Not since Jake died.
“Well, in his defense, we had to pump him full of ketamine to get him to stay put.” A doctor appears beside Mitch’s bed, gray hair cropped military-short against his skull, wire-rim glasses perched on a nose that’s been broken at least twice. “He tried to escape. Twice.”
“Three times,” Mitch corrects, spearing another bite of caviar.
“Three times,” the doctor agrees. “Last time with an IV pole as a weapon.”
Something hits my feet. I look down to find Leonid crouched there, hospital slippers in hand. He doesn’t ask, just lifts my foot and slides one on.
What the actual fuck?
My brain short-circuits. The fearsome Raven, terror of the Russian underworld, is putting Cinderella slippers on my dirty feet.
I should move. Say something. Do anything except stand here like an idiot while he slides the second slipper on with the same efficiency that he probably uses to hide bodies.
“Your feet were cold.” He stands up, hands in his pockets like he didn’t just break my brain.
“I wasn’t—”
“Yes, you were. Your toes were turning blue.”
Mitch snorts into his caviar. The doctor busies himself with a floating screen, shoulders shaking.
I open my mouth. Close it. What exactly is the protocol when your sworn enemy starts playing fairy godmother?
“The ketamine explains a lot,” I manage finally, desperate to focus on anything else. “Like why Mitch is eating fancy fish eggs instead of trying to murder everyone.”
“Oh, he did try.” The doctor taps his broken nose. “Hence the ketamine.”
“God, Mitch…” My fingers find the bruises mapping his arms, spreading up his neck.
Leonid drops into a chair beside the bed. “Would you believe this man crawled through a broken windshield, bleeding, just to find you?”
“What?”
“Shot up my Audi on Canal Street.” Leonid’s mouth twitches. “Dragged that bad leg of his through glass and metal. Didn’t even flinch. Just kept asking where you were.”
The bruises make more sense now. “And you let him fight Dmitry?”
“Let him?” Leonid scoffs. “Your guardian psychopath here wouldn’t stop until someone told him where you were. Dmitry just happened to be closest.”
I grip Mitch’s hand. His knuckles are split, glass cuts still visible.
“You shouldn’t have—”
“He is a soldier,” Leonid interrupts. “One of the old ones. The kind that dies standing. I’m merely honoring his choice.”
“By drugging him into submission?”
“By saving his life.” The words hit harder than they should. Mitch blinks at his plate, head tilting like he’s trying to remember something.
“Caviar pairs well with cheese. And watercress. Did you know watercress grows in water?” He squints. “Like fish.”
My chest tightens.
Even high as a kite, he’s still trying to protect me. His hand suddenly clamps around mine. “Clara.” His voice breaks. “I’m sorry. About Jake. About letting things slip—”
“Slip?” Something cold slides down my spine. “What slipped, Mitch?” He shakes his head, fighting through the ketamine haze.
