Page 167 of Wicked Proposal
Good thing that I’m not planning to be one.
“Tell me what you need.”
Her eyes light up at the realization of what I’m offering. “A bedside monitor,” she answers quickly. “A pulse oximeter will do in the meantime. You probably have one already.”
“What else?”
“IV bags,” she says. “A pole, too, ideally. We need to give her fluids, nutrients, and intravenous acetaminophen for her fever.”
“Nutrients?”
“She’s severely malnourished.” Mia holds up her arm, showing me the skin hanging from her upper forearm.
That’s all I need to hear.
I call Maksim and order the supplies. He doesn’t question me, nor the urgency of my command.
“Twenty minutes,” I tell Mia. “Is that good? Will she hang on for twenty minutes?”
“Yes,” she exhales. “She’s not in immediate danger.”
“Good.” I turn back to Maks on the phone. “You’ve got your twenty minutes. No delays.”
As we wait for him, Mia busies herself taking care of Nikita. She towels off her short black hair, borrows one of my sets of pajamas, and changes her into it.
It’s odd, seeing my worlds collide like this. Seeing Mia taking care of one of my soldiers.
“Is there anywhere else we can put her?” she asks at one point. “Somewhere dry?”
“You can use my bedroom.”
She blushes, but doesn’t argue. We carry Nikita on my bed, much larger and more comfortable than the one she’d been shivering in.
Fury crowds my mind. Concern, too. I’m itching todosomething, find the people responsible for this and make them pay. There are too many mysteries surrounding this.
I’ve never been good at sitting still, letting others do the work. If I’m not dirtying my hands, I’m not doing it right.
But tonight, I force myself to stand back and watch. Watch Mia’s hands expertly move over Nikita’s body, feeling her vitals, countering the fever with a damp cloth and ibuprofen. She’s working in battlefield conditions here, but she’s still?—
Incredible. She’s fucking incredible.
Maks arrives with five minutes to spare. He’s carrying the monitor on his shoulder, a machine that’s clearly been recently unhooked from somewhere, but I know better than to ask questions.
“Geez,” he huffs. “If I’d known she was in your bed all along, boss, I would’ve cut down on the overtime.”
“Shut up and bring that,” I order, not in the mood for games. “Help Mia with anything she needs. As long as we’re in this room,she’syour boss. Got that?”
“See what I’ve got to put up with?” His tone is light, but there’s a gravity to his expression as he finally sees Nikita’s ashen face that echoes mine. “Blyat’.Someone sure did a number on her.”
“They’re dead,” I growl. “Soon as I fucking find them, they’re?—”
“Can you please hold off on your mafia talk until I’m out of the room?” Mia interrupts. “Here. Help me sit her up.”
She works several IVs into Nikita’s arms with speed and precision, then hangs the bags. When the monitor’s finally plugged in, I watch her exhale with relief.
“Vitals are rising,” she murmurs. “She’s still weak, but she’ll pull through.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding. By my side, Maksim does the same.
