…” I hear his surprised response on the other end.

“I don’t have time to explain. Four of my men rescued me but we’re not out of the woods yet. Artem’s been shot, we need a doctor, fast. Can I count on you? Can we come to you?” I ask.

I hope I’ve made the right call in trusting him. Without him, we’re screwed.

“Of course, I’ll have the doctor here ready when you arrive,” he says without hesitation.

“I’ll see you soon.”

***

“The surgery was a success, but he’s not out of the woods yet. We’ve induced a coma to give his body time to heal. Now it’s just a waiting game,” Gillihan’s doctor tells us before adding, “Your quick thinking in stemming the blood flow almost certainly saved his life.”

“Thank you. If there’s anything else you can do, money’s no object…” I reply.

“He’ll need round-the-clock care, and medicine, both of which are expensive enough in a normal hospital… keeping him here will be a costly endeavor…”

“Just make it happen.”

The doctor nods once. As a Mafia doctor, he knows better than to advise a hospital stay, though I would have risked the police sniffing around if it meant saving Artem’s life.

I feel the need to check on Artem, to see that he’s alright with my own eyes. “Can I see him?”

The doctor hesitates but seems to sense I won’t take no for an answer. “Only if you allow me to tend to your injuries first,” he says, his voice brooking no argument. I nod my assent, “Follow me.”

After patching up the worst of my injuries the doctor is satisfied to let me go. Thankfully, most of the torture was more psychological than physical, though he informs me it will take the swelling on my face a couple more days to go down. Satisfied that I’m not about to drop dead, the doctor takes me to see Artem.

Gillihan’s state-of-the-art hospital room for just such events looks more like a room in a five-star hotel than a placefor men with injuries that can’t be easily explained away to recuperate. The only thing giving its true purpose away are the machines Artem is hooked up to. The room is silent apart from the slow and steady beating of the heart monitor and the sound of the tubes breathing for him.

I approach the bed, perching on it, careful not to interfere with any of the equipment.

“You gave us all quite the scare there, old friend,” I murmur, feeling comforted by the slow rise and fall of his chest. “When you wake up, you’re going to get one hell of a promotion. I should have known you could never have been the one to betray me. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you. You’ve always given me sound advice and impartial counsel, even when you knew I wouldn’t like it. I wish you were able to help me decide what to do next.”

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