Chapter 31
Kira
Maksim's eyes roll back, and he starts to collapse.
"Maksim!" I lunge forward, trying to catch him, but he's too heavy. He hits the floor hard, his head cracking against the tile.
Two nurses rush in, followed by the doctor who examined me.
"He's been shot," I blurt out. "In the leg. He wouldn't get treatment until I was checked."
"Stubborn idiot," one of the nurses mutters, already checking his pulse. "Get a gurney. Now."
Within seconds, they have him loaded onto a stretcher. I follow as they wheel him down the corridor, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Is he going to be okay?" My voice sounds small, scared. I hate how scared I sound.
"Blood loss and shock," the doctor says, not slowing. "We need to get him stabilized. You need to wait here."
"No." I grab the edge of the gurney. "I'm not leaving him."
"Ma'am, you need to—"
"I'm pregnant with his children. Twins. And I just watched him survive a building collapse." My voice breaks. "I'm not leaving him."
The doctor's expression softens slightly, but he doesn't relent. "You can wait right outside the trauma room. But I need you to let us work."
They push through double doors, and a nurse physically blocks my path. "Right here," he says gently. "We'll update you as soon as we know anything."
The doors swing shut, leaving me standing in another sterile hallway.
I sink onto a plastic chair, my hands shaking. The ultrasound images are still clutched in my fist, slightly crumpled now.
I smooth them out carefully. Two tiny shapes. Two heartbeats.
Our babies.
Maksim has to survive this. He has to meet them. Has to hold them.
I press my hand to my stomach, feeling nothing yet but knowing they're there. Growing. Depending on me to keep them safe.
"Please," I whisper to whatever gods might be listening. "Please let him be okay."
Anya appears beside me, dropping into the chair. Her face is streaked with tears and soot. I look at her and realized I probably look just as bad.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
"Maksim passed out. Blood loss. Stubborn fool. I swear I will kill him if he dies.”
She smiles. “I think we’ve all learned the man is made of titanium. He’s not going anywhere. The devil doesn’t want him.”
"We're having twins."
She laughs. “Yeah right.”
I hand her the crumpled-up paper that is the proof.
Her eyes widen. "Twins?"
"Two babies, Anya. And their father just collapsed because he's too stubborn to take care of himself."
"He was taking care of you." She squeezes my hand. "That's what he does."
"I know." Tears burn my eyes. "But I need him alive. These babies need him alive."
We sit in silence, both of us staring at those double doors. Willing them to open. Willing someone to come out and tell us Maksim is fine.
Time crawls. Minutes feel like hours.
A doctor comes out looking just a little frantic.
I hop to my feet. “What’s wrong? Is he okay?”
The doctor sighs. “He lost a lot of blood. The injury tore through some arteries. He’s got some broken ribs—”
“Those are probably old,” I say absently. “He got shot a couple of weeks ago.”
He looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Yeah. I saw. Look, that man is lucky to be alive. I don’t know how he is alive to be frank. You should probably go get comfortable. We need to do a full workup. He’s bruised. Was he in that building that collapsed?”
I nod slowly. “Yes.”
He curses under his breath. “Please, go sit and get comfortable.”
He starts to walk away but I grab his arm. The doctor looks at me. “Just tell me, is he going to live?”
“Yes, but I need to get some blood.”
“Come on,” Anya says. “You need to eat. Drink. You heard the doctor; he’s going to be okay.”
I want to sit in that room and oversee everything.
But I can’t.
I’ll be in the way. I have to let them do their thing.
I let Anya lead me away.
Anya pulls me toward the public restrooms near the emergency department entrance. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting harsh shadows that make everything feel more surreal.
I push through the bathroom door and catch my reflection in the mirror. I stop dead.
"Oh my God," I breathe.
Anya appears beside me, and we both stare at our reflections in stunned silence.
I look like I crawled out of a grave. My face is streaked with soot and ash, creating dark lines that make me look like some kind of warrior gone to battle.
My hair is a tangled mess with debris caught in the strands.
Blood—Maksim's blood, my father's blood, stains my clothes and hands.
My eyes are wild; pupils dilated with adrenaline that hasn't worn off yet.
Anya looks just as bad. Maybe worse. Her normally perfect blonde hair is gray with ash, standing up in odd angles. Soot covers her face like war paint.
We lock eyes in the mirror.
And then, inexplicably, we both start laughing.
It's not funny. Nothing about tonight is funny. But the laughter bubbles up anyway, hysterical and uncontrollable. We're alive. Against all odds, we're standing here looking like extras from an apocalypse film, but we're alive.
"We look like hell," Anya gasps between giggles.
"Literally." I wipe at my face, which only smears the ash around. "I think there's a piece of ceiling in my hair."
"There is. Want me to get it?"
"Please."
She picks through my tangled hair, extracting chunks of concrete and who knows what else.
"Your turn," I say when she's done.
I return the favor, finding even more debris in her lighter hair. "You need a shower. Like, immediately."
"So do you." She turns on the faucet, wetting paper towels. "Here, let's at least get the worst of it off."
We scrub at our faces and hands, the white paper towels turning black almost instantly. It takes a dozen towels each before we start to look remotely human again.
"Better?" I ask, checking my reflection.
"Marginally." Anya tries to finger-comb her hair into something resembling order. "Still look like we've been through a war."
"We have been through a war."
The laughter fades. Reality crashes back in. My father is in critical condition. Maksim is being treated for God knows how many injuries. And I'm standing in a hospital bathroom covered in the evidence of tonight's violence.
"Come on." Anya grabs my hand. "Food. You need to eat something."
"I'm not hungry."
"You're pregnant. With twins. You need to eat whether you feel like it or not.”
I let her pull me down the hallway toward the cafeteria. The hospital at this hour is quieter than before, though still busy. We pass doctors and nurses rushing down the hall with various supplies. I wonder if any of them are working on Maksim right now.
The cafeteria is nearly empty. A few exhausted-looking doctors and visitors sit hunched over coffee cups in one corner.
"Sit," Anya commands, steering me toward a table. "I'll get food."
"I can—"
"Sit."
I sit. My legs are shaking anyway, the adrenaline finally wearing off completely. The plastic chair is uncomfortable, but I'm too tired to care.
Anya returns with two trays loaded with toast, fruit, and bottles of water. She sets one in front of me.
"Eat," she says.
I stare at the food. My stomach churns at the thought of eating, but I know she's right. I need to eat. The babies need me to eat.
I still can't quite wrap my head around it. Two lives growing inside me.
I pick up a piece of toast and force myself to take a bite. It tastes like cardboard, but I chew and swallow mechanically.
"Good," Anya says, watching me like a hawk. "Keep going."
We eat in silence. I manage to get through one slice of toast and some fruit before my stomach rebels. I push the tray away.
"That's all I can do," I say.
"It's enough for now." She drinks her water, studying me over the rim of the bottle. "So. Twins."
"Twins," I confirm.
"How do you feel about that?"
"Terrified." The word comes out before I can stop it. "I can barely handle the idea of one baby. Two? Anya, how am I supposed to protect two babies in this world?"
"The same way you've protected me all these years. You're going to be an amazing mother, Kira."
We make our way back to the waiting room. I check in with a nurse and am told there’s no news yet.
Semyon finds us eventually. He's been treated—stitches above his eye, his arm in a sling. "Any word?"
"Not yet." I don't look away from the doors. "He passed out. They took him in."
"Damn it." Semyon sits heavily on my other side. "Stubborn bastard should have been treated hours ago."
"He was worried about me." My voice cracks. "About the babies."
"Babies?" Semyon's head snaps toward me. "Plural?"
"Twins." I show him the images.
"Well, shit. Maksim's going to have his hands full."
"If he survives," I whisper.
"He will. This is just another day for him."
The doors finally open. A doctor emerges, pulling off bloody gloves.
I'm on my feet before I realize I'm moving. "How is he?"
"Stable," the doctor says, and I nearly collapse with relief. "The bullet went clean through, no major arteries hit. He lost a lot of blood, which is why he passed out. We've given him a transfusion and stitched him up."
"Can I see him?"
"He's sedated right now. We want him to rest." The doctor's expression is kind. "But yes, you can see him. Just for a few minutes."
I follow the doctor into a recovery area with several beds separated by curtains. Maksim is in the far corner, hooked up to monitors and IVs.
He looks pale against the white sheets. Vulnerable in a way I'm not used to seeing.
I pull a chair close to the bed and take his hand.
"You're an idiot," I tell him quietly. "A stubborn, reckless idiot."
His fingers twitch slightly in mine.
"But you saved my father. He didn’t deserve a single ounce of your blood but you did it anyway. You did it for me.”
"You have to be here for us." Tears spill down my cheeks. "So no more heroics, okay? No more throwing yourself in front of bullets. We need you."
The monitors beep steadily. His chest rises and falls with each breath.
A nurse appears at my elbow. "I'm sorry, but you need to let him rest. You can come back in a few hours."
I don't want to leave. But I know she's right.
I lean down, pressing my lips to Maksim's forehead. "I love you," I whisper.
Then I force myself to walk away and leave him in the hands of people who can help him more than I can right now.
Anya and Semyon are waiting for me.
"He's okay," I say. "Stable. Sedated. They want him to rest."
"Good." Semyon stands. “I need to check on some things. Do you want to go to the safehouse?”
“No,” I answer without hesitation. “I need to be here.”
He nods. “I’ve got men stationed outside. You’ll be safe.”
“I’ll stay with her,” Anya says.
“Tell him I’ll be back,” Semyon says.
I stop him from leaving. “Semyon?”
“Yeah?”
“If you find Roman, please kill him. I don’t want justice. I want him dead.”
“I know,” he replies. “And I will.”