by Kaye Blue
“Ms. Smith, I see that you’re awake,” he said cheerily.
Based on scrubs and the title stitched on his white coat, I figured he was the surgeon.
“Those kitchen knives can be a bear. I’m sorry to say no more cooking for you, at least not for a while,” he said.
He was so cheery it was disarming, but I soon caught on to what was happening.
My name wasn’t Smith, and I definitely hadn’t cut off my fingers in the kitchen. But it was a good cover story, one that I would roll with.
“How are they?” I asked.
My voice was raspy, but I ignored the pain and the grating sound and focused on the doctor.
“The cuts were nice and clean, so it was a fairly straightforward reattachment. I can’t make any guarantees about when, and to what degree, sensation and function will come back. But if I had to gamble, I’d say you should get pretty close to full range of motion and at least half the sensation back. You’ll have to do therapy, but the prognosis is good,” he said.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
I didn’t know what else to say.
He was giving me good news, but I barely felt it.
“I think she needs more rest,” Aras said.
“Of course,” the surgeon responded. “I’ll just take a look at the area. My colleagues will come by a little later and show you how to dress these. I’ll send you home in a day or two, but you need to change these bandages at least three times a day,” he said.
He reached into his pocket and retrieved a small pair of scissors.
“May I?” he asked Aras, who hadn’t left my side.
He looked like he didn’t want to now either, but after a moment, he relented.
As the doctor approached, I finally looked at my hand.
It was wrapped in so much gauze it was practically impossible to tell what was under it.
It was also taped in a metal sling.
Apparently seeing where I looked, the doctor started to speak. “Elevation is important right now, but as time passes, you’re going to want to keep it low to make sure you get good blood flow.”
He started to clip away the gauze, continuing to chat as he did.
“Also keep it warm. I’d keep the temperature in your house five or six degrees warmer than usual to make sure you’re encouraging blood flow. And, given the variations in the sensation, and the nerves going haywire from being reattached, cold could be quite excruciating.”
I nodded in all the right places but wasn’t really hearing what he was saying.
I looked at my fingers, which looked almost normal. Well, if you considered swollen to twice their size and lined with sutures normal. But they were attached. That was what was important.
The injury was gruesome, looked it, but I couldn’t focus on that, didn’t really care about it.
What fully preoccupied me now was the unreality of all this.
On one hand, I was beyond ecstatic.
I had been certain that I was going to die in that hotel room.
That Vlad would be the last person I would see. Pain aside, I could think of little more tragic than that.
But I hadn’t died.
Just a few short weeks ago, I wouldn’t have been able to unreservedly say I was happy about that. Death had been a preferable alternative to living life as I had been.
But now I knew I wanted to live, and I was beyond grateful for whatever power had saved me.
On the other hand, Vlad was out there somewhere. And though I had suspected it before, I knew it to be true now without a doubt. He wouldn’t stop until he had me, and the next time, a couple of fingers would be the least of my worries.
“Any questions?” the doctor asked.
I had missed whatever else he said, but I shook my head, gave him what I knew to weak, trembling smile.
“No. I don’t have any questions. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he responded, giving me a warm smile.
I was somewhat surprised. Surgeons weren’t necessarily known for their warmth, but he seemed genuine.
“I’ll stop by tomorrow,” he said. Then he left.
And I was left with Aras.
That was never hardship, but there was tension now, though I didn’t exactly know the source of it.
“He seems nice.”
The more I talked, the less pain there was in my throat, which was encouraging.
“I don’t know how nice he is, but his reputation as a surgeon is unrivaled,” Aras said.
“How do you know him?”
He flashed me a quick smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re surprised by the company I keep?”
“I have no expectations,” I said, to which Aras smiled again, this time the expression seeming genuine.
“Good doctor. Bad gambler. He owes my boss. So he owes me,” Aras said.
It wasn’t like I needed a reminder of the world Aras, and now me, I supposed, moved in, but that made sense.
“So him calling me Smith, talking about cooking is just him repeating the cover story.”
“Yes. He helped make sure your admission and surgery went smoothly.”
I was impressed that Aras had managed to pull all this off, doubly so given that it meant I still had my fingers. Was equally saddened that he’d had to do so in the first place.
“Roman?” I whispered.
“He no longer in my employ,” Aras responded immediately.
I knew what that meant.
Though his voice was calm, his entire demeanor had changed. Become one of lethality.
“I can’t say I’m sorry about that,” I said.
“I am,” Aras whispered.
In an instant, the moment changed.
I could see regret, guilt, stamped all over his face.
“I trusted you with him. That was a mistake.”
“You didn’t know.”
“That’s no excuse.”
“But it’s the truth,” I said.
Aras started to say something else, then cut off. “It doesn’t matter. Don’t think about that. Don’t think about anything but getting better.”
“And you?” I asked.
“I’ll be here,” he said.
Aras
I’d told Lake I would be there, and I would.
Vlad was out there.
Yuri undoubtedly had questions. But I didn’t leave her bedside once during the next two days.
The shitstorm outside could swirl a little longer. Right now, she was my priority.
Not that she wanted to be.
Over the next two days, we sat in tension, our conversation stilted. I told myself she was in pain, and that was probably true.
But it wasn’t the entire story.
She was afraid.
Afraid that Vlad would find her, afraid that I would let her down again.
I glanced over at her bed where she lay, her expression tense, even in sleep.
Moving on instinct, I went to her, stroked my fingers across her forehead.
“I won’t let you down, Lake,” I said. “Not ever again.”
I could only pray that she would believe me.
Nineteen
Lake
“If you have any questions, I’m only a phone call away.”
“I’ll be all right. And thank you for everything,” I whispered.
He nodded then left.
“I’ll be fine. You can go now,” I said to Aras, who hadn’t left my side for more than a minute.
He scoffed like I had said something ridiculous but didn’t speak.
I kept my gaze firmly on the door, ready to leave this room.
The memories of what had happened had been bad, and things hadn’t gotten better.
An orderly came in with a wheelchair.
“I’ll push you,” Aras said.
“I can walk,” I responded.
“Actually, hospital policy requires me to wheel you out, ma’am,” the orderly said.
&
nbsp; “Okay,” I grumbled.
I took two steps and met the orderly and then sat.
Aras speared me with a glare, but I ignored it and instead reached with my right hand to adjust my shirt before quickly switching and using my left.
That was something I still needed to get used to. My physical therapist had been pleased with my progress so far, but these little adjustments were a lot to get used to.
I prayed that I would regain full use of my fingers and the rest of my hand, but until then, I had to reorient almost everything in my life.
Things I had never thought about, like scratching my face, reaching for the remote.
Every single movement required me to think.
I wondered if Vlad had done that on purpose. Had wanted to make sure that he never left my thoughts.
But even if that wasn’t his intention, that was the result.
In that moment, the hate I felt for him got stronger, something I hadn’t even thought was possible.
“You don’t even know where we’re going,” Aras said, his voice breaking into my ruminations.
“I assume you’ll tell me,” I responded, my voice tighter than I wanted it to be.
I tried to rein my anger in. Pissing off Aras wouldn’t be smart.
I had nowhere to go, and with a word from him, the physical therapy I was counting on would be cut off.
So I would suck down my feelings and keep going.
It seemed that was the only thing I knew how to do. So I would, even if I had to bite my tongue off from to keep from spewing what I felt inside.
“Here,” he said, nodding toward a silver sedan.
I looked over the car, noticed how utterly unremarkable it was, and then reached for the door handle.
Had my fingers brushed away.
“I’ve got it, Lake,” Aras said.
“Thank you,” I responded, though I was feeling anything but gratitude.
He might know that, but he didn’t say anything.
He circled the car and got in, and we set off.
Strange as it was, things hadn’t been this tense between us even when he had been a menacing stranger who’d locked me in a freezing basement.
But now, every interaction, every word, was fraught, and I hated it. Knew that my emotions were all over the place, so wild and intense that I didn’t even understand them myself.
I needed to get it together, though. I had enough to worry about. Where I stood with Aras shouldn’t have been one of those things.
But when had things ever been as they should be?
Not for a very long time, something I would do well to remember.
“Where are we going?” I asked after about an hour on the road.
“Not too far. Safe house in a small subdivision. But I’m making sure we don’t have a tail,” he said.
“Oh,” I responded.
Yet another reminder that I needed to keep focused on what was important. And whatever tension there was between Aras and me, there were bigger things out there, things like our lives.
I was sobered by that reminder, did my best to focus on it, and sat in silence next to Aras.
Now that he’d explained, I realized we’d passed the same location twice already, once from the east, this time from the west.
I didn’t say anything to him, though, was certain that he wouldn’t give me any more details and even more positive I didn’t want any.
I just wanted to rest, wanted to be calm.
Knew that I wouldn’t get either.
Eventually, after more than two hours, Aras looked over at me.
“How’s your pain?” he asked.
“Okay,” I said.
Even though he drove, I could feel his steely gaze on me.
“The meds are starting to wear off a little,” I admitted.
“We’ll be there soon. Gilroy gave me a prescription.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I know you will. But there’s no reason for you to be in pain.”
He was saying the right things, but something felt distant, and I wasn’t brave enough to ask him what.
So I did what it was my tendency to do and stayed silent, deciding not to push, at least not until I was feeling better.
Eventually, he turned into a small, pleasant-looking subdivision complex.
It was an older community, twenty, maybe thirty years old. But it was well maintained. Not flashy, but not rundown either.
Apparently the perfect place to hide.
“I’ll get the door,” he said when he pulled into the two-car garage.
Not having the wherewithal to argue, I stayed silent, watched as he did what I knew was a security sweep.
“Is everything okay?” I asked when he finally walked to the passenger side and opened the door.
“Looks good. I’ll do a more thorough sweep once I get you inside.”
I unbuckled my seat belt, a small act of defiance but one that he chose to overlook.
I swung my legs out of the car, but before I could stand, he had locked one arm around my shoulders, the other under my knees, and lifted me up.
“Aras, there’s nothing wrong with my legs.”
He said nothing and carried me through the house, which I noticed looked professionally staged, then into what I assumed was the master bedroom.
He deposited me on the bed, and I didn’t move as I watched him leave and then quickly return with a bottle of water and a pill.
“Please take this and try get some rest.”
“Aras, I’ll be fine.”
“Take the pill, Lake,” he said.
I almost screamed, but instead, I complied.
He wouldn’t listen to me, and as prideful as I might be, the burning in my hand wouldn’t be ignored any longer.
The doctor had told me to expect that, maybe even much worse. Something about the nerves reestablishing the connection with my brain, plus the general pain from recovery.
I didn’t care too much about the science, but I knew it was excruciating and hoped it would be over soon.
The medication kicked in slowly, some of the pain ebbing away, the edges of my consciousness starting to soften.
I hated the feeling.
Without the meds, I was better able to keep a lid on my thoughts, keep myself from remembering the look on Vlad’s face, the feeling of the knife against my flesh.
But now, my defenses were down, the memories free to come sliding in.
I closed my eyes, felt myself falling into a sleep that I couldn’t fight off.
Like it was happening again, this time in slow motion.
Vlad on top of me, the knife in his hands.
One slice.
I knew I was sleeping, but I couldn’t fight the thoughts off, couldn’t help but imagine what else might have happened.
Another slice.
More fingers.
Worse.
I tried to scream, tried to fight, but I could do nothing.
This was how I was going to die, under Vlad’s knife, taken apart piece by piece.
“Wake up!”
It was Aras’s voice, sounding as frantic as I had ever heard it.
My eyes popped open, I searched around wildly, landed on him standing in front of me.
“You’re having a bad dream,” he said, his brow furrowed, his eyes burning.
“Yeah,” I said after a deep breath.
He pushed the bottle of water at me, and I took a sip.
“There’s food. Just microwave stuff, but you should eat.”
I didn’t have the energy to argue and instead ate the microwave meals, surprised that I felt somewhat better after I finished.
“You should try to rest.”
He had sat with me the entire meal, not saying a word, the look on his face one of nervous energy, regret. It didn’t look good on him.
“Yeah, I guess I should.”
The swing of my emotions was catching up with me. The fear of Vlad, the fear of whatever wa
s happening with Aras.
It was all too much.
Sleep was scary, the risk of more nightmares ever present.
But being awake wasn’t that much better.
Because this wasn’t a dream.
It was reality.
Vlad had taken my fingers. Aras had given them back.
But I feared I’d lost something even more important in the process.
Aras
“How was therapy?” I asked.
We had been in the safe house for three weeks.
Longer than I usually would have dared risk, but Lake seemed to be comfortable here, and her comfort was the most important thing.
And besides, it would be over soon.
Ezekiel had found Vlad, and as soon as I was sure Lake was okay, I would end this. But not before.
“It was great. Antonio says I’m making a lot of progress,” she said.
“Good,” I responded.
But that wasn’t at all what I was thinking.
How could Antonio evaluate her progress when he was busy staring at her tits and telling jokes to make her giggle?
Self-awareness left me no doubt that my jealousy was rearing its ugly head, but I was more than tempted to tell Gilroy to find someone else.
But again, Lake seemed to like him, and at least when he was around she wasn’t so reserved.
In the two hours she spent with him weekly, she was herself again, apparently something she couldn’t be with me.
Not anymore.
“Will you tell me what you’re thinking about?” she asked.
There was something in the question, an underlying thread of aggression that was both surprising and also welcome.
At least there was emotion in it.
Usually when she spoke to me now, it was flat, transactional at best. But this, this was something I could deal with.
“Wondering when you and your new friend plan to get together,” I said, not bothering to keep the displeasure out of my voice.
“What?” she asked, her brows rising.
I knew I was being irrational, but there was no way to stop now.
“You call it physical therapy, but from where I sit, you two are flirting so much there’s no time for exercise,” I said.
“That’s in your head, but it’s a better use of time than what I’m doing here,” she spat.
She seemed shocked that she had said the words, but there was no taking them back.
