Page 45 of Toxic Salvation
He sets Ryan down without another word.
“Go back to your room and wait for me there,” I order Ryan, who doesn’t need to be told twice. He runs right back down the hallway, his untied gown flapping behind him.
The entire nursing staff is staring at us. Perfect. Tomorrow, the gossip mill will be running at full capacity.
Grimacing, I look back at Kovan. “In there. Now.” I point to the nearest on-call room.
Kovan opens the door with exaggerated politeness. “After you, Doctor.”
The moment the door closes, I turn to face him. “Are you insane?—”
“Are you okay?” he asks, cutting me off.
The genuine concern in his tone catches me unprepared. “I’m fine. I was always going to be fine. But you had no right to manhandle that child.”
“He could have seriously hurt you. Someone had to stop him.”
“He’s a sick kid who’s scared and alone because his dad isn’t in the picture and his mother has to work two jobs to pay for his medical care,” I retort. “Instead of showing compassion, you decided to terrify him further.”
His face is remorseless. “I make no apologies for protecting you and my son.”
The possessive way he says “my son” sends heat racing through me. Not the good kind—the angry kind that makes me want to throw something.
“This is my workplace, Kovan. My territory. I don’t want you here messing things up.”
His frown deepens. “I had business to handle here.”
My skin immediately raises up in goosebumps. “What business?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Actually, it does. You came here to see Jeremy, didn’t you? About what?”
He breaks eye contact, staring instead at a spot over my shoulder. “The less you know, the better.”
“For someone who claims he wants to shut down the organ trade, you’re remarkably secretive about your methods.”
“It’s complicated.”
“That’s code for ‘I don’t have a good explanation.’ Or you don’t think I’m smart enough to understand.”
Kovan presses his lips together like he’s physically restraining himself from speaking. “Will you please sit down? How long have you been on your feet today?”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like you care about my well-being. Or presume to tell me how to live my life and do my job. This is my hospital, Kovan. My domain. I don’t want you interfering.”
“I was trying to protect you,” he snarls.
“I don’t need your protection. I need you to trust that I can handle myself.”
He makes a sound that’s half-laugh, half-snort, and one hundred percent derisive. When he sees my unamused expression, he tries to cover it with a cough.
I scowl. “We’re either equals in this relationship, or we’re nothing.”
“We’re not nothing, Vesper.”
