5

His voice was so rough and soft. So composed and accented. So lenient in its delivery it slipped beneath my skin, melting the tension in my body like butter. I bet people went out of their way to listen to this man talk.

“Do you have any pain besides your head?” I nodded, staring at him.

Asmile touched his lips. “Where?” “My side.”

Ronan rose to his full height. As he and the doctor spoke, a boy—the one I saw carrying a crate of liquor—entered the room with my duffle bag in his hands. He dropped it beside the couch and sent a glance of disgust my way.

Ronan eyed himin silent warning. The boy swallowed and turned to walk out of the room. “Kirill would like to take a look at you, if you will let him.”

I nodded.

When Ronan headed to the door, I got to my feet, fighting a spell of dizziness at the sudden move. “Wait,” I blurted. “Where are you going?”

He turned his head to study me with cautious eyes. “Giving you some privacy, kotyonok.”

I chewed my lip, not knowing what compelled me to ask that. I was confused. And I really didn’t like doctors.

“Please, stay.”

Kirill sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

After a pensive moment of silence, Ronan inclined his head and walked back to his desk. I was oddly comforted he would stay.

Kirill stood, pulled a flashlight fromhis dress shirt pocket, and checked my pupils. He listened to my heart, my breathing, and examined the back of my head. My gaze kept landing on Ronan, who leaned against his desk doing nothing but watching the scene.

When Kirill spoke, I pulled my eyes to him. He must have noticed where my attention was during the exambecause his expression was tight with disapproval.

“He needs you to remove the jacket.”

I loosened my grip on the lapel and shrugged it off my shoulders to the floor. A red bruise, the shape of a hand, marred my waist, which explained why my ribs ached. But what I focused on was the dried blood on my stomach. Now, I noticed it was underneath my fingernails as well.

All of the warmth inside me went ice-cold, sending prickles down the back of my neck. I didn’t do blood.

A shaky exhale escaped me. My stomach turned. The room began to blur. I swayed, blackness tugged on my subconscious, and then it dragged me all the way under.

When I awoke, it was to a dry mouth, Kirill’s frown, and Ronan crouching next to where I lay on the couch.

Realizing I’d fainted, I closed my eyes again.

As a child, I had anxiety attacks before getting a shot or having my blood drawn. Papa used to hold me down for my vaccinations until I eventually passed out. Even now, I’d rather cast my own broken armwith duct tape than go to the doctor’s office.

Ronan held out the green can of soda Kirill handed to him. “You’re not going to pass out on me again, are you?”

I sat up slowly, closed my blouse with one hand, and took the can from him with the other. Nobody but a small few knew about my phobia. I forced myself to watch gory horror films to get over

it, but it only desensitized me to Saw movies, not real life. “I’mnot the biggest fan of blood,” I admitted.

He eyed me with curiosity, like I said something amusing. “Interesting.” “I’msorry. You look like a busy man, and I’msure I’ve ruined your entire night.” “Drink your soda, kotyonok.”

I did. The cold fizz felt good on my throat. I licked my dry lips and looked around the room, from Kirill’s frown, to a crack in the plaster walls, to the frayed carpet. It wasn’t exactly a trendy executive office.

“I’ll reimburse you for everything,” I said. “The doctor and—” I glanced at the can in my hand, which amused Ronan.

“I’ll add the soda to your bill,” he said.

At that moment, I realized I completely overlooked his expensive suit, believing he’d have trouble affording a private doctor’s visit. Suddenly understanding he was only playing with me, I met his gaze.

Click.

It wasn’t the pull of a trigger. It was himclicking a pen in his hand.

“U neye sotryaseniye mozga, i ona dolzhna byt’osmotrena v bol’nitse,” Kirill said.

“He believes you have a mild concussion,” Ronan translated. “The symptoms might last a few days.”

I guessed it explained my odd thoughts and behavior. However, I was already feeling a little better now I had some sugar in me. The lack of food and sleep probably didn’t help the situation.

An inkling tickled my thoughts. Kirill said “bol’nitse” again, didn’t he? I must have misheard him because Ronan hadn’t said anything about the hospital. I wouldn’t go regardless.

“Will you please thank himfor me?” I asked. “He didn’t need to come here just for me.”

Ronan tilted his head in thought for a moment—click—then said to the doctor, “Ona ne khochet idti v bol’nitsu.”

That was the strangest Russian thank you I’d ever heard. “Bol’nitsu” must mean something else. Kirill pursed his lips before responding.

“He says someone should wake you tonight. Protocol for head injuries.” “Oh.”

“Are you here with anyone?” I shook my head.

“You can stay here tonight. I will have someone wake you.”

“No, that’s okay,” I said. “You’ve already done too much for me.”

A sliver of displeasure passed through Ronan’s eyes. The quiet intensity could kill someone who wasn’t already used to the same look fromtheir papa.

“You were assaulted in my alleyway. It is my responsibility to make sure you will be okay.” No wonder he was standing so close to the back door. Did he hear my screams?

My thoughts and breath were cut off when he used his pen to lift the pendant sitting between my breasts. “Interesting necklace.”

He and my attacker were the only ones to ever notice it.

I’d never seen my papa wear anything less than a wifebeater and a pair of black slacks. Even then, that was only once, when I was eight years old and I glimpsed the nautical star tattoos on each of his shoulders. Of course, at that age, I wanted one for myself, so he gave me this necklace.

“It’s a family thing,” I breathed.

Athoughtful, “Huh,” was all Ronan said.

He lowered the pendant back to my skin, and the tiniest glide of his pen between my breasts set my pulse careening off its tracks. The can of soda slipped from my fingers. He caught it with his left hand, his gaze not leaving mine.

After a moment of heavy tension, Kirill got to his feet and put a bottle of pills in my hand. I looked at it. They didn’t do prescriptions here?

“For your pain.”

I forced a smile. “Thank you.”

He gave me an imploring look, grabbed his briefcase, and left the room. I didn’t know before that Russians were so very foreboding.

Ronan rose and set the can of soda on the side table. “I will have some food brought in for you,” he told me, heading to the door before he stopped in front of it and turned to face me. He was black from head to toe. His dress shirt. His tattoos. His hair. Even the blue of his eyes was drowned in shadow unless close-up. We might as well be from two different worlds—worlds divided by the lonely waves of the Atlantic.

He was the glimmer of adrenaline, the roughness of tracks beneath bare feet, and the siren of a freight train coming head-on.

And I was fascinated.

His eyes were unreadable. “You will be safe here.” I believed him.

But before his dark silhouette disappeared from view, I remembered what “moy kotyonok” meant.

My kitten.