Page 85 of Forced Bratva Hostage

The car ahead of us drives fast, not stopping for anything as we race behind it to keep up.

“Where are they taking him?” I ask Nico as he swerves around a corner.

“There is a private hospital. The doctors there are on our payroll. He’ll get the best treatment in their care. They are the best of the best.”

My body is tightly knotted, anxiety spiking at every nerve ending.

We arrive at the hospital and Andrei has already been carried inside and put onto a gurney. The doctors have already wheeled him into surgery, and I didn’t even have a chance to see him.

Nico sits in the waiting room with me. I can’t sit still. I can’t stop pacing up and down, even though my feet are aching in these heels.

So much happened tonight.

Boris is dead. Van is dead. Andrei might be dying, and I can’t get to him.

“Hey, Tia, this is going to take a while, you really need to try and relax,” Nico says, gesturing towards the seat next to him.

“I don’t know how to do that. I’m scared,” I mutter, fresh tears spilling down my cheeks.

“Okay, well, how about this: Go and wash your face, there is a bathroom over there—I’ll get you something to drink. Hot chocolate, or would you prefer a Pepsi?”

“I, um,” I stammer.

“I’ll get both.” He stands up. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. You’ll feel better after you’ve splashed cold water on your face.” He guides me towards the bathroom and pushes the door open for me.

I step inside. Nico disappears, and I’m alone.

Staring at the mirror, I don’t recognize myself.

My face is splattered with blood, but there are clean lines running down my cheek where the tears washed it away.

In disgust, I turn the tap on full and start scrubbing at my skin with the hospital soap.

I scrub until my cheeks are raw and there isn’t a spot of blood on my face.

A knock at the door draws my attention, and Nico opens it, stepping inside. He hands me a pair of doctors’ scrubs. “Here, these will fit,” he says.

I’m so desperate to get any trace of blood as far away from me as possible that I don’t hesitate to pull my dress from my shoulders and let it fall to the floor around my feet.

Nico very quickly turns his back on me.

“Sorry,” I murmur, realizing that I should have waited for him to leave.

“It’s okay. Here.” He passes me the scrubs with his eyes closed.

I get into them, kicking the dress away from me.

Nico picks it up and shoves it into a dustbin in the corner.

I do feel better. But my heart is still heavy with worry.

“Come on, we can wait together,” he says gently, holding out his arm. He wraps it around my shoulders, and we go back to the waiting room where he’s got hot chocolate and a cool drink for both of us.

The surgery takes three hours.

Three hours of absolute torture for my mind.

When the doctor steps into the waiting room, both Nico and I stand up right away, eager to hear the news.

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