Page 103 of Brutal Reign

“Do what?”

“Put yourself last. Promise me.” I pull her close, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Okay,” she says finally. “I promise.”

CHAPTER

THIRTY-SEVEN

HOPE

We pullinto the medical building’s parking lot at the same time as a shiny black Audi. It screeches into the space next to Pavel’s SUV, and a man with short dark hair jumps out, a white coat hastily thrown over a dress shirt, tie, and dark slacks. We get out to meet him, and he looks frantic as he scans us for injuries.

He starts speaking in rapid-fire Russian until Pavel raises a hand and says, “English.”

The doctor blinks but switches languages. “What happened? Is it a shooting we’re dealing with, or a stabbing? How many men?” His head swivels like he’s expecting a van full of bleeding soldiers. “Are they already inside? You said it was an emergency. I was in the middle of my daughter’s graduation.”

Pavel straightens, and there’s something threatening in the shift of his posture. “And it is, Dr. Medvedev. My wife needs medical attention.”

The doctor finally seems to register my presence, his gaze settling on me with wariness. “Wife?”

“My wife, Hope.” Pavel says the words with possessive intensity. “So you see why this is much more important than a graduation ceremony.”

The doctor pales. “Of course, Mr. Fedorov.”

I don’t know if I should laugh or cry. Pavel’s caveman display is so over the top it’s almost funny, but there’s a small part of me that enjoys the way he makes my well-being his absolute priority.

Dr. Medvedev nods and clamps his mouth shut, like he knows better than to question Pavel. I haven’t seen this side of him yet. Yes, he demands respect from his men, but this is the cold, commanding head of the Syndicate that no one in their right mind would contradict.

It’s kind of hot.

The doctor unlocks a back door, leading us into a small but well-equipped examination room. Everything is spotlessly clean, stainless steel and white surfaces gleaming under fluorescent lights. I perch nervously on the edge of the examination table.

Pavel follows us in and settles into the chair in the corner like he owns the place.

“Maybe you can wait outside,” I say, turning to face him.

“No.”

My cheeks redden. “This is a medical exam, Pavel. It’s private.”

He crosses his arms, making it clear he’s not budging. “Everything about you is my business, angel moy.”

Dr. Medvedev’s head swivels as he looks between us. Accepting that Pavel isn’t leaving, he clutches his tablet and asks me, “What seems to be the issue?”

“I have hypothyroidism,” I explain. “I ran out of my medication recently, and I’m starting to feel the effects. I just need my prescription fil?—”

“She needs a complete physical,” Pavel interrupts. “Full blood panel and thyroid assessment.”

I take a deep breath and swallow my embarrassment. “And birth control,” I add.

Pavel raises his eyebrows but says nothing else. The way we’ve been going at it, we need to employ a more reliable method than pulling out.

The doctor nods, reaching for latex gloves. “We’ll do your blood work first, then proceed with the check-up.”

He works efficiently, starting off by filling multiple vials with my blood. I have to look away, so I focus on Pavel instead. He sits back, watching his every move. His blond hair is pulled back in a way that makes his sharp cheekbones even more pronounced, and he’s wearing a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his inked forearms.

“Are you currently on any form of birth control?” Dr. Medvedev asks, labeling the tubes.