Stolen By The Bratva King (NYC Russian Royals #2)

Chapter 31

31

Emery

I arrive at the hospital just as the first streaks of sunrise pierce the slab of gray cloud overhead. I’ve barely slipped into my scrubs before Jess is hammering on the changing-room door.

She sounds stressed already; it’s gonna be one of those days.

I dash out to attend to a teenager whose boyfriend brought her in, a kid who probably already has a rap sheet a mile long.

While I’m sure he has something illegal in every pocket of his filthy cargo pants, it’s not my business, unlike the split lip and swollen eye socket of the mousy girl at his side.

“What happened?” I ask her.

Her boyfriend is quick to jump in. “Her name is Pippa. She was pitching for me, and we were goofing around. I caught her with the bat. Total accident.”

I’ve seen baseball injuries before, and this is not one. The boy is practically an adult, but this girl is younger, and the fear rises from her like a stench that won’t wash off.

It’s a feeling I know all too well.

I address the boyfriend. “I didn’t ask you, Mr…”

He doesn’t take the hint to give me his name. Instead, he folds his arms, giving me a flint-like glare.

Yep. This little punk has been inside already, and his attitude gives him away just as much as the blurry amateur tattoo on his bicep.

Jess appears at my side, gesturing for Dwight to follow her.

“No,” he snaps, grabbing Pippa’s hand. Her shoulders tense, and my gut tightens. “She needs me here.”

I nod at the security guard lingering nearby, who steps forward without hesitation. Dwight releases Pippa with a scowl.

“Fine, asshole. I’ll go get some of that shitty coffee and relax, shall I?”

“Good idea,” I say.

I lead Pippa into the triage area and pull a curtain around, shielding her from the bustling ER. She sinks into a chair, her head in her hands.

“Dwight isn’t a bad person,” she says in a small voice. “He’s had a hard life too. And I can be annoying sometimes.”

Seeing her so cowed, so diminished, makes me want to cry.

She and I have so much in common, but I am not the same woman who was about to marry a vicious, abusive asshole.

I’m married to Leon Vasiliev, a man who is just as dangerous and mercurial in his way yet wouldn’t harm me if his life depended on it.

My new husband is my first, the only man I ever let inside me. But he let me inside him first, exposing his wounds and allowing me to get close to the terrible memories that plague him.

He took my virginity, but it wasn’t merely a physical conquest; it changed us both.

When I kissed his sleeping face goodbye this morning, I felt a warmth in my heart that I hadn’t experienced since I was a little kid.

Maybe I’m crazy. I still know so little about Leon, and perhaps everyone gets this way when they have sex with someone. But I don’t think it’s all in my head.

The girl crying before me is so young. She doesn’t believe she deserves better, and I understand, because I felt the same way.

Not anymore.

I crouch so she can see my face, and take her hand. “Pippa, Dwight hit you. Deliberately. I already know, so it’s not as though you told on him. If you’ll talk to me, I can help.”

Pippa wipes her nose with her sleeve. “I’m only fourteen. He’s nineteen, my friend’s brother. He seemed so nice at first, but then he started trying to make me do…things.”

“It’s okay,” I say gently. “Let me call your parents.”

The look on her face says more than words ever could, and I sigh. “No parents, right? Where do you live?”

“I was at a foster home in Dumbo Heights. I haven’t been back there in months, but I’ll bet they still cash the checks.”

I hand her a tissue. “Here, sweetie. I’ll get the hospital social worker in and Dwight out. It doesn’t have to be this way; we’ll ensure you’re safe. I promise.”

Hours slide by, the time marked less by the clock and more by actions. Attending codes, quick-stop surgery, consoling frightened people, placating drunks and junkies. On and on it goes.

My pager beeps for the millionth time, but when I call down to theater, the lead nurse informs me that the anesthesiologist is still assessing the patient.

I take advantage of the break in proceedings and duck into the doctor’s mess, grabbing my phone from my locker. I smile to see Leon’s name on my lock screen, and swipe to open the message.

Hello, moya zhena. How’s your day? X

I love the little kisses he puts on his texts. It seems at odds with the brash, masculine man he is, like a secret code only I can crack—a hint of softness that exists for me and me alone.

I tap the keyboard.

Okay. Busy. My feet are killing me.

He responds immediately, the phone buzzing in my hand.

Anything else feeling sore?X

I feel my cheeks growing hot.

Yes, as a matter of fact. My pussy is tender, and like any overworked muscle, I can’t help but think it would benefit from another good stretch.

If I think about fucking him, I’ll need to change my scrubs. It won’t be the first time I’ve got bodily fluids all over them, but it’s not usually my own.

I fire off another message.

Sore? I don’t know what you mean.

Yes you do, you dirty slut. Your pussy is far too cock-hungry not to be giving you trouble today. X

I clap my hand over my mouth. Oh my God. How can I concentrate at work knowing he might send me messages like that?

I’m lost for a response, but Leon doesn’t need one.

Stunned into silence? Not a problem, val’kiriya. Let me show you what I have right here.

A blurry video thumbnail appears, the little circle filling up as it loads.

If that’s what I think it is?—

Oh sweet Jesus.

Leon is naked, reclining in bed, his rippling stomach flexing. One hand cradles his balls as he strokes his thick cock with the other, the rhythmic motion in time with his heavy breathing.

Being the first to get into my pussy has turned the man feral.

Here I was, wondering whether he’ll get bored once he’s had his fill when it seems he’s barely begun to lean into his obsessive lust.

I tap the volume frantically, turning it down before someone hears my husband’s rapturous moans. I lean inside the locker, holding the phone so no one but me can see it.

Bzzz. Another message.

How’d you like that? My cock, hard as a rock because I couldn’t stop thinking about your sweet little cunt. You better leave work on time and bring that big beautiful ass home so I can pump you full of come. X

My pager is humming against my hipbone, amplifying the tension in my core, and I feel like some kind of deviant.

This man stalked me, forced me to marry him, kept me captive, and fucked me raw. Not exactly Eagle Scout material.

But here I am, falling hard and fast for a wealthy, mysterious near-stranger who has my body and heart in a tailspin.

I have to go. Don’t waste that on yourself. X

Oooh . That was risqué for me.

A minute passes, and I wonder if I’ve made a fool of myself. Then, a photo pings through.

Leon’s erection looks painfully engorged, the head purplish and smooth, and he’s holding his hands in the air.

I scan the caption.

As you command, Emery. But it took some willpower to stop, so expect to be fucked ragged tonight. A man can only stand so much. X

Breathing heavily, I toss my phone into the locker and snatch my pager. The patient is finally under and they’re waiting for me.

Gotta get my head on straight . One last little job, and when it’s done, I can return to my new life.

The man on the operating table has been shot in the gut. We won’t know how bad it is until we open him up, so there’s a possibility we’ll encounter a massive internal bleed that no amount of clever surgical wrangling will resolve.

There’s plenty of blood and plasma on standby, but his life hangs in the balance; the anesthesiologist was afraid to sedate him too heavily for fear of him never waking up, so he’s monitoring carefully as the nurse and I inventory our instruments.

We don’t know who the guy is. He came in with no ID unless you count the word Fabrizio tooled onto his knuckles, so I assume that’s his name.

I need something to call a patient; it connects me to them and reminds me of what’s at stake.

“Fabrizio,” I say. “We’re going to clean your lower abdomen and prepare to make an incision. If you can hear me, give me a signal.”

Nothing . The nurse picks up a cotton swab and dips it in iodopovidone.

As soon as the cold swab touches Fabrizio’s stomach, his eyes fly open. His mouth jerks, and he gives a gargle of shock.

“Shit,” the anesthesiologist mutters. “Sorry. Give me a minute.”

“Can you hear me?” I ask, searching the patient’s face. Fabrizio panics in his semi-doped state, fright etched into his pale face.

“Leon,” he says.

I must have misheard. I’m tired and was thinking about my husband; it’s a weird trick of the ear.

“Vasiliev.” The heart rate monitor starts screaming, and people leap to action, but I’m too stunned to move, hanging on every word from the dying man’s lips.

No. What does this mean?

Fabrizio’s voice cracks, barely audible over the hum of the monitors.

“Leon… Vasiliev…”

What is going on?

“He’s—”

The blood pressure monitor screams as his numbers plummet. Chaos erupts around me, and a nurse grabs my shoulder, snapping me out of my frozen state.

“Emery! We’re losing him!”

Shame surges through me, but saving him now would take a miracle. He’s arresting, most likely due to hypovolemic shock caused by the suspected internal bleeding. It’s the cascade that all ER doctors fear because it’s too late by the time we work it out.

Fabrizio is beyond speech, his eyes rolling as he flatlines. We go through the motions, but nothing sticks, and after a couple of frenetic minutes, I call it.

The nurse pulls a sheet over the body as I fire my rubber gloves into the trash.

I don’t know what’s happening, but my amorous thoughts are long gone. I’ve spent too long hiding from my curiosity, not asking questions, and keeping up with the pretense that Leon is a good guy.

But the truth has a way of coming to light, and if there’s one thing I’m learning, it’s that passivity gets me nowhere.

Whatever the truth is, I must face it head-on, even if it breaks my heart. Because for all I know, I could end up dying on a gurney, my husband’s name on my lips.

Who is Leon Vasiliev?

It’s time to find out.