Chapter 22 #2
He drove quickly, running stoplights since there were hardly any other vehicles at this time of the morning.
I listened to him make a couple of calls, but they were all in Russian, so I didn’t understand a thing.
Other than those two calls, we drove in silence.
Sergei seemed to be in a bad mood, and I didn’t want to trigger him further in case he took it out on the dying man in the back.
Would he even be alive when we arrived?
Sergei brought us to a remote warehouse that looked nothing out of the ordinary on the outside. A black sedan was parked outside, and one of Morozov’s men, whom I recognized from when Wren was at the hospital, stepped out.
When we parked, I was hesitant to get out of the truck.
This was exactly what I wanted. To get close to Morozov and his people, find out all I could about his operation, and take him down.
Knowing where this place was located was a step in the right direction.
Yet, I had this sinking feeling in my stomach.
“Leo, let’s go.” Sergei had come around to open the door for me. He held out a hand, and I knew it was about more than helping me out of the truck. He’d decided to let go of whatever I’d said back there that pissed him off.
Probably you telling him you want to see him dead.
My cheeks burned hotly, and I reached out to take his hand. Morozov’s other man had picked up the guy from the truck bed and was carrying him toward the sectional door, which opened up in front of us. As soon as I was on solid ground, I dropped Sergei’s hand and ran after the patient.
All I’d learned about the Mafia was from movies, so I was expecting something crude. Dim lighting. Rusted tables. Maybe a first aid kit thrown in a corner, but I was dead wrong. This was the opposite.
The space was partitioned off from the rest of the warehouse, sealed behind glass and steel like a private medical suite.
Bright surgical lights flooded the room, reflecting off immaculate stainless-steel surfaces.
Cabinets lined the walls, stocked and labeled with necessities—medications, sterile packs, instruments, all arranged neatly.
Monitors were already powered on, the screens glowing. An anesthesia machine stood ready at the head of the bed. There were IV poles, suction units, a fully stocked crash cart, and even a portable imaging unit tucked to the side. Everything was state of the art.
I couldn’t help but wonder what tragedy they’d experienced that taught them to be this deliberate in their readiness to handle a medical emergency. Wren being poisoned?
I didn’t allow myself more than a few seconds to process it all before instinct took over.
“Get him on the table,” I ordered, already moving to the sink. I scrubbed in quickly, the familiar rhythm settling my nerves, grounding me in something I understood. By the time I turned, they had him stretched out, still bound, still bleeding.
“Cut those,” I snapped, gesturing to the restraints. “For God’s sake, he’s unconscious, and with the two of you here, what can he do even if he wakes up?”
There was a brief hesitation where the other man looked to Sergei for guidance. It made me grit my teeth. I wasn’t used to others ignoring my directives when doing my work.
Sergei nodded. “Dezi, remove them.”
Dezi cut the ropes off the man while I started working.
“Vitals,” I said out of habit, but no one answered.
With a sigh, I reached for the monitor myself, attaching leads to his chest, securing the blood pressure monitor and slipping the pulse oximeter onto his finger. The machine beeped to life, erratic at first before settling into a weak, uneven rhythm. He was still too unstable.
I grabbed an IV catheter, relieved to find a vein on the first try despite the blood loss, and secured the line before hanging fluids. My eyes flicked to the storage unit of blood.
“Do you have O negative?” I asked.
“Yes,” Sergei said. “We prioritize sourcing it.”
Of course they did.
The storage unit was neatly labeled, the bags reflecting more O-negative blood than anything else.
“How did you come by so much?” I asked as I spiked the bag and started the transfusion, watching the slow, steady flow as it fed back into him.
“We pay good money for people to donate. We keep some on hand in case any of us need blood.”
“Hmm.”
In their field, that probably happened a lot.
The room went quiet behind me as I worked. I could feel their eyes on me, but although I was nervous, I didn’t acknowledge any of it. I focused on the wound instead, which was deep but uneven—the only reason he was still alive.
Had Sergei done this? He didn’t seem to empathize with the patient at all.
Although he was likely the culprit, I didn’t believe the damage was caused by him.
Not because he lacked the grit to carry it out.
Somehow, I just knew that if the aggressor had been Sergei, the man I was fighting to keep alive would have long been dead.
Sergei didn’t look like a man who didn’t finish a job once he committed to it.
I cleaned the area quickly, assessing the damage and controlling the bleeding where I could before reaching for sutures.
My hands moved on instinct, steady despite my mind running wild about this organization I’d decided to go up against. They were so powerful.
Not only did they have all the manpower I didn’t, but they had the money to get things done and to buy the law on their side.
For that reason, I had to go all the way to ensure whatever I learned about Morozov couldn’t be explained away.
I had only one chance, and I had to make it count.
When I finally finished, I stepped back slowly, stripping off my gloves and dropping them into the bin. My back ached, and a yawn reminded me that I’d slept fitfully while waiting for Sergei to join me in bed. Thankfully, my schedule had changed, and I had a graveyard shift.
The man lay still on the table, chest rising shallowly, the monitor showing a steadier reading than before. The transfusion was still running through the IV line.
“Leo.”
“Hmm?”
I turned to find Sergei closer than I’d expected.
I’d been so intent on saving the patient, I hadn’t looked at him once during the procedure.
His arms came around me, and he pressed his palm to my lower back.
A low moan rumbled up from my chest before I could stop it, and my head snapped up to search Sergei’s face to see whether he would mock me for my reaction.
Instead, I found him watching me intently, a look of… Was that admiration on his face?
“Do you know how hot you are when you’re working?”
A burst of laughter reminded me that we weren’t alone. I jerked out of Sergei’s arm and stepped back, but even as I fought to maintain my composure, I could feel my cheeks heating up.
“You two need some privacy?” Dezi asked, his grin wide and teasing.
“Yeah.” Sergei reached for my hand, managing to snag it even though I tried to evade his grasp. “I’m taking Leo home.”
“Home?” I twisted my arm. “I have to monitor him. What if something goes wrong?”
“Dezi will monitor him,” Sergei said. “He’ll let us know if anything happens.”
“Sergei, I refuse to let my efforts have been in vain.”
“You need to sleep. I swear to you, if something happens, we’ll be back here ASAP. Just let Dezi know what to look out for.”
Dammit, I hated when he was right, but I did need to sleep, or I wouldn’t be able to function well on my upcoming shift.
All I had to do was treat the situation as if I were on call at the hospital.
There was no reason for me to stay at the warehouse and guard the patient.
After all, if they really wanted the patient dead, they wouldn’t have brought him to me, right?