Chapter 2
2
V edant Oshnov opened his eyes, blinking against the bright sunlight coming through the open curtains. The clock on the wall across from him showed the time to be just past noon. He licked his dry lips. This was the first time in what seemed like forever that he hadn’t drifted back to sleep mere moments after he’d woken up.
All his memories raced to the forefront. Him leaving alone for his meeting with the bankers without his bodyguard Tyrion… A group of four men attacking him in the basement parking lot where he had parked his car...
He recalled Tyrion arriving and the two of them fighting those men off. Tyrion and he had killed three of them before the fourth one had managed to shoot Vedant in the chest and leg.
His heart pinched. He thought he would die that night. Mihir and Armaan would never have been able to recover from his loss. And Karina, their sister… For years, they had believed that she’d deserted them. But now they knew the details of what had truly happened with her, and they were searching for her. Had he died, he never would have been able to see her again. But now he could. He had been given a second chance, and he would use it to do better. To be better. Thanks to Tyrion, who had managed to get him to a hospital on time, Vedant had lived. He was injured, yes, but he was alive, and that’s what mattered.
As if in response to that thought, various aches and pains in his body made themselves known. He winced. Shit. Ivan’s men had really done a number on him. Ivan Oshnov—nephew of his late adopted father, Alexander Oshnov—held a huge grudge against his brothers and him. He had made his intentions towards them clear—he wanted them out of the way to stake his claim on the Oshnov empire, which Vedant, Mihir, and Armaan had inherited after Alexander had passed away five years ago.
Mihir had been warning Vedant for days to be careful, to reduce his outings, to not step out at night and to always take his bodyguard with him. But one break in protocol was all that Ivan needed to make his move. Fucking asshole. Anger filled his veins. His body tightened, and a shooting pain stabbed his upper chest and shoulder.
He must have made a sound because, from the side, a stern looking woman stood and came to him.
“Mr. Oshnov, you’re awake?” she said. “Good.”
Her voice. Had he heard it before? She moved closer and began checking him with her stethoscope. Her floral scent washed over him. It was strong, like a punch to his system. He blinked, studying her. She was the same doctor with whom he’d exchanged some not so nice words that first time he’d woken up after being shifted home.
Mihir had assured him that he was home and being cared for by a team of doctors. How long ago had that been? A day, a week ago? He had no clue.
“How many days has it been since I’ve been brought here?” he asked her. Lack of use had made his voice all gravelly and hoarse.
Her bright brown eyes met his before her expression shuttered and her lips flattened. “It’s been four days.”
“So, I’ve been unconscious for four fucking days!” He shook his head. “I cannot be unconscious again, da ? I need to be on my feet soon.”
She didn’t reply. She continued to work around him, shining a torch in his eyes one by one and asking him various questions. How did he feel? How severe was his pain? Did anything else hurt? He replied to all her queries, but throughout it all, she didn’t look him in the eye even once.
He observed her as she checked his temperature and studied his vitals on the monitors connected to his body. She was dressed in a plain blue t-shirt and black leggings over which she’d worn a white lab coat. Her eyes beneath the monstrous glasses were bright, a deep brown shade. Her complexion was fair, and she had clear, glowing skin. Her nails, he noticed, were clean, devoid of nail paint. Despite the tight bun at her nape, she looked young. Very young, in fact. Fuck. What had Mihir been thinking when he’d hired some fresh, straight out of med school doctor to care for him? Was she even capable?
Her eyes sharpened to slits as they met his. “Oh, I assure you Mr. Oshnov, I’m more than capable.”
Bloody hell. What was wrong with him? Since when did he articulate his thoughts out loud?
Clearly, he’d managed to infuriate her because now her lips had tightened, and once again, she refused to look at him. She captured his wrist to check his pulse, and something foreign shot through him as her cool hand touched his warm skin. He shrugged it off as one of the many aches and pains he felt in his bruised and battered body.
Watching her ignore him irritated him further.
“Can you explain my injuries to me?” he asked.
She gave him a detailed explanation. Apart from a broken rib, one gunshot wound to his chest and one to his thigh, he’d been running a fever, which had finally come down on the third day. He had no other broken bones, but his injuries were delicate and would take time to heal.
Bloody fucking hell. He hated being incapacitated. He thought through everything, watching her work around him.
“Like I said earlier, I cannot be unconscious again, da ?” he repeated. “I need you to get me on my feet soon.”
Her deep brown eyes latched on him. “You will be on your feet soon, as long as you diligently follow the treatment plan I’ve drawn out for you.”
With that vague explanation, she turned to move away from him. He caught her wrist. Something electric passed through his skin. It was nothing, he told himself, denying the nudge of familiarity he felt in his gut.
She faced him, cheeks flushed and eyes flaring. “Release my hand.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You and I both know that you are weak, injured, and in tremendous pain. So do us both a favour and stop being difficult for the heck of it. I’m here to help you recover, but I can only do that if you allow me to do my job. So, I’m going to ask you again, release my hand.”
She tried to shrug out of his hold. He held firm, though the effort to do even that much strained his chest, making it throb with pain. She didn’t miss his reaction. But he held her wrist firm. Fuck, he hated being sick and weak.
She gave him a pointed look that irked him further. Her dislike for him was written all over her face. To think of it, she’d seemed annoyed that first day he’d woken up briefly as well. Too bad. Mihir must have paid her and her team a truckload of money to care for him. The least she could do was behave amiably and do whatever he expected from her.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
She tipped her chin to the name tag on her pocket.
“Dr. Singh, I don’t like tablets, syrups, needles, or medication of any sort. I’ve hated them since I was a child. Hence, I never fall sick. But now that I am sick and unwell, I need you to get me on my feet with minimum use of the above. Am I clear?”
Her eyes flared. “How arrogant of you to believe you were never sick because you didn’t want to be? Are you so special to never get a headache or a stomach bug?”
His jaw clenched at her audacious words and tone. But before he could say anything, she continued, “I’m your doctor, not your servant, so don’t order me around. You should also know that you were a few minutes away from dying when you came to me.”
He hadn’t known that.
She read his expression, because she said, “Yes, I saved you. But if you want to continue to stay alive, then you will follow the treatment procedure that I’ve set in place for you, which means there will be medicines administered via IV drips and there will be injections. Once I determine you are improving, we will switch to tablets and syrups that you will take as per schedule as long as you are in my care. Apart from that, there is a whole physiotherapy program that I have planned for you, which we will begin once your pain is under control. So, now, if I have answered your queries, can you leave my hand and let me do the job I’ve been paid to do?”
Still, his grip held firm. What was wrong with him? Why was he irking her like this?
The door opened and Tyrion entered. He stopped short, shocked to see Vedant awake.
Vedant released her hand reluctantly. Reluctantly? What the hell was that? Clearly, he’d hit his head hard when he’d been attacked because he was behaving extremely unlike himself. He was the cool brother, the controlled one, the one who got shit done. He had no business behaving out of the ordinary, now more than ever, what with Ivan on the loose.
Tyrion stopped at the foot of his bed while his doctor scribbled some notes on a clipboard.
“Boss!” Tyrion greeted him with a warm smile.
“Hello, Tyrion, how are you?” Vedant asked in Russian, genuinely concerned about him.
Tyrion’s eyes widened. “I should be asking you that, Sir. How are you?”
“I’m not too good!” Vedant sighed. He switched to English. “My very capable doctor tells me that I will take time to recover and that too if I follow her instructions.”
He saw her hand pause on the clipboard before her lips pursed, and she continued scribbling.
“Yeah, Dr. Singh is very capable,” Tyrion replied in English. He bestowed a huge smile on the doctor.
To Vedant’s utter surprise, she looked at Tyrion and returned his smile. Her face softened and she no longer looked like a strict schoolmarm. She looked young and innocent.
Shaking that thought away, Vedant switched to Russian again. “Tell me about you, Tyrion? Are you injured?”
The night he’d been attacked, he hadn’t taken Tyrion because Tyrion had been unwell. Yet, his bodyguard had followed him out of a sense of duty and concern and reached him on time. Thanks to him, Vedant had been able to quickly fend off his quartet of attackers. That night, Tyrion had been injured too.
“I’m fine, Sir,” Tyrion replied, sticking to English as if he didn’t want the doctor to feel left out. “We all have been very worried about you. It’s good to see you awake after so many days. Do you need anything? Water?”
At his nod, Tyrion poured water from a jug and handed it to him.
“Slow sips, please,” Dr. Singh ordered. “And just a little bit for now.”
His first instinct was to disobey her haughty command and gulp down the whole glass of water. But he curbed that impulse and did as told.
He held the glass in his hand while the doctor approached.
“Do you remember what happened to you?” she asked.
“Yes, in vivid detail.”
She ticked something on her chart.
He faced his bodyguard, switching to Russian again. “I never thanked you, Tyrion. You were unwell, and yet you came, right on time. You saved my life that night.”
“Sir, I was following orders from Mr. Mihir to never let you go anywhere alone,” Tyrion continued to speak in English. “That’s all. It was my job to be by your side. And to be honest, I only took you to the hospital.” He looked at Vedant’s doctor. “She saved you.”
Dr. Singh raised her head and smiled at Tyrion again. Tyrion was looking at her in awe, like she was some miracle worker. She dipped her head at him before focusing back on her clipboard.
What was going on here? Were these two friends now? And how did it matter even if they were? It wasn’t his concern at all.
Ignoring that, Vedant asked, “Do we have an update on that fourth man who got away? I’m sure my brothers must have instructed you to look for him.”
Tyrion exchanged a glance with the doctor again before looking at him. He spoke in English, “The thing is, Sir, I am not supposed to discuss work with you, especially anything concerning that night.” He smiled obediently at Dr. Singh. “Doctor’s orders, you see.”
Vedant couldn’t believe her nerve. She was ordering his team now? How dare she? Before he could open his mouth and say something scathing, she said, “Your brother agreed when I said that it’s better for you not to stress or get anxious about anything so soon in your recovery. So, if you have a problem with this, then best take it up with him.”
She put the clipboard back on the trolley next to his bed before she got to work, disconnecting the IV bag from the cannula at his wrist and administering two injections in it. Once done, she connected the IV tube back to his wrist.
“Tyrion, I’ll get going,” she said. “Will you stay with Mr. Oshnov?—”
“—Vedant,” Vedant interrupted. “Call me Vedant.”
She didn’t even look at him as she continued. “Will you stay with Mr. Oshnov until Dr. Jones arrives. My shift is over, thankfully .”
She mumbled the last words, but he heard her anyway, and it annoyed him anyway.
She faced him. “Mr. Oshnov, please rest as much as you can. I have to change your dressings in a day or two, but until then, don’t exert yourself and keep your left shoulder and right leg as stationary as possible. It will help them heal better.”
With those orders and a happy wave at Tyrion, she left the room. Vedant shifted, and suddenly, all the aches and pains in his body made themselves known. Fuck.
He needed to get better soon, which meant for the time being, he was stuck listening to his difficult doctor. The one important thing, he realised, was that during those minutes he’d spent arguing with her or getting mad at her, he’d forgotten his pain.
How very strange.