Page 161 of Bratva's Vow
“Yeah, he’s around somewhere.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to take a walk outside?” he pressed. “Have you even?—”
“I’m not leaving him alone,” I growled, venom spilling into my words. “No one is allowed inside without me.”
There was a beat of silence.
Archie smiled again, gentle, patient. “What do you think is going to happen to him while you’re gone? We’re at a hospital, Maxim.”
I didn’t blink. Didn’t repeat myself.
He stared at me. Just stared. Then laughed softly and raised his hands in mock surrender. “Okay. I get it. You’re in full bear mode.”
He stepped forward, his hand raised like he meant to pat my shoulder, but I moved back. I probably should have let him touch me to throw him off that we were on to him. But I couldn’t. Couldn’t let any part of him come in contact with me. I was already a second away from shoving him into the wall and strangling him until he told me the truth.
His hand fell back to his side.
Something passed between us. He felt it. His smile faltered, in the hitch of breath that followed. A crack in his armor.
Fuck, he knew I didn’t trust him.
Archie swallowed once and looked away. “I’ll… give Nik the bags.”
He turned without waiting for a reply and walked down the hall.
I didn’t follow.
Just stood there in the quiet, pulse drumming behind my eyes, every nerve coiled.
If he had touched Wren… if even a fraction of this was his doing…
He wouldn’t walk away next time.
When Nik arrived with the two bags Archie had packed for us, I told him to burn them.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
WREN
Everything hurt.
Not the kind of pain people expected. Not sharp or stabbing or clean. It was deeper than that. Blunted and heavy, like my bones were filled with wet cement. My muscles ached with every twitch, every breath. My skin felt too tight, too hot, too cold, all at once.
I couldn’t stop sweating. The hospital gown clung to me in damp patches, sticking to my back and chest like a second skin I never asked for. The nurses changed the sheets regularly, but it didn’t matter. Nothing stayed clean for long.
I didn’t know what time it was anymore. Morning bled into afternoon, into night, into another morning. I caught pieces of conversations, nurses murmuring about vital signs, urine output, and blood draws. It never stopped.
They were gentle. I knew that. But no matter how softly they touched me, no matter how carefully they eased a needle into my vein, I still flinched. Still cried sometimes. Silently.
The only thing that kept me going was that Maxim was true to his word and never left my side.
They came for my blood again and again. My hands, my arms, even the tops of my feet when they ran out of good veins. I stopped asking why. Stopped asking for anything.
Sometimes they brought the commode beside the bed because I couldn’t make it to the bathroom. Couldn’t even stand without help. Maxim lifted me like I weighed nothing. Like I was nothing. And maybe I was. I cried that time too. Quietly. Because I didn’t want Maxim to see me this way, but I’d asked him to stay. He refused to leave anyway.
I vomited more often than I could keep track of. It burned. Bitter and sharp, it clawed its way up my throat until my stomach gave out. Then there was just bile. Then blood.
My head spun. My ears rang. My chest felt hollow, like I was breathing through a paper bag. The world pulsed in and out, sometimes too bright, sometimes pitch black.
