What. The. Fuck? Where were the drugs?
“Where are the drugs?” she mumbled incoherently, squinting into the gloom of a dimly lit room.
Movement to her left indicated another presence in the room. He stood, tall and predatory by her side, and swooped low over her bed. Brushing the hair off her forehead he asked in a deeply accented voice, “What was that, malysh?”
Vladimir Sitnikov.
What was he doing in her hospital room? Shouldn’t a woman be allowed a little bit of privacy when she was slowly dying of increasingly excruciating pain? And where the fuck was the morphine? Jane licked her lips and cracking her eyes as much as she could handle, rolled her head toward his voice, “Where the fuck are my drugs, Sitnikov?”
He clicked his tongue. “Tsk, are you into the drug business, Jane? Well that would make us rivals, wouldn’t it? I’d probably have to have you killed.”
Jane snorted painfully, “You know I’m not into that criminal shit. I mean… where is the goddamned morphine? I shouldn’t be in this fucking much pain.”
He chuckled. “Your language is vile when you are looking for a drug hit. Remind me to keep you stocked up when we get home. You’ve been shot, Jane, my love. You’re going to hurt. Believe me, there is plenty of morphine in your system at the moment.”
“More,” she growled, preparing to launch herself at him if he continued to tease her and cruelly withhold the drugs.
“Ah, ah,” he said, when she attempted to struggle up in the bed. He pressed a hand against her good shoulder and pinned her down with almost no effort. “You aren’t to move. You can tear the wounds and start a bleed. You are currently at the maximum dosage of painkiller, which you can, of course, argue with your doctor when he returns.”
Jane gritted her teeth and relaxed her posture. She clearly wasn’t going to get her way in this and the effort was making her wounds hurt. Sitnikov held a cup of water up and raised a brow. She nodded jerkily and allowed him to place the straw against her lips. She moaned weakly when the first stream of sweet, cool water hit her tongue. Jane closed her eyes, sighing in satisfaction and continued to draw on the straw until she was satisfied. After drinking her fill, she pulled her lips back from the straw and licked the residual moisture with a dart of her tongue.
She glanced up at Sitnikov who was standing motionless at her bedside, the green plastic cup held tightly in his hand. She frowned. He stood as if frozen, staring at her with an intensity that wasn’t suitable for a hospital room. With a gasp, she felt the sexual tension rolling off his bigger body and onto hers. The heat felt like a physical presence.
Jane held her breath and watched him intently as he struggled to leash the sexual aggression that had threatened to overwhelm them both. He slammed the plastic cup onto the bedside table and shoved his long fingers over his scalp. The dark tattoos flexing across his fingers merged momentarily with the ones on his head and neck, adding to his air of menace. Jane closed her eyes tightly as the world swooped and shifted. Damn. Maybe she really was on morphine.
His voice was husky when he spoke, “Do you have any idea how close I just came to taking advantage of a woman who was nearly mortally wounded yesterday?”
Jane gave a tiny nod of agreement, “You are kind of a sick fuck, Sitnikov.”
He chuckled and dropped his long, heavy limbs into the chair behind him. “You test my control, woman, as no other has.”
“You probably murder anyone else who might test your legendary control, Russian. I guess I’m the lucky girl you don’t intend to kill, or you would have left me behind in that alley.”
“Da,” he agreed.
“Lucky me,” Jane said weakly with a spark of sarcasm.
“Da,” he said again.
Jane wanted to yell at him. To tell him to go away and leave her alone. That he should have let her die if she was such a trial to his prized self-control. She opened her mouth to tell him as much when a doctor entered the room. Oblivious to the tension between the two other occupants, the elderly man checked her pulse and adjusted the morphine drip. Higher, she noticed and quickly decided this man needed to go on her Christmas card list. Or he would if she had one.
“It’s good to see you awake, Jane. You scared us when you were brought in yesterday. Your fiancé here was quite distraught. How are you feeling?” he asked kindly.
Jane raised an eyebrow at the man sitting beside her. Fiancé? He ignored her completely. Instead demanding, “When can she be released?”
The doctor continued to look at Jane, patiently waiting for her answer. She liked the guy, despite his stinginess with the drugs. “I’m feeling grateful to be alive, I guess. And in a lot of pain. Apparently it hurts to get shot.”
The doctor smiled and checked the needle penetrating the pale skin on the inside of her arm. “Your surgery went very well, Jane. You’re a strong young lady, you fought your way through, despite the blood loss.”
She smiled. She was a fighter.
“I asked you a question, old man,” Sitnikov growled standing next to her side and glaring at the doctor.
The doctor glared right back. “I can appreciate your concern, Mr. Sitnikov. However, Jane can’t be released until she’s completely stabilized and her wounds have healed to the point that she won’t risk bleeding out. She’ll also need to make a statement with the police, standard for gunshot wounds.”
“No police,” he snapped.
The doctor shrugged, “I’m afraid it will be unavoidable.”
“We’ll see.”
The doctor stared at the menacing spectre of Vladimir Sitnikov. No doubt he had heard of the Russian mobster, but he gave no indication, treating the pair like any other couple that might come through his emergency room. He sighed and waved Sitnikov back. “I have something I must tell your fiancé. You may want to sit, as this could also affect your future.”
Sitnikov frowned. He didn’t sit. “Speak, old man.”
The doctor looked away from the dark, scarred visage of Jane’s questionable protector into her golden, pain-clouded eyes. He touched her arm gently. “The wound to your abdomen cut a path through your uterus. A section of it along with an ovary had to be removed and there will be some scarring to the surrounding tissue. I’m afraid the likelihood of your having children is much slimmer now.”
Sitnikov didn’t move a muscle to indicate this news affected him in any way. Jane opened her mouth to say something, to thank the doctor for saving her life. Nothing came out. Tears filled her eyes.
She didn’t understand. She hadn’t thought about children. She didn’t date and never dreamt of marriage and babies. Police work had been her single-minded focus for more than ten years. The news shouldn’t bother her. Yet for some reason, scalding tears now flooded her vision. A sob escaped her parted lips and she brought the hand from her uninjured arm up to press back any more sounds of distress.
The doctor nodded and left the room.
Sitnikov cupped his hand over her shoulder. Jane turned her head away from him and closed her eyes. Visions of babies flooded her mind, torturing her against her will with images of something she had never wanted, but suddenly couldn’t have. Unwanted tears squeezed past her tightly closed eyes and made steady paths down her cheeks. She hiccupped and stifled more sobs until she couldn’t hold them back anymore. Finally, heedless of the pain it caused she rolled onto her side, away from Sitnikov, and curled into herself. She cried helplessly into the pillow.
Sitnikov stood at her back, like a dark, avenging angel watching over her as her heart broke into pieces. He ran his long fingers down her back in a soothing manner. It was so out of character for him, his movements so hesitant, that she would have laughed at the thought of his doing anything remotely soothing if she hadn’t been so miserable.
She cried for the lost babies. She cried for her lost family. She cried for her lost job. And she cried for her lost ovary.
Finally, when her tears began to let up and she rolled once more onto her back, she stared up at Sitnikov through tear-soaked lashes. In that moment, he looked so angry, so evil that she shuddered. She knew what was coming. Was prepared for it.
“Tell me who did this to you.”
“I don’t know,” she immediately whispered back, the lie slipping out easily.
He tensed, his body preparing to deliver death. He leaned over her, using his bulk to block out the meagre light in the room. Placing his big hands on either side of her head he brought his face down to hers, his lips inches away form hers, “You don’t want to lie to me, Jane.”
She lifted her chin and stared back up at him wordlessly. Tense silence filled the room. She began to worry that she pushed him too far by refusing to give him the grim job of vengeance on her behalf. They both knew that was exactly what he would do once she gave up the name of her shooter. Jane couldn’t let that happen though. She needed some questions answered first, and she didn’t trust Sitnikov to get those answers before ripping out the spine of the man who shot the Russian’s woman.
And she was his woman. Jane realized that she was probably his woman from the moment she stepped foot in the interrogation room all those months ago. “I’m tired,” she whispered.
He looked at her for several long moments debating whether or not to push her. Finally the haunted look in her eyes combined with the tear tracks down her cheeks made up his mind. He leaned back and dropped his heavy bulk into the hard plastic hospital chair. “Sleep, Jane,” his deep voice said, “I will be here.”
She should have been upset, should have demanded he leave her in peace. But she felt comforted instead. He had saved her life. As her eyelashes drifted shut and she let the extra dose of morphine drag her under she decided she would trust him to watch over her for a little while. There wasn’t a single other person in the world who would. Why not a vicious mob boss?
Less than twenty-four hours later, against the advice of her doctor, Jane was released from the hospital into the care of the most dangerous man in the city. She probably would have laughed at the irony, except it hurt too much. Vlad had explained to the frowning doctor that a very skilled personal physician would provide Jane with round the clock care until she was completely out of danger. Perhaps the doctor sensed Vlad’s iron resolve to get Jane away from a place with too many vulnerabilities for his liking, because the man had finally capitulated.
"Are you taking me home?" Jane asked Vlad, her tired voice cracking a little.
Vlad didn't speak for a moment as he lifted Jane from the wheelchair and into the waiting SUV. He climbed in beside her and pulled her into his arms, forcing her head against his shoulder. "You are coming to my home. It will be yours from now on."
She tried to struggle upright and push away from him. The movement caused her to yelp in pain. He held her tightly until she settled down, albeit stiffly. Her rigid spine pressed into the muscles of his arm. He breathed in her scent, pleased that it was still there despite her stay in the hospital. It was a flowery, feminine aroma, slightly at odds with her edgy personality. Her small hands were clenched into fists in her lap as though she wanted to punch him. This was good, he preferred her feistiness over the exhausted pain he had witnessed over the past two days.
She spoke in a low voice. "So you’ve decided my time has run out."
Like an invisible clock. She had known eventually he would come for her. "Da."
"Why now?"
Unable to stop himself, though he knew she wouldn't welcome his touch, Vlad stroked his fingers down her neck and tapped the softness of her cheek. "Your reckless disregard for your own safety has made up my mind. Besides, I have been patient enough. It is time you come to me."
She laughed, bitterly. "This isn't me coming to you, Sitnikov. This is me getting shot, twice, and your finding me in an alley before I could bleed out. Then manipulating and threatening my poor doctor until he had no choice but to release me into your care."
He shrugged, the movement jostling her slightly. "Whatever the reason, you will now reside with me. I have only your comfort in mind. For now."
"That’s very kind of you," Jane said sarcastically. “I would be more comfortable in my own apartment.”
He growled and said, “I doubt you could fight off the cockroaches in your condition. Now shut up and close your eyes, Jane, before I do something regrettable that may set back your recovery.”
When they arrived at the mansion, Boris opened the door and Sitnikov swept her up into his arms before she could protest. With an annoyed sigh she wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tightly as he carried her inside, up the sweeping staircase and into master suite. The massive bed, surrounded by dark, Russian inspired furniture could belong to no one else besides the master of the property.
The moment he placed Jane on her feet she backed slowly away from Vlad, where he stood blocking the doorway. She looked around the room in apprehension. He absorbed the dawning realization that she stood in his bedroom and satisfaction surged through him. He was finally getting what he wanted. After all these months apart she would finally belong to him.
"You think you've won," she snapped, her eyes flaring with resentment. Though she was weak in body she was willing to fight him to the death if she had to.
Vlad shook his head, her stubborn defiance annoying him. "You don't get it Jane. This was never a game to be 'won'. Our association has led to this inevitability. You were never simply going to walk away from me."
"You wouldn't have allowed it,” she said bitterly.
"You understand me," he said stepping up to her. She flinched away from him, but he continued stepping into her space until she was backed up against the edge of his high king-sized bed. He ran his crooked finger down her cheek, savouring the silky softness of her skin.
She closed her eyes, long dark lashes fanning across the tops of her cheeks. Vlad curled his hand into a fist and savagely held himself back from grabbing her. He could too easily hurt her while she was in this condition. ”What if I don't want this?" she asked softly, opening her eyes.
His face was several inches from hers. His tall, lean body was bent over her much shorter one as though he would swoop down and capture her. He longed to touch her and kiss her, but knew he wouldn’t be able to stop once he started. Taking in her painfully exhausted state, he took pity on her.
"You want me, Jane. Our courtship has proved this," his voice was low and soothing, though the words he spoke next were anything but. "The time for denial has passed, if it ever existed. You are with me now, and with me you will remain."
She laughed bitterly, holding a hand over her aching abdominal wound. "You have a twisted idea of courtship, Sitnikov."
He reached for her, taking her chin in a biting grip and forcing her face up toward his. Though he didn't touch any other part of her. "You are under my roof now, wholly within my power. It is time for you to obey me, woman. Say my given name, the way you did in that alley.”
She tensed, her dark straight hair swishing back as he refused to release her face. She reached up and gripped his wrist, her small fingers helpless against his steely hold. She glared angrily up at him, her eyes stormy, clouded with pain. She ignored his demand, and instead asked him, "How long do you intend to keep me here?"
He sighed deeply and, nudging her to the side, reached past her and swept the blankets on the bed back. He turned to her and with a firm grip on her shoulder pushed her back until she was sitting. The lower wound must have puckered as she sat and a hiss of breath escaped her. He frowned and quickly, but gently, pushed her back onto the bed and swung her legs up. He adjusted her until she was laying comfortably and the pain of movement receded.
Jane inhaled involuntarily as he leaned across her to pull the duvet up her prone body. Her eyes drifted shut. “You always smell a little like cigar smoke and soap,” she murmured, her body relaxing into the bed.
She reached up and grasped a handful of his shirt before he could move away from her. She opened her eyes to gaze up at him sleepily. He hovered over her, his fists planted on the bed on either side of her body. It was amazing to him that this one small woman who could fight him every step of the way also seemed to feel safe in his presence while she was hurt. There was something about her innocent trust that appealed to him.
“Thank you… Vladimir,” she said, finally giving him what he had wanted to hear for so long. “For everything. I would have died in that alley if you hadn’t come for me.”
His dark eyes flared with raw possession. “I will always come for you, Jane,” he said with such intensity that she had no choice but to believe him. He wanted her to understand his visceral statement. He would always come for her, whether she wanted him to or not.
Her lips parted and she sighed, nodding. “I believe you.”
His eyes followed every micro expression like a bird of prey waiting for the exact right moment to swoop. He lowered his face a few more inches until his lips nearly touched hers. “Ah, Jane, malysh. You have never been so appealing to me as you are now. If you were not in such a condition I would show why we will be good together. But for now, you must rest and I must leave you.”
She held her breath as he closed the distance and placed a chaste kiss on her lips. Her hand, which was still fisted in his shirt, pressed against his chest over his heart. As he stood, he captured her hand in one of his and brought it up to his lips. He kissed the sensitive skin of her wrist and then gently laid her hand on the bed beside her body. Tingling warmth radiated from the two places where his lips had touched as her eyes drifted shut. Unable to fight her body’s desperate need for healing sleep, she drifted off with his sharp eyes tracing her features.