"Leo. I need the doctor. Now." A pause. "Ten minutes. Have him ready."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"And we have a problem." His voice drops. Gets colder. "I just killed Dimitri Morozov."
The name means nothing to me. But the way he says it matters. Changes things.
"Yes, I'm sure. He had the family tattoo." Another pause. His voice drops lower. "Alexei's cousin. Yes, I know what that means. We just started a war."
He hangs up.
War. The word echoes in my head.
I want to ask who Dimitri Morozov is. Who Alexei is. What war means.
But another cramp steals my words. Worse than before. I double over, gasping.
"How much further?" I'm desperate now. Too scared to care about anything except the blood that won't stop.
"Five minutes."
Five minutes feels like forever.
The blood is still coming. I can feel it. Warm and wet and wrong. Soaking through my jeans, onto his expensive leather seats.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "Your seats?—"
"I don't give a fuck about the seats."
The buildings blur past. He's driving too fast, weaving through traffic with terrifying precision.
I close my eyes. Try to breathe through the pain.
This isn't happening. This can't be happening.
"Stay with me," Adrian says, and for a moment his voice is almost gentle.
Almost.
I force my eyes open. We're pulling into an undergroundparking garage. Private. Empty except for a few expensive cars.
He parks, comes around to my side, lifts me again.
"I can walk."
"You can barely stand."
He's right. The world is tilting, spinning, and I can barely focus on anything other than the pain ripping through me, and the blood leaking out of me.
I should be scared, but I'm so tired. And everything hurts. And the blood won't stop.
The elevator opens into a hallway. It's white, clean and clinical. A doctor's office. There's a door at the end of the hallway. Adrian kicks it open.
An older man in a white coat is waiting, and he doesn't appear fazed.
"On the table," he says.
Adrian sets me down carefully. The paper crinkles under me.
