Page 74 of Twisted Tyrant


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“No,” he says abruptly. He shifts suddenly on the bed with a gasp. “That’s not why–” he croaks but the blaring machines take control of all sound in the room.

His words are drowned out by beeps, buzzes, and ear-shattering alarms. I twist to look around at the monitors lining the room. Bright green lines blur from the speed with which they zip across the screens.

What the fuck is happening?

“Dima,” I say, my voice cutting through the chaos. “Stay with me, okay?”

He motions for me to come close, and I cross over to him. A chill licks the hairs along the back of my neck.

“You need to save the family now.” Dima whispers the words so faintly I have to dip my head so low, it’s next to his mouth.

I grasp one of his hands. Fuck, it’s ice-cold. He gives mine a weak squeeze before his eyes droop closed, his face whiter than the pillow under it.

I run to the door and fling it open. “Nurse! Someone, help!”

Not even a nanosecond passes before a team of nurses and doctors invade the space with a crash cart. One of the nurses tries to push me out of the room, but my legs tense, refusing to move. My feet root to the spot on the shiny tile floor.

“Sir, you need to leave,” she insists.

“No,” I say. My mouth is so dry, I can barely utter a syllable. Imaginary sand fills it, making any speech impossible. I stare at the bed…at Dima…as the nurses tear his gown open. They grab paddles and climb on top of his listless body before pressing them against his bare chest.

“Clear!”

Over and over and over, one of the nurses shouts that fateful word.

But my brother never wakes up.

His body never responds.

And the person I’ve hated for years, the one I started my life with, is suddenly yanked from it.

Forever.

For a long time, I’d thought Dima’s death would be the end of my problems.

Now I realize it’s just the first of many new ones to come.

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