Weather the Storm (Security Specialists International #3) (16 page)

“But I can give you medicines from my—”

Vanko interrupted the doctor. “Choose from my kit, please. If the medications there are not ones that will work, then I want you to write out a prescription and I will get it filled through a pharmacy.” The words “that I trust” went unsaid, but the doctor’s frown and thinned lips said the man got the message.

“Of course.” The doctor went through the medications and pulled out several packets of pills. “Give her two of the antibiotic to start by mouth as a loading dose and then one tablet twice a day for at least ten days. This pain medication,” the doctor held up a bottle, “is this the one you gave her?”

Vanko looked at it. “I gave her a single dose from a pre-packaged syringe, two times at an hour apart, and then one pill from that bottle on the drive here.”

“It helped, Doctor, but wore off quickly,” Elana said. “The pill lasted about forty-five minutes to an hour.”

The doctor harrumphed under his breath. “Double the tablet dose and give it three times a day. No more than eight tablets in a twenty-four-hour period. But please, as soon as you can, she must see a physician of your choice. The wound should be checked to see how she is healing.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Vanko reached for and took the medications from the man. “We need to travel to reach our home. Will she be okay to move?” If traveling was out, he’d have to find a place closer to D.C. to go to ground.

“As long as she is comfortable, does not pull the wound open, and keeps it clean and dry, she can ride in a vehicle. If she could recline, she would be more comfortable.”

Any vehicle he rented would have reclining seats. He’d pad her with pillows to make it even more comfortable.

The doctor re-bandaged the wound and then stripped off his gloves. “Your lady is very dehydrated. She could use a saline drip.” The doctor gently pinched some skin on Elana’s forearm and the skin took far too long to retract.

“No,” Elana spoke up. “I’ll drink lots of water. No IV.” She angled her head and looked at Vanko. “Right?”

“Whatever you wish,
milaya
.” He brushed a fingertip over her dry lips. “But you’ll drink and—if you don’t—I will put in an IV. Do you trust me on making such a decision?”

“Yes.” She grasped his hand and squeezed it. “I trust
you
.”

Her emphasis on “you” warmed him all the way to his soul.

Vanko helped her turn onto her back. He watched her face carefully and saw her wince, but his stoic Elana made no sound. Pulling the fluffy duvet over the sheet already covering her, he angled her up with an arm around her back and handed her the pills and then some water. “Take these, then you can rest. When you wake up, there will be food and drink. Okay?”

She nodded and swallowed the pills and half a glass of water. Then he lowered her to the bed, taking the time to spread her hair over the peach linen-covered pillows.

The doctor stood silently by the bed. When Vanko turned and offered his hand, the doctor shook it and said, “I will have her blood results within the hour. If she needs blood—”

“She’ll have my blood if it is required.” Vanko refused to allow anything in her body he hadn’t vetted. “I’m a universal donor.”

The doctor sighed and shook his head. “You are a very suspicious man.”

Vanko stared at Petr’s father. “My woman was shot in broad daylight on the National Mall. I think I have a right to be suspicious and careful.”

“Ahh, maybe you are correct.” The doctor picked up his bag along with the medical waste bag and headed toward the door. “Call me if her condition worsens.”

“Thank you, Doctor Turgenev. I think I can handle it from here. Good evening.” Vanko inclined his head in respect. He wasn’t totally devoid of manners.

The doctor raised a hand in farewell and then shut the door into the sitting area of the suite behind him, leaving Vanko alone with Elana.

“Vanko.” Elana’s soft voice sounded tired…weak. Her eyes were a dull gray. It hurt his heart to see her vitality muted by pain.

“What,
dushka
?” He sat on the edge of the bed. He stroked her bare arm. She was too warm, but he had to trust the antibiotics would handle the elevated temperature. The wound was clean and treated as well as it could be under the circumstances. “Do you want more to drink? You only took enough to swallow your pills.”

“Maybe in a bit.” The corner of her lips turned up slightly and her eyes sparkled with mischief if only for a split-second. “You were very mean to the nice doctor.”

“I don’t trust the nice doctor. I won’t trust anyone around you until the traitor is in jail,”
or dead
, “and Demidas is captured.”
Or dead, preferably by my hand.

Elana snorted, a delicate little exhale that sounded very much like restrained laughter. His heart lightened a bit at the sign of her sense of humor. Yes, this woman was one to be kept close and cherished.

“Are you laughing at me,
angel moy
?” He leaned over and brushed a kiss across her flushed cheek; the red on her cheekbones was the only color in her face.

“Uh-huh.” She licked her lips and frowned. “I guess I do need a drink. I want another Pepsi.”

When he glowered at her, she stuck out her lower lip. Damn, she was cute when she sulked. “Elana—”

She cut him off. “Please…I want the Pepsi for taste. Whatever medicines you just gave me…I can taste them.” She scrunched her nose. “Nasty.”

“I recall the taste. It is very nasty.” He brushed an errant lock of hair off her forehead, then stroked her fine-grained skin. “I’ll check to see what’s stocked in the small kitchen in our suite. If they don’t have Pepsi, I’ll send Petr for some when he returns from the embassy compound.”

“Okay, sounds good.” She yawned and her eyes began to drift shut. “Don’t leave me.”

He heard the tinge of fear in her voice and that wasn’t acceptable. “I won’t leave our suite. I promised, remember?”

She nodded. Her brow creased. “Where will you sleep? You need to rest while you can.”

Elana was worried about him when she was the one with a bullet wound and a fever. “I’ll sleep in this room. I can guard you better that way.”

“You’ll sleep in bed…with me.”

It didn’t sound like a question, more like an order. “You wish me to lie next to you?” He stiffened at the thought of sleeping next to her, protecting her body with his…loving her. His cock went on full alert.

Down, boy.
She was injured, sick, and in pain—his desires had no place in this room at this particular time. Later? Definitely.

“Yes, Vanko. By my side.” She wrinkled her nose, and he had to fight the urge to kiss the cute tip. “Because sleeping in a chair or over on the small settee won’t allow you to rest. So…after you find me a Pepsi and the food you promised, you’ll lie down next to me and rest. Understood?”

“I understand you’re a bossy bit of goods when you get pain meds in you.” Vanko chuckled.

“Damn straight. Comes from ordering students around in the library.” She curled a finger. “Come closer.”

Vanko leaned over until they were almost nose to nose. “Yes, Elana
moy
?”

“Kiss me.” She licked her visibly dry lips. “You tucked me in, now you have to kiss me. It’s a rule, you know.”

Vanko laughed softly. Elana obviously became uninhibited on pain medications. He’d make sure no other males were ever around her when she was on drugs.

“With pleasure,
angel moy
.” He brushed several light kisses over her closed lips. He swept his tongue over her lower lip, once…twice, moistening it. When she gasped, he took her mouth fully, thrusting gently with his tongue. It was a tame kiss for a man of his experience and needs, but Elana wasn’t ready for the hungry, biting kisses he liked to give and receive in return.

When he broke off the kiss, she sighed and a smile curled her lips. “We need to do that again. You taste good like…” She paused, and he could almost see the wheels turning in her sluggish brain. “…like coffee and chocolate mint.” She inhaled deeply and heaved another sigh. “You smell good, too.”

“You are high,
dushka
.” He licked his lips. The taste of her was on them, a unique, lush taste slightly tinged with the Pepsi she’d had in the car. “Be assured. We’ll
definitely
be doing that—and more—as soon as you’re feeling better.”

She yawned widely like a sleepy kitten and closed her eyes. “Goody.”

Sunday, December 4th, 5:00 A.M. (GMT +4),

Sergei Demidas’s Russian Estate

Sergei Demidas checked the bindings on his young wife; he’d tied her to his custom-made, leather-covered bondage table for a little fun and games. Well, fun and games for him—he wasn’t sure she liked any of his sexual proclivities. But since he’d bought and paid for her, she had no say.

Sabina was his fifth wife. He’d fucked her nightly since he’d married her a week ago. He would continue to take her every night until she conceived. Once she was pregnant, he’d use one of his mistresses—or one of the women he’d trained as sex slaves for his clients—for his sexual games until after his baby was born. If the child were a girl, he’d start the process all over again until he obtained what he wanted—a legitimate male heir.

Sergei needed a son to take over his multi-billion-dollar empire. His previous wives had given him six daughters. Totally worthless—all of them. He’d made a profit, though, by selling his exes and the daughters to some of his more discerning clients.

He had no bastard children; he’d made sure of that.

Walking around the table, he observed Sabina’s fear in the tautness of her neck muscles and the clenching of her fists. She’d learned not to move, not to fight the bonds. He’d punished her for such behavior in the past.

Like all his wives, Sabina had been a ballerina. She was of medium height, dark-haired, and light-eyed with pale ivory skin and curves in all the right places. All his wives could’ve been twins of his first and only real love.
Elana!
He’d had her all too briefly and then lost her. While each of his wives resembled Elana, they could never replace her. He would love Elana forever.

Sergei adjusted the table so Sabina’s hood-covered head was lower than the rest of her body. He smiled as she whimpered, her mouth plugged with a removable leather cock gag. She knew what the new position meant. She’d eventually learn to love sucking him to get him hard and ready to come inside her pussy, or he’d continue to punish her. He had all sorts of lovely punishments he hadn’t used yet.

“We will make a baby son tonight, Sabina
moy
. Give me a son, and I will treat you like an empress.” He stroked a finger across the top curve of her full breasts and then flicked the clamps he’d placed on her nipples. They were Japanese clover clamps; her buds were already turning blue. He’d remove them while he fucked her. He liked to hear her screams as blood rushed back into the sensitive tissue.

“Sergei.” The voice of his second-in-command, Zivon, came over the intercom. The man had been with him since they were teenagers, living on the streets and running drugs. His friend knew better than to disturb him when he played with his wife. Something important must have happened.

He placed headphones over Sabina’s ears and turned on audio recordings of their previous sessions in his dungeon. He liked to up her fear. He removed her gag and took her lips in a punishing kiss. He could almost taste her terror; it was a sharp, biting taste like the highest proof vodka and as easily addictive.

“Be patient, little Sabina. I’ll be right back.” He shoved the gag back in as she whimpered low in her throat.

He walked to the intercom and pressed the speaker button. “What is it, Ziv?”

“Our spy in the Russian Embassy in D.C. just called.” Ziv paused.

His friend’s voice sounded strained. The spy, the personal physician to the Russian ambassador, had never made a report since the day they’d placed him inside the embassy over five years ago.

“What has happened?” A foreboding chill swept down Sergei’s spine. What could the doctor have seen or heard that would trouble a tough man like Ziv? “Tell me.”

“The doctor could have been wrong, but…
dermo
…just turn on your flat screen and watch the recorded news report looping on the in-house channel. You need to see this for yourself…I still can’t believe it.”

Whatever had turned his steady aide into a vacillating idiot had to be something monumental. Leery and curious, Sergei turned on the television and watched the feed. The recording was of a news report out of the U.S. The perfectly made-up blonde announcer was talking about some amateur film about a woman running from gun-toting assailants on the National Mall. He’d been to the Mall and liked the museums.

“Ziv, what the fuck has a gun battle on the…”

“Just keep watching, Sergei.” Ziv’s voice was harsh, distant, as if he were in shock. What could disturb his street-tough friend? Sergei’s gut churned with dread.

The news report cut to the video; it was fairly focused and only jumped around a bit. The sounds of shots and screams came over the amateur video clearly. The camera scanned from two men with submachine pistols and then to their prey, a dark-haired woman in a trench coat. The time stamp on the video was December 3rd, shortly after 1:00 P.M., EST. Whatever had Ziv so anxious had happened yesterday, Saturday, at 9 P.M. Moscow time. Moscow was eight hours ahead of D.C.

Sergei focused on the female running away from the men. Finally the person wielding the camera got a clear shot of her face.

“
Nyet!”
He choked and gasped for his next breath before croaking out, “
Dermo,
Ziv! Is that…my Elana? But she’s dead. I saw her buried. I put flowers on her grave every week.”

He reached for one of the chairs positioned in front of the flat screen. His legs couldn’t hold him up they trembled so; his knees were literally weak from the combination of wonder and unholy joy.

Elana!
He watched the video closely. It was her, so graceful even as she ran from men out to kill her.
She’s alive!
No, she flinched and almost fell. He growled, one of the men had shot her, but she kept running.
Run, Elana! Run!
Mere hours ago, she’d been running for her life, and he’d been powerless to help her.