I crawl into the bed beside Nikolai and pick up his hand without the IV in it. Using the very light touch used for lymphatic drainage, I start to massage out the fluid, up his arm and in the direction of his heart. It may not be much, but I can do this one thing for him. Maybe it will help.
DIMA
When I’m in the Land Rover, I plug Natasha’s dead phone into the charger. I disabled tracking on it back at the vet’s place last night, but I’m pissed at myself for not looking at it sooner. If my head were in the game, I wouldn’t have gone to bed last night without reading every message she has on there and thoroughly investigating every source of information I could get from it.
The trip to the closest store takes twenty-five minutes. It’s a gas station/convenience store for hikers and campers, so it features some random shit like mosquito repellent, hats, and t-shirts. I get milk, eggs, bread, and other basics, then grab a few of the t-shirts. I’m still in my undershirt, which is stained with Nikolai’s blood. When the clerk stares at it, I look down and grimace. “Hunting accident,” I tell him.
When I get back in the vehicle, the phone has charged enough to come on, and I check her calls and texts.
One text from Alex at six this morning, one phone call an hour ago. The text is simple, it just says, Are you all right?
I listen to the voicemail. “Natasha, I need to know if you’re all right. Fuck! Please let me know as soon as possible.”
Mudak. I want to cut off his balls and shove them down his throat.
I text back the single word, yes.
I doubt he’ll be dumb enough to accept that since it could easily-and did-come from someone else, but no response might make the asshole itchier.
Then I realize I might be able to get more out of him, and I add No thanks to you.
I don’t know what the fuck we’re going to do about him. About the Feds. Or a better question might be, what they plan to do about us. I had a camera running in that hotel room, so everything was recorded. If Alex claims it was self-defense and Nikolai pulled a gun first, I can prove him wrong.
But my gut says he was as derailed by what happened last night as we were. The kid is young, and he made a split-second decision that ultimately was a bad judgment call. I don’t think he knew what he was doing. I don’t know-there was something sort of off-the-books about the whole thing.
I drive back to the cabin. As I pull up and get out, a sickening thought occurs to me. Natasha could’ve tried to run. She didn’t have a vehicle, but she could’ve been ballsy or desperate enough to try to hike out of here to find another cabin or hitchhike on the main forest road.
I didn’t think about it when I left because it’s fucking Natasha, and she’s blinded me again with my desire for her. I would say it’s not like her to get feisty and run-she accepted Ravil’s edict that she come here to nurse Nikolai with total grace-but if she has, I know whose fault it is.
Mine.
I’m the one who’s been a total bastard to her.
I forget the groceries and sprint for the door, throwing it open and stalking inside. I quickly scan the living room with a sweeping gaze. No sound in the kitchen. I jog to Nikolai’s room, and then I freeze, my heart choking my throat for a different reason.
Natasha is in bed with my twin.
Holding his hand.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
The serenity on her face instantly evaporates, and I hate myself for making her glare. “I’m working this fluid retention out of his arm. What’s your problem?”
I shake my head, backing up. “Nothing,” I mutter. “No problem.”
My chest constricts. She’s working the fluid retention out of his arm. Of course she is. Natasha is a healer-that’s what she does. She’s nothing but kindness and generosity.
I’m the prick who makes her suck my dick and then bails.
But no.
She might not be so innocent. I need to abandon all my own personal opinions of her and dig into data. Data doesn’t lie.
Swallowing hard, I go back out to the Land Rover and bring in the groceries. As I put them away, Natasha comes into the kitchen.
“I can do that,” she says in a low voice.
I turn to look at her but don’t answer. I don’t want to accept her sweetness. On one hand, this is punishment. She’s here to serve, to make up for the incident she played a part in causing. But I can’t stand to receive her help. Because I know if I do, I’ll want more.
So fucking much more.
I’ll want everything.
And I can’t do that.
I continue putting things away, and she joins me without an invitation.
“Nikolai woke up for a little while. He didn’t want any broth or juice.” The vet said Nikolai’s IV has electrolytes and nutrients in it, in addition to his meds, so I’m not worried about him not being hungry.
I still don’t answer. I hate her for trying to make conversation. I hate myself for being such an asshole.
“This shirt is for you. They didn’t have any shorts or pants.” I toss the smallest t-shirt in her direction. “There’s a toothbrush and toothpaste, too. And a comb. Do you use a comb?” Gospodi, why does it feel so intimate to ask her about her hair care? It’s not like we’re moving in together. She’s my fucking prisoner.
She holds up the basic white shirt which has a boat on it and the words, I’d rather be fishing. “Wow. This will look great on me. Thanks,” she quips drily.