Laney pulls back to look at her sister. "How are you? Your arm—"
"Sprained wrist. Couple of bruised ribs. Nothing serious." Laurie's gaze shifts to me, assessing. "You're the one who found us."
"Yes."
"Thank you." She says it simply, but there's weight behind it. "For getting us out. For..." She glances at Laney. "For keeping my sister safe when she wasn’t thinking clearly."
"She is a menace," I say. "But she knew you were in there and she wouldn’t have let the devil himself stop her from getting to you."
Laurie smiles and wraps her sister in as tight a hug as she can manage with one arm in a sling. "That's very Laney of her."
One of the nurses approaches. "Mr. Korolyov, we should look at that shoulder."
"In a minute." I turn to Kaiden. "Status?"
"Everyone's been checked out. No life-threatening injuries. Mostly dehydration, malnutrition, some bruising and psychological trauma. The therapist is talking to them individually, helping them process." He lowers his voice. "We're working on getting them home. Most of them are from Vegas or nearby. A few are from out of state. We're arranging transport and compensation. But most of them will be staying here at least a couple of days."
"Compensation?"
"For their trauma. Whatever they need to get back on their feet." He shows me a tablet with a spreadsheet. "I was thinking fifty thousand each to start, plus ongoing needs."
It's generous. More than generous. But these women lost weeks of their lives to Zajmi's operation. They deserve more thanmoney can buy. And I’ll be recouping it from Zajmi at the very first opportunity.
"Make it a hundred thousand," I say. "And set up a fund for long-term support. Therapy, medical, housing assistance, job placement. Whatever they need for as long as they need it."
Kaiden nods, unsurprised. "I'll handle it."
We follow the nurse through to the kitchen which has been transformed into a make shift clinic. I catch Laney watching me, something soft in her expression.
"What?" I ask.
"Nothing. Just... you're not what I expected."
"What did you expect?" I ask as a nurse removes my shirt, wincing as she pulls it away from where its stuck to the wound
"I don't know. Someone colder, maybe. More..." She gestures vaguely. "Mobster-like."
I scrunch up my face. "I don’t think I like being referred to as amobster."
Laney rolls her eyes. "But you're also..." She trails off, shaking her head. "Never mind."
The wound is worse than I thought, deep enough that it needs proper stitches, not just field dressing. The nurse cleans it with antiseptic that burns like hell, then starts stitching while Laney holds my good hand and tries not to wince every time the needle goes through my skin.
"You're very calm about this," the nurse says to her.
"I'm good at compartmentalizing." Laney's thumb brushes over my knuckles. "Handle the crisis now, fall apart later."
"Smart woman," the nurse says, tying off the last stitch and sticking n adhesive dressing over it. "Okay, you're done. Keep itclean, change the dressing daily, no heavy lifting for at least a week." She hands me a wad of sterile dressings.
"Thank you."
She cleans up the medical detritus and leaves, closing the door behind her.
Laney and I sit there in the sudden silence, her hand still in mine.
"A week of no heavy lifting," she says. "Does that include carrying women off to your place?"
"You can walk on your own."
