Page 16 of Toxic Salvation (Krayev Bratva #2)

VESPER

“Ryan, honey, I need you to take this injection. It’s going to make you feel better.”

Twelve-year-old Ryan crosses his arms and shakes his head so hard his sandy hair flops into his eyes. “I don’t want to be stabbed with that thing.”

“This isn’t optional, sweetheart. The medicine has to go into your system tonight.”

His bottom lip trembles, but he juts out his chin with the stubborn, single-minded determination that reminds me why I chose pediatrics in the first place. Kids fight harder than adults. They don’t give up as easily.

I admire that.

“I want my mom.” The fear cracks his tough-guy facade.

“She’s working a double shift, remember? We talked about this yesterday. She’ll be here the second she gets off, but this injection can’t wait.”

Ryan glares at me with those stormy blue eyes. “That was before I saw how big the needle is.”

“Two seconds of discomfort, I promise. Then it’s over.”

I reach out to pat his shoulder, thinking some physical comfort might help, but Ryan throws off his blanket and rolls right off the hospital bed. The kid hits the floor with a solid thud and somehow manages to pop up like he’s been training for this moment his entire life.

“Ryan, please don’t make me chase you around this ward.”

“I don’t want the shot!” He takes off running toward the door.

I realize a moment too late that I’m blocking his escape route. Before I can react, Ryan plows into me like a linebacker, knocking me sideways, and bolts into the hallway.

“No, no, no.” I scramble to my feet, still clutching the syringe. “Ryan!”

The nurses at the station look up as Ryan tears down the corridor in his open-backed hospital gown, his bare feet slapping against the linoleum. A few rush to help, but others eye him like he’s carrying something contagious.

“Catch him!” I call out, taking off after my runaway patient.

This is my job, I tell myself tiredly as I pursue. I love my job. I love my job. I really, truly love my job.

Ryan reaches the dead end and spins around, trapped. His chest heaves as he presses himself against the wall.

“Can we just talk about this?” I hold up my empty hands after passing the syringe to a nurse. “Look, no needle. It’s gone.”

Ryan studies me with the suspicion of someone who’s been lied to many times before. “You’re gonna stick me the second I get close.”

“I promise I won’t. Let’s just go back to your room and figure this out together.”

For a heartbeat, I think he’s going to take my outstretched hand. His shoulders relax slightly, and he takes a small, tentative step forward.

Then panic floods his face again. “No! Get away from me!”

This time, when he charges, he means business. All ninety-three pounds of determined preteen slam into me with the force of a freight train. I hit the floor hard, my shoulder taking the brunt of the impact. Ryan trips over his own feet and lands on top of me in a tangle of limbs and hospital gown.

Then, inexplicably, all his weight disappears.

“I think that’s enough.”

I look up to find Kovan holding Ryan by the back of his gown, the boy’s feet dangling six inches off the ground. Ryan whimpers. His earlier bravado is completely gone.

“Kovan!” I struggle to my feet, my shoulder throbbing. “Put that child down right now!”

“He knocked you to the ground.” Kovan’s jaw is granite. “You’re pregnant. That’s not okay.”

“And if you don’t release my patient immediately, I’ll be pregnant and in jail.”

I grab Kovan’s wrist, trying to pry his fingers loose, but he might as well be made of steel. Ryan dangles there like a rag doll, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks.

“Are you going to push anyone else down?” Kovan asks Ryan in a baritone growl.

Ryan shakes his head frantically. “N-no, sir!”

“Good. Apologize to Dr. Fairfax. Now.”

“Stop!” I smack Kovan’s forearm. “Let him go or I’m calling security. Please,” I add. “For me.”

He sets Ryan down without another word.

“Go back to your room and wait for me there,” I order Ryan, who doesn’t need to be told twice. He runs right back down the hallway, his untied gown flapping behind him.

The entire nursing staff is staring at us. Perfect. Tomorrow, the gossip mill will be running at full capacity.

Grimacing, I look back at Kovan. “In there. Now.” I point to the nearest on-call room.

Kovan opens the door with exaggerated politeness. “After you, Doctor.”

The moment the door closes, I turn to face him. “Are you insane?—”

“Are you okay?” he asks, cutting me off.

The genuine concern in his tone catches me unprepared. “I’m fine. I was always going to be fine. But you had no right to manhandle that child.”

“He could have seriously hurt you. Someone had to stop him.”

“He’s a sick kid who’s scared and alone because his dad isn’t in the picture and his mother has to work two jobs to pay for his medical care,” I retort. “Instead of showing compassion, you decided to terrify him further.”

His face is remorseless. “I make no apologies for protecting you and my son.”

The possessive way he says “my son” sends heat racing through me. Not the good kind—the angry kind that makes me want to throw something.

“This is my workplace, Kovan. My territory. I don’t want you here messing things up.”

His frown deepens. “I had business to handle here.”

My skin immediately raises up in goosebumps. “What business?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Actually, it does. You came here to see Jeremy, didn’t you? About what?”

He breaks eye contact, staring instead at a spot over my shoulder. “The less you know, the better.”

“For someone who claims he wants to shut down the organ trade, you’re remarkably secretive about your methods.”

“It’s complicated.”

“That’s code for ‘I don’t have a good explanation.’ Or you don’t think I’m smart enough to understand.”

Kovan presses his lips together like he’s physically restraining himself from speaking. “Will you please sit down? How long have you been on your feet today?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you care about my well-being. Or presume to tell me how to live my life and do my job. This is my hospital, Kovan. My domain. I don’t want you interfering.”

“I was trying to protect you,” he snarls.

“I don’t need your protection. I need you to trust that I can handle myself.”

He makes a sound that’s half-laugh, half-snort, and one hundred percent derisive. When he sees my unamused expression, he tries to cover it with a cough.

I scowl. “We’re either equals in this relationship, or we’re nothing.”

“We’re not nothing, Vesper.”

“Really? Because not too long ago, those were your exact words to me.”

I didn’t mean to say that. I don’t want him to know how deeply those words hurt, how they replay in my head every single day. But pain has a way of escaping when you least expect it.

Kovan’s face changes, some of the hardness bleeding away. “Things are different now.”

“How?” I sound like I’m enraged, and I am, I truly am—but I also can’t stop the flutter of hope building inside me. Maybe he’ll finally tell me what I need to hear. Maybe he’ll admit that losing me was a mistake. Maybe he’ll say he wants me back for me, not just because?—

“You’re carrying my child.”

The hope dies instantly. Of course. It’s always about the baby. Never about me.

“Which proves I’m just the burden you got stuck with,” I say wearily. “If it weren’t for this pregnancy, you and I wouldn’t be here right now. We wouldn’t be anything to each other. Am I right?”

Kovan won’t meet my eyes. He studies the floor tiles like they hold the secrets of the universe. “What you are is exhausted. You need rest, Vesper. If not for yourself, then for the baby.”

I raise a hand to keep him at a distance. “Let me make something crystal clear: Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean you own my body or get to control my choices. You don’t get to dictate my behavior just because you happened to knock me up.”

“I’m not trying to control you.”

“No? Then leave. Because I certainly don’t want you here.”

Kovan passes a hand over his face, like he’s trying to wash away this entire conversation. He walks to the door and pauses with his hand on the handle, backlit by the harsh fluorescent lighting from the hallway.

I want to stop him. I want to ask what brought him here tonight. I want to offer my help with the burdens he’s carrying, even if it’s just listening. I want to tell him we should be facing this together, that this should be the happiest time of our lives instead of this cold war we’re waging.

But we’re past that point. We’re just roommates now. Roommates who happen to be having a baby together, yes, but roommates nonetheless.

The thought that this might be all we ever are creates an ache that has nothing to do with being knocked down by a scared twelve-year-old.

I can’t be my mother. I can’t love a man whose world is built on violence and secrets, no matter how much my heart wants to.

Even if it kills me not to try.