Page 13 of Deadly Knight
She hesitates before replying, “Polina.”
“Last name?”
She huffs. “I must be insane to answer, but Sokolov. Why?”
“Well, Polina Sokolov, when I get home, I’ll make sure you are well compensated for your help.”
She snorts, but again, I don’t blame her for doubting. Picking up two young people, both only half-dressed, who look like they’ve gone through something—which we have—doesn’t scream wealthy. Especially wealthy enough to repay a stranger. She has no idea who she truly has in her car, and for being our guardian angel, she has my gratitude.
“All right, kid.”
Within the week, she’ll be proven otherwise. For now, her doubt is at the bottom of my list of worries.
As the drive continues, I bury my head into Katya’s hair, breathing in the fact that, despite everything, she’s alive. Alive and in my arms. She’s still here. And we’ll make her better.
The Moscow skyline eventually comes into view as the road dips and bends. Polina drives us straight to the largest hospital in the city, stopping by the curb in front of the emergency department.
She turns in her seat to speak, but I’m already halfway out the door, ducking back down to tell her, “Thank you, Polina. You will be repaid for this.”
I slam her car’s door shut and take off for the building, rushing inside and finding the nearest medical staff.
My legs falter as my strength officially gives out. I fall to my knees, pleading to the nurse, “Help her.”
Hours pass in a flurry.
Katya’s been taken away and, no matter what I threaten or demand, they won’t let me follow, insisting I be checked out too. The staff don’t understand that since I’m breathing and upright, I’m fine. Whatever the assholes drugged me with is long out of my system.
I disclose everything to the main attending nurse and doctor so they can treat her correctly and not have me arrested, believingIwas the one behind her pain. I even mentioned Polina’s full name, so she can corroborate the ending of my story.
The medical staff listen and jot notes before explaining the cops will need my official statement when they come. As a Bratva soldier, I run from the law. Far and fast, even if we have people on the inside in case such a thing happens. This time, I’ll remind them of the pull the Volkov name has in Russia so when four men’s bodies turn up one day, they’ll look the opposite way.
“Please,” I beg the nurse when the doctor leaves to make the call, “let me see her.”
The elderly woman frowns, her wrinkles deepening with displeasure. “Until her parents give permission, we can’t allow it. I’m sorry.”
“I’m the one who carried her in!”
“Sir…” She lifts her hands as though to calm me. Thing is, I’ll never be calm again. “I’m sorry, Mr. Volkov.”
“Repeat that again,” I demand, baring my teeth, realizing I’m probably borderline manic. “Volkov.You’ve heard the stories of my family. You know what I can?—”
“Do?” Her brows lift, and this grandmotherly figure seems much larger suddenly. “Before you threaten me, understand I can have you thrown out of here. As of hours ago, you are no longer a patient of ours, therefore have no need to be on hospital grounds. Wealth doesn’t have the same influence in medical settings as you may believe, Mr. Volkov. Patients come first.”
Frustration rumbles through me. She’s right, and without Ursin here, my demands will mean a lot less.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “But please…an update.”
She glances down the hallway, pressing her lips together. “She woke up a bit ago but wasn’t handling it well, so we were forced to sedate her. Her parents are with her.”
My hands grip the edge of the chair, my leg bouncing up and down. “Whatever it’ll take to see her, I’ll pay it.”
The nurse glances over my shoulder, her teeth dragging over her bottom lip. Finally, she recites a room number in a low voice. “It’s down the hall. The room has a window, and last I saw, the curtain was left open. So if you happen to walk by, you could see inside. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but considering youdidbring her in…and”—her eyes soften—“judging from what you told me, she’d want you there too. You obviously love her.”
“More than anything,” I hurriedly reply before rushing off down the hallway that reeks of bleach and sanitizer in the direction of the room the nurse directed me to.
As she said, the blinds are left drawn, allowing me to peer inside. Her parents are whom I notice first. Her father is standing by the bed, his gaze locked on the floor by his feet. Griefetches his expression, pinched like he’s feeling a fraction of the physical pain his daughter had to withstand. On the opposite side and seated in a chair is Katya’s mother. She’s bent forward, her head resting on the bed beside her daughter’s hand.
It’s the figure on the bed who truly breaks me. Who makes my knees weak until I stumble against the window, palm pressing against the glass to catch my falling body. She looks so much frailer in the hospital bed, eyes shut and needles shoved into the back of one hand.
