Page 96 of His Stolen Bride

I lean in close. “Alina.”

No response.

The doctor stays at the door, hands still up. “It’s a sedative and a muscle relaxant. Short acting. She’ll wake soon.”

“Why inject her at all? He didn’t need to,” Enzo asks.

The doctor’s voice goes flat, professional in a way that signals he’s stepping out of bedside comfort and into analysis. “Mikhail should’ve told you when he started digging. It’s classic Vladimir. He sedates people just enough to keep them alive, then waits.”

He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “Not until they’re unconscious. He waits until they wake up. Confused. Weak. Disoriented. The body comes back before the mind does, and that gap is where he acts.”

I don’t interrupt.

“That’s when people are most vulnerable,” the doctor continues. “They don’t know where they are yet. They don’t have control of their limbs. They’re aware enough to feel fear, but not strong enough to resist it. Vladimir likes that moment. He likes watching realization settle in.”

He sighs. “Sometimes, he uses it to interrogate. Sometimes, to make an example. And then there’s also been occasions when he’s done it just to remind himself that he’s in control.”

He exhales through his nose. “With Alina, I suspect it was different. He didn’t need information. He needed to see her break. Vladimir gets off on watching women realize that strength, intelligence, dignity—none of it protects them once he decides they belong to him.”

The doctor looks away then, as if he’s seen it before and wishes he hadn’t. “He waits for that first moment of awareness because it’s honest. There’s no performance left. Whatever they feel then is real, and that’s what he wants.”

Enzo’s jaw flexes.

I don’t look away from Alina. “How long?”

“Ten minutes,” the doctor says. “Maybe less.”

“Stabilize her,” I say.

“I already did,” he replies. “Her breathing’s fine. Her heart’s fine. No complications.”

I glance at the tray. “What else is there?”

The doctor swallows. “He keeps things for pain. For compliance. I didn’t use them. I swear.”

Enzo steps in, grabs the doctor by the collar, slams him against the wall. Not hard enough to kill, but hard enough to scare. “You swear,” Enzo snarls. “That’s adorable.”

The doctor’s eyes water. “I’m telling you the truth.”

“Enzo,” I snap.

He releases him, but he doesn’t apologize. The doctor’s fear is useful. I sit on the edge of the bed and take Alina’s hand.

Her fingers are cold. That makes anger rise in me, hot and sharp.

I don’t let it move my body.

I talk to her anyway, because she told me to trust her, and she walked into that building with nothing but a plan and a capsule near her throat.

“Listen,” I say quietly, close to her ear. “You did what you said you’d do. You’re still breathing. Stay that way.”

Her lashes flutter again.

Enzo stands behind me, watching the doorway, gun up. He’s doing his job.

Outside this room, gunfire begins, distant at first. Two pops. Then a burst. Then silence.

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