Series: Series by Ker Dukey
Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 107407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
She is trying to kill me.
I reach the thin silver scar above her mound and still my hand. I sense Zahkar behind me, watching us.
“It’s my favorite part of my body,” she murmurs softly, her fingertip gliding over the scar as if recalling the memory of how she got it. “When they cut me open to bring her into the world and placed her on my chest, I knew she was my reward, my salvation. I had been teetering on the edge of life and death, and the moment I held her, she breathed new life into me. She was us three. Our love made into a tiny person." She sniffles and chokes out, “Please don’t hate her for what I did. I can’t bear it.” Her eyes pour with grief and desperate tears.
I suck in a gulp of air. “We never could,” I confess, my heart stampeding. “We never could.” I repeat for myself more than her.
Z swipes her tears away and carefully slips his shirt over her shoulders, buttoning the first few buttons to cover her enough so she can move to her bed without flashing Viktor.
“Thank you,” she breathes, brushing her hair from her face. “I feel a bit better, less dizzy.”
“Come on,” I tell her, guiding her to the bedroom. “Let’s have the doctor check you over.”
The doctor is a middle-aged woman with sharp, pinched features and a slim, almost frail build. She’s dressed in a drab brown dress that would make Alyona cringe if she weren’t unwell. Despite her poor fashion sense, she brings a considerable amount of medical equipment and immediately gets to work, focused on examining Alyona.
“What are you doing now?” Z demands, his voice piercing through the quiet tension in the room and undoubtedly getting on the doctor’s nerves.
“I’m taking her blood pressure,” she replies, managing a tight smile that barely conceals her irritation. “Where did you say she received her injuries?” She directs her gaze at Zahkar as if he were scum scooped from a drain. He’s standing, only wearing his underwear. He looks a little crazed, hovering by the bed side.
“We didn’t specify,” Viktor interjects, clicking his tongue in irritation. He watches the doctor with impatience from the bedroom doorway. “And you’re getting paid not to ask. Just do your fucking job.” His tone is firm, conveying a warning to remain focused on Alyona’s care rather than on irrelevant questions.
“Her blood pressure is elevated, and these wounds need attention and re-dressing. One has glitter in it.” She presses her lips into a thin line. “Usually, infections don’t come on this quick, but due to the glue being used, I’m going to administer antibiotics and fluids via a PICC line to combat any infection before it can worsen. Is it okay to set up an IV here in the bedroom?”
“Yes,” Alyona answers on her own behalf. “Roza?” She cuts her eyes over to Viktor who nods his head.
“She’s fine,” he assures her. “Sleeping.”
“Is she going to be, okay?” Z asks the doctor, gesturing to Alyona, and shifting from foot to foot.
“Yes, as soon as we get any infection under control. She needs to hydrate and rest, but she should be fine.”
Z pats the doctor on the back, almost causing her to topple onto Alyona. I bite back a grin and glance over to Viktor, whose focus is fixed on something down the hallway, his brow furrowed.
“Shit,” he growls, his voice low. “Someone is at the front door.”
I follow him down the hallway and peer through the peephole of the front door. On the other side stands a man in a slightly rumpled, cheap suit, holding a badge in front of him.
“It’s Detective Scott, Miss Dior,” he announces gruffly. “Sorry to disturb you, I know it’s getting late.”
“Dior?” I whisper to Viktor, who stands nearby, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.
He rolls his eyes dramatically, an amused grin tugging at his lips. “I know. She insisted that it be her new last name.”
I shoo him away with a flick of my wrist and gesture for him to leave while indicating myself and the door. I’ll deal with this. He nods in agreement, returning to Alyona’s bedroom and closing the door.
Opening the front door, I take a moment to assess Detective Scott. He appears taken aback, momentarily caught off guard by a male appearance, and not the blonde bombshell he was expecting.
“Apologies,” he says, glancing at the door number before pulling out a small notepad to confirm his notes. “I’m looking for Miss Dior.”
“Ally isn’t feeling up to visitors right now. It’s been a rough couple of days.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, his gaze flickering over me as he processes my response. Then he inquires, “What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t say and you didn’t ask.” Tension builds, thickening around us until his phone buzzes in his pocket, breaking our stare off.