Page 57 of Disgraced (Russian Sinners 3)

“No,” I answered before either one of them had a chance.

“But-” I didn’t let her finish.

“No. They could catch up to us in five minutes.”

She glanced at the men in the front seat but my brothers felt the same as me. Three of us might have completely different personalities but in situations like this, our thoughts were in sync.

Anastasia didn’t like it at all. “I don’t want to make his shoulder worse. If you so much as go over the bump, I could gouge his muscle and hurt him more. And I can’t even put him under.”

I deserve all the pain she gives me.

“Anastasia,” Dimitry sought out her eyes in the rearview mirror. “I read your file. You are brilliant. You have done this before.”

“Yes, on a surgical table. Not in a moving car. And combat wounds are not what I specialized in.”

“Princess,” I interrupted. I didn’t want her to convince my brother to stop and put them all in jeopardy. “If anyone can do it, it is you.”

She didn’t like this, it was written all over her face. “Sergei, if you die on me, I swear, I will kill you all over again.”

She made me laugh but damn, it hurt.

“Okay,” she started, getting into her doctor mode. “I will need you to talk to me the entire time. I’ll numb the area as much as I can with the medicine we have but you’ll still feel it.”

“Okay.” She eyed me as if she was trying to ensure I was alright.

“I should hook you up with Scarlett,” she announced and my heart stilled for a second. She thought Scarlett and I would be good together?

“Who’s Scarlett?” I asked, my voice sounding strange to my own ears. To hear Anastasia mention her name again was a painful reminder of what I had done. “Is she the one that got you in trouble with old British men?” I would marvel at my casual tone if I wasn’t in so much pain.

“How long were you guys eavesdropping?” she asked, a small smile playing around her lips. “No, that was Olivia. You wouldn’t be good for Olivia.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. You are not really her type.” She gently pushed on the area of my bullet wound and then went to work.

“Am I your type?” I asked her for no reason at all.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why don’t you tell me something you enjoy doing?” she asked instead, trying to ignore me. I could see her focus on the task at hand.

“I enjoy beautiful women and would like to know why I’m not your type.”

“You talk too much,” she almost sounded exasperated.

“I could talk less.”

She straightened up and met my gaze, looking like a strict doctor or a mother scolding her child. “Okay, Sergei. No more questions. You will recite the alphabet. Please.”

I couldn’t help but give her an impish smile. Anastasia was definitely a good woman. My brother would be stupid to let her go. But my instincts were telling me Anastasia already chose him, whether she knew it or not.

Reciting the alphabet as the beautiful doctor ordered, I felt the push of the forceps into my muscle. The sensation was greatly numbed and I was grateful for it. She must have gotten it because she quickly placed the patch over it, holding it in place to stop the bleeding.

“Better?” I asked with a smile, although I felt my strength weakening by the minute.

“What blood type are you, Sergei?”

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