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“You’re not okay until every doctor in the building looks me in my eyes and stakes their fucking lives on the fact that you are okay,” he says. “Don’t even try to argue with me.”
I know he’s right. I’m probably dehydrated. And someone should check on the baby. I just want nothing more than to be back home in the mansion. I don’t want to be in another strange room surrounded by people I don’t know.
“I can’t believe we’re all okay,” I murmur.
I feel Yakov tense. His entire body goes rigid.
I jerk back. “We are, aren’t we? Everyone is okay?”
“Not everyone.” His lips are pale.
I don’t even want to ask. It’s selfish, but I want to stay in this moment with him. I want things to be okay for five fucking seconds. But I say it anyway.
“Who?”
He looks away from me. “Nikandr.”
“Is he…?”
“It’s not looking good.”
Before I can say anything else, Yakov scoops me into his arms and walks me out of the cell. I want to see if he’s okay and ask more about what happened to Nikandr, but it’s beyond obvious that he doesn’t want to talk. So I wrap my arms around him, clinging to him like my life depends on it.
I have the feeling he’s clinging to me just as hard.
10
YAKOV
“She’s slightly dehydrated, but otherwise, she is the picture of health.” The middle-aged doctor smiles at Luna. That smile dims when he turns back to me.
“If she was the ‘picture of health,’ she wouldn’t be dehydrated,” I say slowly, grinding the words out between clenched teeth.
I haven’t been able to relax. Even when Luna was sitting in the passenger seat next to me, Akim’s fucked-up torture house shrinking in the rearview mirror, I couldn’t let go of the feeling that something was wrong. I still can't.
Luna touches my arm. Her fingers are cold. “I feel okay, Yakov. Really.”
“How many more doctors are you planning to cycle through tonight?” Mariya groans from her hospital bed on the other side of the room. There’s a thin curtain pulled around her half of the room, but I can see the glow of her phone against the wall. “They’ve all said the exact same thing and some of us are trying to sleep over here.”
“As many doctors as it takes to not get some sugar-coated, bullshit answer."
“I don’t think their answers are bullshit,” Luna says with a nervous chuckle for the doctor’s sake.
The doctor nods. “I’m giving my honest assessment, Mr. Kulikov. Luna is perfectly?—”
“And you aren’t even sleeping,” I interrupt, ripping Mariya’s curtain back. “You’ve been on your phone since I gave it back to you three hours ago.”
Mariya narrows her eyes at me. “I have a lot to catch up on since I was shot.”
She’s going to play that card for a long, long time. I don’t even care. At least she’s alive and conscious to play it.
Snarling, I tug the curtain closed again and turn to the doctor. “I want Luna admitted until she’s the actual picture of health. I want her picture to be in fucking textbooks as a perfect specimen. Do you understand me?"
Dr. Andrews furrows his thick brows. “The notes from her emergency room visit show she was given a saline bag upon arrival. From this point forward, normal rehydration at home would be satisfactory to?—”
“I’m not paying for ‘satisfactory.’ I want her to be fucking perfect.”
Luna curls her arm around my elbow, holding me tight. She’s in the same pale blue hospital gown Mariya is wearing, with my sweater layered on top. She wanted more coverage, which makes sense, considering she was naked when I found her. “I feel great, Yakov. I’m fine.”
