Page 10 of Claim Me

Whoever had attacked him would pay a hefty price.

I took a deep breath before pushing open the door.

The source of the pumping sound was identified the moment I walked into Charlie’s ICU room. I stopped just inside the doorway, anger swelling to the surface.

I’d never even known he and his family had moved from New York to Seattle, although I’d heard his father had been dead set on owning and operating a casino like the ones my father and uncle had designed and managed to build into prosperous empires decades before.

Learning something so monumental reminded me just how many years had slipped through my fingers while attempting to achieve the American dream. I moved to the end of the bed, casually glancing at the various monitors he was attached to. Heart and blood pressure, oxygen and brain activity.

His skin was a shade of gray indicating he was steps away from death, something the nurse had warned me about. Along with reminding me not to stay more than a few minutes.

Exhaling, I remained quiet, fearful I’d wake him, but I’d sensed the urgency in his tone. Perhaps he knew he wasn’t going to recover. I moved closer, peering down at my old friend. Untilnow, it appeared time and perseverance had given him the success his father has shoved in his face.

He was in a private hospital and private room, something only the best insurance could afford. When he didn’t move, I shifted toward the window, staring out at the gray day. With no knowledge of his recent past, I felt helpless. I’d soon need to learn about his next of kin. I had no clue whether his mother and father were even still alive, and he’d rarely talked about them to begin with.

We’d both been in our early twenties, sowing our wild oats since our fathers had money to burn. Yeah, I’d been a playboy all right. In some ways, I still was, refusing to spend more than a few hours with a single woman. Charlie and I had adopted the philosophy that there were far too many fish in the sea to settle down early. Funny. I couldn’t remember the last time a woman had shared my bed.

Now, closing in on forty, I was already wondering about what my financial accomplishments meant in the scheme of life. Had money brought me happiness? Not to the degree those without money believed.

“Mmmm… Kaz.”

The deep, strangled rumble of his voice startled me. I turned my head, noticing he was searching the room, even attempting to sit up. He’d ripped down the mask, exposing his face and his breathing was labored.

Moving quickly, I stood over him as I’d done before. “Hey there, buddy. Don’t try and move. Your nurse already doesn’t like me very much.”

At first, there was utter relief in his eyes followed by an expression of fear, but he tried to hide it. “Hey, man. Knowing you, I thought you’d have her number by now.” He winced as he shifted, even reaching for the pillow.

I fluffed it the best I could, the anger only building.

Laughing, I shook my head. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“Or as handsome.” He coughed, his blood pressure immediately spiking. He heard the blip and briefly closed his eyes. “I’m dying, Kaz.”

“Hey, don’t say that shit.”

“I’m no fool. The surgeons did their best, but there’s too much internal damage. I’m bleeding internally. They’re fearful I’ll die on the table if I go back into surgery.”

“I’ll find better doctors.”

“Even your money can’t fix this.”

“Who did this?”

“Popov. Fucking Russian. Some henchman sporting a beard and a bad attitude did his bidding.” He coughed and I sucked in my breath.

I thought about the name as well as the area. “Vladimir Popov?” When he nodded, I tensed. Popov was also Russian Bratva, his reputation as a butcher widely known all throughout Russia. My father had mentioned he’d finally left his homeland for America. And my father’s sentiment had been not to cross the man. Since Popov wasn’t in our arena and had yet to attempt to do business in Las Vegas or Reno, I’d paid little attention to his antics.

“Why?”

Charlie fisted his hand around the sheet. “That’s not important just yet.”

“Then what is?”

“You need to protect her.”

“Protect who? Your wife?” I had absolutely no idea who he was talking about. Another product of losing touch. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

He shook his head slowly, licking his cracked lips as he attempted to focus. The flash of numbers on the machine indicated he was under severe duress. “My baby sister.”