Page 12 of Wounded Wing

They would help her.

I whisper promises to her in Russian, things I know my little moon couldn’t understand.

Her clammy hand cups my face, “Alexei, we need to get going. You need to get me patched back up before Atticus sees us,” she says coolly. I watch as she tries to detach from the horror that is her reality.

I don’t blame her, everything in her body wants to shut down and forget. Blindly, I reach for my med bag, having enough foresight to shove my phone in the front pocket. Grasping the device, I shoot an SOS text to my guys, telling them to keep Lennon occupied tonight. Their responses are immediate, confirming they’ll keep him busy. Next, I pull up Dottie’s contact and say a prayer that she answers her direct line. Mae’s breathing slows against my body, likely drifting back to sleep.

Dottie’s honeyed voice reaches my ear, her gentle tone in full swing. “Doctor Smith speaking, how can I assist you, Alex?”

Clearing my throat, I speak quickly, “Mae Lennon. D.O.B July 4, 1993. Vaginal trauma from a weapon and broken nose that needs to be reset. Get her under an alias. I’ll be at the hospital in fifteen.”

I end the call without warning. Knowing Dottie, she wouldn’t want pleasantries associated with this, anyway. Scouring the room, I find a black, satin robe hanging next to a sterile bed. Gently, I lay Mae on the floor before running to grab the piece of cloth to cover my girl.

My girl? She’s not mine.

I shake my head. I clearly lost my mind if I think I have any right to stake claims over a woman who has just suffered at the hands of her husband. Her eyes open, appearing more quarter-lidded than anything. With a pained moan, her legs straighten, covering the abuse displayed on her core. Slowly, her arms bear down the weight of her head and shoulders lifting up. I take that as my opportunity to drape the silky robe around her shoulders, fitting her arms through the sleeves. My hands move quickly, tying the belt in a loose knot attempting to conceal her intimate parts, hoping that no one will witness them on the way to my car.

Checking her over once more, I toss my phone back in my kit before grabbing an orange prescription bottle. For as long as I have known her, she would fight me on the drugs. I suppose that made sense, seeing who her husband was. A tiny, light-blue pill rattles as it falls from the container onto my waiting palm, revealing its signature ‘M’ imprint. She opens her mouth, barely leaving enough room for the pill to pass between her lips.

Fucking psycho is going to try and dry swallow this.

Tipping my hand to her mouth, careful not to touch the scabbing cut, she does exactly as I thought and swallows it dry. Chucking the bottle back into my bag, I grab the straps and throw them over my shoulder. Leaning down, I gently scoop the woman I care far too deeply for into my arms bridal style. She turns her head into my chest, avoiding the bright club lights as I walk her through the threshold.

“Hold on tight,moya luna. This is going to hurt more before it gets better.”

Chapter eight

Lexei’s heavy steps jostlemy tender body against his thick frame, making me groan in agony. The crowds gathering on the third floor disperse as they watch him storm through like a madman. Can’t say I blame them; Alexei Chaban is one scary-looking bastard.

His naturally platinum hair is peppered with gray around the sides of his face, his eyes the lightest hue of blue my mind can comprehend. The man is built like a brick shithouse. I've gathered over the years that he still worked out the same way he did back whenhe first joined the Bratva. Scars decorate his otherwise unblemished skin, showcasing the brutality he withstood.

The first time I met Alexei, he scared the piss out of me. I honestly thought Atticus had sent him to finish what he couldn’t do. Instead, I was greeted by a gentle giant with a hero complex. This man has seen the ugliest parts of me and is still looking after me like some twisted, mobster, guardian-angel. He has always treated me like a glass doll, so careful like I’d break if he so much as breathed in my direction. Though, more recently, he has hardened in some ways after accepting the repeating answer that I’m where I want to be. I hate lying to him, but I refuse to drag him and his family into my shit.

The cool night air breaks through my thoughts as we make our way out of Le Papillon. A sleek, off-black Mercedes sits unmoved in front of the valet, looking an awful lot like a getaway car.

It probably is a getaway car.

A crude snort follows my inner thoughts causing Alexei’s steps to falter. His chest vibrates against my cheek, “Only you’d find humor at a time like this,malen’kaya luna.”

The sound of his car door opening fills me with a sense of relief I didn’t think possible, until a scream tears its way through my lips as he deposits my body into the passenger seat. His hushed praises do little to offer me comfort while my aching muscles are berating me for the sudden movement.

Darkness tunnels my vision as my head feels lighter, making the pain tolerable. With each passing minute my eyes grow heavier, the pill Lexei gave me finally taking effect. Mumbling that I don’t feelgood, warm, calloused flesh caresses my leg soothingly until I fall asleep.

“Alexei! You can’t sit there and tell me you don’t know how this woman came to bemutilatedlike this,” a feminine voice whispers harshly, rousing me from my painless sleep.

Memories of constant beeping and my screams of grief plague me until the voice beside me begins to clear. Not ready to face my reality, I strain to make sense of their conversation.

“I know how, I’m just not saying anything,vrach,” Alexei snarks.

With an excruciating effort, I ease my eyelids open as far as they will go. Alexei sits, lounging in a chair next to the bed. His frosty orbs lock in my direction, thawing briefly as he realizes I’m alert.

Licking my lips, I open my mouth to speak only to be cut off by a gorgeous blonde-haired woman, standing at five-foot nothin’ in a pair of black ribbon pumps. Draping past her knees is a white lab coat underneath a classic, ruched-stretch black dress.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you, Mrs. Lennon. My name is Dottie or Doctor Smith. You’re at RMC,” she explains, scuffing her heel over the floor.

Fucking hell, Lexei.

“How long do I need to stay here, Dottie? Don’t coddle me. If I can leave now, I will,” I grit out, pain flaring in my vag. It feels like there’s a foreign object in there, tugging on me from inside.

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