Page 17 of Silenced

Wrath,as intoxicating as heroin, pummels my system. Trying to keep my cool when my little sun might have been harmed is next to impossible when I’m seeing red.

Sucking down a breath, I shuffle around the doctor in the tight confines and drag the sheet away from her. Carefully, I move her leg aside, all the while making sure Grigoriy can’t see her.

Once I’ve taken in the state of her inner thighs and the crotch of her panties, I cover her up again.

“There’s no blood on her underwear. Would there be if he penetrated her?”

“It’s likely.” His frown darkens. “If you won’t let me check, then—” He chokes on his words as I glower at him. “It’s too late for activated charcoal to counteract the Rohypnol, but we can give her an emetic.”

“She’s already thrown up several times,” I sign.

“Without bloodwork, I can’t do much more for her. If I dose her with flumazenil, which is an antidote, it helps but it can lead to withdrawal symptoms or seizures, and she’d require monitoring if that’s the case. When do you estimate she was drugged?”

Unable to answer, I open the ambulance doors and don’t have far to look to come across Dmitri. Upon seeing me, he lopes over, a silent question in his expression.

“Bring Marku to me. I need to know when Rundel approached the Albanians so we can guesstimate how long she’s been drugged.”

Dmitri frowns but nods.

As he makes his retreat, I turn back and see Grigoriy staring at me over his glasses.

“What?” I demand, spreading my hands.

He shrugs. “Never seen you so verbose before.”

He isn’t wrong. Sign language is something I learned out of necessity, but I rarely use it.

In this instance, however, my little sun needs the best care I can provide her.

I squeeze my fists at the thought—am I doing her a disservice by not having him check for assault? Is that more of an intrusion,an invasion, than what she’s endured?

She’s already been violated. An examination by a trained medical professional shouldn’t put me on edge, but it feels like more of the same—something else being forced upon her by a man.

With a displeased scowl at my own uncertainty—indecisiveness can get you killed—I move over to the gurney and carefully lift the sheet to expose her ankle and remove the bandages I put there earlier.

Until she’s aware enough to consent to a vaginal exam, I won’t force that upon her, but there are plenty of other wounds that need treatment—

“For God’s sake, Pakhan. If you can’t handle me seeing her ankles, then—”

I glower at him as I drop the sheet. “Don’t try my patience, Grigoriy. You know what happens if you do.”

Though he bares the Oskal on his throat, he mutters under his breath in French,“What is this? 1843?”

“Where she’s concerned, yes,” I retort, fingers snapping the words at him.

Cheeks blanching when he realizes I understood him, he hunches his shoulders but peers at the tender skin that’s been grazed by the cuffs.

“Looks like mild friction burns. Rope?”

“Cuffs. Police-grade.”

His chin dips in understanding but he doses the sore skin with some peroxide, then antibiotic cream, and follows that with some fresh bandages. A process he repeats for both feet.

By the time I’ve tucked her ankles away, he’s treating her hands and wrists.

“These need to remain dry,” he informs me as he places dissolvable stitches on the tender skin and sets her finger into a splint.

Dmitri isn’t known for his good timing, but in this instance, it couldn’t be more perfect. Marku, yowling like a Siamese cat, is dumped in front of the doors of the ambulance just as Grigoriy is finishing up.

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