Page 85 of Russian Roulette

“Does this help?” he asks. “Recognize me now?”

I reach up to tuck the few strands of hair he missed under the cap. “That’s better,” I say. “With your size, you’ll still be hard to miss, but at least your hair is covered. Is there any way I can talk you out of taking me to the ER? I’m not kidding when I said I don’t like hospitals.”

“I don’t either,” he says, a touch of sadness in his voice. “I haven’t been inside one in a very long time. Your cut is deep. I’m sorry, you’ve got to go.”

I bury my face against his neck, realizing he’s right.

42

JADE

The next hour goes by in a blur. True to his word, Leroy drives carefully without running over any big bumps or curbs and delivers us quickly to the Emergency Room entrance of the closest hospital. Kit crawls out of the limo, still holding me like a tiny child in his arms, and rushes up to the front desk.

“We need help!” he yells. “She’s hurt.”

The nurse takes one glance at my pants leg soaked with blood and hurries around the desk. “Right this way,” she says. “We’ll put her in a room. Sir, are you a family member?”

“Yes,” he lies. “Her brother.”

“Follow me,” she says. She ushers us along a hallway and into a tiny room with a hospital bed and one metal chair. “Put her on the bed and I’ll get her vital signs.”

Kit eases me onto the hospital bed, and I try not to cry out again when he needs to move my leg. “She’s in terrible pain,” he says to the nurse. “The knife sliced her deeply. Can she get something to help with the pain?”

“Yes, but the doctor will need to examine her first,” she replies firmly.

“How long will that be?” he asks.

“Hopefully soon,” she says. “We’re very busy and he’s with other patients right now. Miss, I’ll need to get some information from you, and we have several forms that need to be filled out. Do you have your health insurance card with you? I’ll also need a copy of your driver’s license or other identification for our records.”

Fuck!

My eyes fly to Kit’s face. My gig is up. The moment I hand over my driver’s license and insurance card, I’m done for. Dead girls don’t show up at hospital emergency rooms. I knew this was a terrible idea. Health care computer systems are notoriously easy to hack. I’ve prowled through them plenty of times myself. If she puts my insurance information into her computer, the Russian mafia will realize I’m alive. The paper trail will send them running straight to me.

I’m a dead girl walking.

“I don’t have my backpack with me,” I say. “Everything is in there. What can I do?”

The nurse glances over at me and lets out a tired sigh. “We can’t refuse you emergency treatment if you don’t have insurance. You’ll still need to fill out the medical forms. If you need to be admitted to the hospital, we might need to transfer you to another facility. One that accepts uninsured patients.”

An indigent hospital, in other words. “I have health insurance,” I say, frowning at her. “Honest, I do. I can bring the card by later or call it in to someone over the phone.”

She gives me a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, telling me she’s heard this line many times before. Most likely from patients who don’t have insurance and are afraid of being turned away for medical care.This is fucked up.

Kit pulls out his wallet and offers her a credit card. “Here’s my card. I’ll sign to authorize all expenses for her medical care if that’s going to be a problem or cause a delay.”

“No, don’t do that,” I tell him. “There’s no telling what this visit will cost. I can’t have you paying for it when I’ve paid insurance premiums.”

“What are brothers for if not to help their sister out?” he replies, giving me a wink behind her back.

The nurse waves his card away. “A credit card won’t be necessary at this point. I’ll tell you if we need a deposit for treatment later. I’ll be back with forms for you to sign in a minute.” She disappears after a quick peek at my leg, clearly more concerned with getting forms filled out than fixing me up.

“I don’t want you paying for this,” I tell Kit. His large frame is perching precariously on the edge of the metal chair. “From what I’ve heard, emergency room visits can run into the thousands.”

“And it would be worth every penny to get you stitched up,” he says. “Don’t worry. The main thing is to get you examined by a doctor fast.” He reaches behind me to adjust my pillow. “You’re uncomfortable,” he says. “What can I do? Should I ask for a blanket? It’s freezing in this room.”

“Being here with me is enough. Thank you. You’re always trying to save me.”

“Trying is the key word here. I’m always too little too late and running a step behind.”