Chapter 10 Claire
CLAIRE
Toward the end of my shift, I hung back by the nurses’ station and checked over the charts I had to review.
So much of my job was bogged down with administrative duties like this.
Reviewing charts, updating clinical notes, ordering labs and diagnostics.
Technology helped. I couldn’t imagine having to use paper or not rely on dictation.
Most times, going through the busywork of paperwork kept me preoccupied. I was still focused and on task, but the autopilot of charts gave me a break from being completely on. It gave me a chance to process all the heavier things that tugged at my heartstrings on the clock.
Like when I had to tell a young woman that her husband had died from the car accident he was in. Or when I explained to the older couple that their teen had a massive, untreatable tumor we’d found while they were here for another emergency.
It almost gave me a spell of downtime to decompress.
In the days since I’d stupidly gone over to see Mikhail, though, it was impossible to feel truly relaxed or calm.
That arrogant Mafia boss was still on my mind.
Despite how firmly I’d declared that we came from two different worlds, such a gap that prevented me from being his private doctor or a potential lover, he was lodged in my thoughts.
He was the catalyst for naughty dreams and fantasies I had no business entertaining.
Stop. Stop thinking about him.
I could coach myself with that constantly, but it just wouldn’t stick. He lived rent-free in my head regardless of the lack of seeing him here or anywhere else.
I should never have gone over there.
It hadn’t worked. I hadn’t accomplished anything in that ill-fated visit to his fancy home.
I hadn’t sated my curiosity about him, more eager to think about him and wonder with increased intensity. I hadn’t actually checked over his wounds completely to be able to persuade myself that I’d gone there in the capacity of a professional duty.
Life was supposed to be back to normal now. I was supposed to be free of him since walking away.
At the commotion near the triage area, shouts and the ever-familiar loudness of patients being wheeled in for emergency care, I tensed at the idea that nothing would ever be normal again.
There was before meeting Mikhail and after Mikhail almost kissed me. That was how my life would be split into chapters now.
Because the men rushing in, bloodied, wounded, and limping, were the same guards and soldiers I’d seen in the Orlov residence.
Two of the men were the blond, muscled brutes who’d shown up when Mikhail was unconscious and bleeding out. Others in suits had the same uniform appearance.
Bloody hell.
“There.” One taller man who bore a resemblance to Mikhail tipped his chin at me. “Dr. Donovon.”
Fuck.
I set down my tablet, locking the screen on the chart as I approached.
I wanted nothing to do with them. Fatima and Jack had both told me to think twice about getting involved with this family.
I had been raised to obey the law, not skirt around it and claim loopholes.
In any other circumstances, I should’ve been running from the sight of these lawless men.
But I was a doctor on duty. People were wounded, and it was my job, my sworn oath, that motivated me to run to them.
“Now what?” I muttered, not wanting to stop and analyze why these Orlov men had singled me out.
“He’s been stabbed,” the tall man said, holding up another who was hanging against him like he had no strength to stand.
I nodded, directing the techs and nurses to assist me. When the interns ran close, likely eager for a “juicy” case and some action, I warned them back. “No.”
They didn’t need to be involved. They were too young, too sheltered, too innocent.
Fatima kept her head down and worked efficiently, as did I, as we got the man onto a gurney.
“Stabbed in his back,” the man said, cringing as his comrade in crime was flat and being wheeled away.
“You too?” I asked curtly.
“No.” He gestured at the others being hurried in. Two others looked to be in rough shape as well. “They were shot.”
Fuck. Fuck this.
I furrowed my brow at the results of so much violence. So much danger and carelessness for the gift of life and health they all abused. Like they were all-powerful, playing God to determine who should live or die.
Before I could get far, the man took hold of my wrist. “Dr. Donovon.”
“Please, he needs help.” I frowned at his keeping me in place.
“No registration. No documentation.” His stern look held all the authority necessary to chill me.
I pressed my lips together, displeased but not caring about his mandate either.
He wouldn’t tell me what to do. Dawn or Donna or whoever in billing and registration could handle that headache.
My role was to save this man’s life, not to judge whether he deserved to live for all the crimes he'd committed. Not to be proper and follow protocol to ensure he was registered and entered in the hospital’s billing department.
I pushed forward, breaking the man’s hold on my wrist. Shoving all thoughts about his reminder that I had to break the law and lie about this man ever being here, I snapped into the zone and worked with the team to stem the blood loss, to help patch up his wounds and determine if anything critical was happening with his brush with violence.
Hours passed as we all worked on keeping the man alive. Throughout it all, my conscience was flogged with the acknowledgment that I was already complicit. Treating anyone off the record in this facility was wrong. Going to a Mafia man’s home for a private house visit was more wrong.
This isn’t who I am.
This isn’t how I was raised.
My parents would be rolling over in their graves if they knew I was being complicit like this, an accomplice to fraud and lies.
Yet, I didn’t speak up. I didn’t try to follow protocol. The weight of the silence scared me. It unnerved me that I wasn’t stopping and doing the right thing by speaking up.
But once the man was taken to surgery and I left the room where we’d stabilized him, I spotted the Orlov guards in the hallway.
These two looked more “normal”, almost like plainclothesmen, but their serious and deadly stares spoke volumes.
I frowned and looked away, terrified to even speak to these criminals, to associate with these thugs, to harbor or facilitate a deeper connection to any of the Orlov Bratva members because of how much their boss intimidated me and left me so rattled.
Taking off my stethoscope and letting my shoulders sag, I turned down another hallway and hung my head.
What was I thinking?
Am I even thinking anymore?
There is nothing rational about my behavior.
Like Mikhail is some force of life to make me disregard the law and propriety.
Like he—
I stopped short, almost colliding with someone.
“Whoa.”
The man who stood in front of me was another one of them. Already, I was becoming too familiar, recognizing them easily.
Tensing up, I frowned at him.
“It’s okay.”
I couldn’t help but huff out a laugh.
Nothing was okay anymore. Not with my willingness to look the other way when they showed up. Not with how much his boss captivated me and still had me wondering what it’d be like if he’d kissed me that afternoon.
“Nothing will happen to you,” he said. “My uncle has made sure of it.”
I raised my brows, connecting the dots quickly.
Mikhail had looked into me. He’d been thinking about me. My God, he might have even started viewing me and my position here as a doctor as his personal advantage. Like I was a tool to use and count on.
Shaking my head, I tried not to panic.
“He’s sworn that nothing will happen to you. Your job will be safe. You’ll be safe from helping us.”
“Fuck,” I whispered, still shaking my head. “I’m not yours—his. I’m not some resource your organization can use.”
Dodging him, I walked quickly away. I’d be damned if I ran. That would be too telling of my fear. But I couldn’t stomach this, this realization that I wasn’t as pure and good as I wanted to think I could be.
A glance at my watch proved that my shift was done, though. I could escape now, even if it was just for the night. Hurrying through the end of my shift and logging out of all the programs and charts I still had open, I focused on getting home to the apartment that didn’t feel like a home.
Just as long as I wasn’t here. As long as I could hide from the fact that I’d lied on the clock, hiding that I’d helped those criminals off the record.
I’m going to hell.
Before I grabbed my keys and jacket from my locker, I paused at the ping of an email on my phone. Worrying that work was trying to come home with me, I walked out of the staff area in a daze. Head down, gaze glued to the screen, I read through my personal email.
“Oh, thank God.” I exhaled in relief as I exited. “Oh, thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”
Relieved and lighter, I almost smiled at the email message that explained my sabbatical details had been finalized. I could really escape now. I could go off on that mission and really be far from the Orlovs or any other organized crime member in this rough city.
I wouldn’t be around to deal with Mikhail. I wouldn’t be near any chances of running into him again or risking an encounter with any of his men who’d remind me of him.
I’d be far from here and—
My body fell back as someone slammed their hands against my shoulders.
Whipping my head up and gasping in alarm, I smacked into the wall of the hospital’s parking garage.
Dim lights blurred in the background. The distant drone of the city and cars fell to the wayside as I scrambled not to trip with the spike of adrenaline flooding my system.
“Where is he? Where is the Orlov?” a rough-looking man demanded. He gripped me instantly, locking his strong fingers on my neck as he shoved me against the wall and lifted me.
Choking at the cutoff of oxygen, I clawed at his hands.
I kicked my legs and tried to buck to loosen his lethal grip on my throat.
Panic swept over me as I frantically tried to keep up.
I was just walking along, exiting the hospital and minding my own business.
I was lost in my thoughts of getting out of this grimy, dangerous city.
Then in the next flash of time, I was captured and unable to breathe!
It happened so fast. He came out of nowhere, sneaking up on me from the shadows. His menacing scowl invited tears to spring to my eyes. The stink of him—sweat and cologne and smoke—nauseated me as I strained not to pass out.
“Where is that fucker, Sergei Orlov? What room is he in, bitch?” He didn’t wait, ramping up the terror by lifting a gun and pressing the end of the barrel to my temple.
What?
What are you—
What the fuck?
Why—
I couldn’t think past the horror that lanced through my entire body. It encompassed me, numbing me from reacting. Even if I knew what to say, I physically couldn’t speak. His fingers squeezed on my neck, but it was the cold press of the metal at my head that had me gasping louder.
No. Not now. It’s too soon. It’s not my time. I’m not done. I’m—
I closed my eyes and fought the dizziness from the combination of panic and lack of oxygen.
Please. Dear God, please, don’t let me die. I can’t die yet. I’m not ready. Please!
“What room is he in?” He pushed me against the wall harder, increasing the pressure at my throat. “What fucking room is Sergei Orlov in?” Jamming the gun against my head more, he leaned in to snarl, “Because that motherfucker isn’t going to live past his surgery.”
Please, please don’t kill me!
As quickly as this man snuck up to ambush me and render me defenseless, he suffered the same fate.
Someone else noticed us.
Someone nearby ran fast with a deliberate aim to knock this man away.
I dropped, coughing and gasping for air. The raw ache in my throat and lungs seared too hot and awful for me to react to the fall. My knees banged against the pavement. My free hand slapped down on the gritty texture of the surface, skinning my palm.
As I set my fingers on my throat and rubbed the tender flesh that was bruised, I sluggishly and jerkily lifted my head. On my hands and knees, I was at a child’s eye view of Mikhail as he tackled the Italian thug.
They grunted and growled, fighting like animals, but all I could focus on was that he was here.
After damning him for teasing me and toying with me, after loathing him for the implied reliance he’d put on me as if I’d be his doctor off the record for his Mafia men, he was here.
Right when I needed someone the most. Right when I needed him. Because no member of the hospital security team would move with that ruthless speed and power, punching this man and slamming his head to the pavement to disarm him.
He was the one to come and save me.
Mikhail Orlov. This Mafia boss was here to rescue me.
“Fuck you,” the man growled, straining to crane his neck and seek me out as Mikhail pinned him down. In the struggle, he turned his hand to aim his gun at me again.
No!
I dropped, flattening to the pavement as the shot went off.
He’d fired at me.
He’d tried to kill me.
Shaking from the blast, I didn’t dare look up. Before I could try to, another shot was fired. Muffled, but still potent, a second bullet was spent.
“Claire.” Mikhail’s voice was rough and steady. “Claire. Are you hit?”
I trembled, unable to speak, unable to move and too terrified to even try to run.
Which way would I go? How could I get out of this mess? I wasn’t supposed to be involved but now…
“Claire.” Mikhail stood. I heard his footsteps. He was speaking too calmly with a dangerous threat so near. It had to mean he’d shot him. He’d killed him after I was almost shot.
His hands grabbed my upper arms. With a mixture of gentle urging and impatient necessity, he picked me up from the garage floor.
“Claire!” He raised me enough so he could duck down and peer at me, locking his worried gaze on me.
Time moved as if I were in a haze under the spell of being stunned.
All I could do was breathe, sucking in desperate pulls of air.
All I could feel was his strong hold. His anger was palpable as he encouraged me to stand.
Shaking and shivering, as a physical shock kicked in, I glanced past him and saw my attacker with one red hole between his eyes.
Dead.
Mikhail had killed him—for me.
I closed my eyes, horrified at the gore of violence so up close.
“Let’s go.”
He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and steered me away from my first near-death experience. As I staggered to keep up with him, too numb to protest or flee, I couldn’t help but imagine this wouldn’t be my last near-death experience if I allowed myself to be near him again.