Page 15 of Toxic Salvation (Krayev Bratva #2)

KOVAN

Osip peers through his window, squinting at the bright lights illuminating St. Raphael’s entrance. “This is the hospital.”

“Brilliant observation.” I slide out of the passenger seat and walk around to his side. “Nothing gets past you.”

“I thought we were getting a drink.”

“You are.” I toss him some cash. “On the house. Find a pretty woman to share it with you. Oh, and…” I hand him my keys, too. “Take my car home.”

He catches the keys and vaults over the center console with all the grace of a drunk elephant. Once he settles behind the wheel, he cranks down the window and grins at me. “Any parting words?”

I roll my eyes. “None worth sharing with a cretin like you. And for God’s sake, wipe that ridiculous expression off your face.”

His smirk only widens. “Late night booty call at the hospital? You’re a wild man, Kovan Krayev.”

“I’m not here to see Vesper. I’m here to deal with another snake.”

“Riiight.” He purses his lips thoughtfully. “Is that why you picked a time when Vesper would be on duty?”

“Merely a coincidence.”

“Oh, to be young again. What’s it like to fuck in an on-call room? I’ve fucked on a plane, in a park, and in the science museum, but never in a hospital.” He stares at the building with longing, like it’s the one that got away.

“Go home, Osip.” I turn toward the entrance. “And keep your nose out of my business.”

“Every man should have goals, that’s all I’m saying!” he shouts after me. “Ambitions! Aspirations! You’re living out my dreams, Kovan!”

I shake my head, chuckling, and stride through the automatic doors. The cleaning solution stings my nostrils immediately. I navigate the maze of corridors toward Jeremy’s office.

I have his entire schedule uploaded to my phone. He just finished surgery twenty minutes ago and should be reviewing post-op reports right about now. He has no idea I’m coming, which is exactly how I prefer it.

With every corner I turn, part of me hopes for a glimpse of Vesper. I don’t like the idea of her being on her feet for twelve-hour shifts while she’s pregnant, walking endless rounds, standing hunched over operating tables.

But I also don’t want to be accused of being possessive. She already thinks I’ve mastered that particular skill.

She isn’t wrong.

By the time I reach Jeremy’s office, though, I haven’t seen her. The frustration settles in my gut as I approach his secretary’s desk.

Empty. Perfect.

I don’t bother knocking.

Jeremy is bent over a stack of medical reports, but he jerks upright the moment I enter. His pen clatters to the floor.

He goes pale, his lips disappearing into a thin line as he scrambles to his feet. “M-Mr. Krayev! I wasn’t expecting you.”

“That’s the point, mudak.” I circle around his desk slowly, deliberately. He backs against the wall, but there’s nowhere to go. I grab him by the shirt and shove him hard against his own desk.

“Wh-wh-wh?—”

“How was your surgery?” I ask.

He’s still wearing dark blue scrubs. Blood stains the fabric near his collar. “I-I-I?—”

“Christ, man. Stop embarrassing yourself and spit it the fuck out.”

He looks ready to piss himself. Since I don’t want to get caught in the crossfire, I release him. But when he tries to step away from the desk, I block his path.

“Stay where you are.”

He freezes, cheeks flushing red. “Wh-what have I done?”

“Absolutely nothing useful. So now, you’re going to answer my questions.” I plant my hands on either side of him, trapping him against the desk. “When was the last time you spoke to Ihor Makhova?”

“I don’t recall.”

Sighing, I grab his right hand and twist his fingers backward until he starts to whimper. “If I apply more pressure right here,” I explain, “I will break your hand. It’ll be hard performing surgeries then, wouldn’t you say?”

“P-please… not my hand! What do you want to know?”

“Ihor. When did you last speak to him?”

“Two days ago!”

“What about?”

“He sent me a new— ah!— a new list.”

I increase the pressure on his fragile little bones. “I want details, Jeremy. For every unsatisfactory answer you give me, I’ll have to ruin a finger.”

He gulps hard. “Every month, he gives me a list of organs that he needs. It’s my job to handpick p-patients for… h-harvesting.”

Every muscle in my body tenses. This bastard deserves death just as much as Ihor. Maybe more. At least Ihor doesn’t pretend to be saving lives while he destroys them. But as much as I want to reduce him to a pile of broken bones and bleeding flesh, I still need him. For now.

“Show me this list.”

When I let go, he drops to his knee. He fumbles with the bottom drawer of his desk, his hands trembling. After a moment, he produces a single piece of paper.

I snatch it from him. Three items mark the top of the page, written in Ihor’s neat handwriting: Spleen. Kidney. Heart.

I stare at the list, reading those three simple words while hatred spreads through my chest. A person can survive without their spleen. A person can live with one healthy kidney.

But…

“A heart?” I look up at Jeremy. “He needs a fucking heart ?”

Jeremy shuffles away as far as he can go, trying to put distance between us without being obvious about it. “Y-yes...”

“I didn’t go to medical school, so educate me, Doctor.” I fold the paper in half, then in half again. “Is it possible for a person to survive without a heart?”

“T-there are temporary measures that can be taken—artificial hearts can support a person— Er, rather, they will support a person?—”

“Do I have to take a finger from you, Jeremy?”

Dark circles form around his eyes. “For long periods of time, or outside of a hospital, no. It is not possible to survive without a functioning heart.”

“So you’re not just stealing organs from your patients’ bodies. You’re actively murdering them.”

Jeremy stares at a spot behind me, refusing to meet my gaze. “The prognosis for the patient I picked is not good. He has ALS. He’s going to die anyway. It was a noble?—”

I take a step forward and he shrinks back, sealing his lips.

“So he’s dead now, yes?”

He nods mutely.

“How old?”

“H-huh?”

“How old is this man you just killed, you dense fuck?”

“F-forty-one.”

“Married?”

He looks at me briefly. “Y-yes.”

“Kids?”

“Why are you asking me these questions?” Desperation creeps into his tone, his eyes bulging, sweat pouring unchecked down his temples.

“Answer me.”

“I-I think so! I don’t know! Yes, probably!”

“Have you met them?”

“No.”

“Of course you haven’t. When did you murder him?”

Jeremy looks ready to cry. “His surgery was?—”

“Speak up!” I bark. “I can’t hear you.”

He clears his throat and tries again, though his voice is a watery, wavering mess. “His surgery was scheduled for 9:00 P.M. last night. I called t-time of d-death at 10:21.”

“Motherfucker.” Venom fills my lungs. “You motherfucker.” I snatch him by the throat. “What did you tell his wife? That you ‘did everything you could’? That you tried to save her husband while you actively murdered him?”

Jeremy grips the edge of his desk, knuckles white. “Where do you get off judging me?” he explodes suddenly, spit flying from his mouth. “Y-you’re no fucking saint!”

“I’m not,” I agree, tightening my grip. “Nor do I claim to be. But I’m no monster, either. I don’t kill people for sport. I don’t barter away the lives of people I’ve sworn to protect. You, Jeremy Fleming, are a monster. And for your sake, I hope there is a hell.”

To my surprise, his face twists into a demented grimace. “There is. Hell exists right here on earth. Heaven is the thing we made up to feel better about it.”

“How fucking poetic.” I release his throat and step back. “But just in case you’re wrong… just in case there is such a thing as heaven—don’t you want to try for a little redemption?”

Rubbing at his throat where I gripped him, he coughs out, “R-redemption?”

“I want to know every single move Ihor makes from now on. Those lists he gives you? I expect them to be handed to me the moment you receive them.”

Jeremy looks toward his door like the cavalry might be coming to save him. “And if I say no?”

“Then you die.”

He swallows and nods. “I… I will keep you informed.”

“Good. And as for surgery—you’re taking a break. Starting right now. No more organ theft.”

Panic consumes him. “I… N-no…! I can’t… H-he’ll kill me?—”

“Then he kills you.” I shrug. “Trust me, you want him to kill you. Because if he doesn’t, I will.

And if that happens, you’re going to die the way all your patients have.

I’m going to take you apart, piece by piece.

The only difference is that there will be no anesthesia.

No relief. You may have the medical degree, but I know about the human body, too, Jeremy.

I know how to keep a man alive through unimaginable things. ”

I grab the list and crush it into a ball before flinging it at his face. He flinches as it bounces off his forehead.

“You were right about one thing, Jeremy: Hell does exist in this world.” I turn towards the door. “Welcome to it.”