Page 74 of Mile High Ruin

Anton looks at him as though he has just admitted he doesn’t understand how doors work. “You travel with Vadim Chernovar and you don’t carry a gun?”

“I’m a mathematician, Anton, not a fucking sharpshooter.”

Anton rolls his eyes.

“Enough,” Vadim says.

They both stop.

I look back at his side. The blood has slowed, but it hasn’t stopped. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

Vadim looks at me. “No.”

That response is so immediate that I almost believe I misheard him.

“No?”

“It is unnecessary.”

“You were shot.”

“Grazed.”

“By a bullet.” I stare at him. “You are going to a hospital.”

“I’m not.”

“Vadim.”

“Sloane.”

Anton wisely steps back.

Marek looks fascinated.

I point at the blood on Vadim’s shirt. “You don’t know if the bullet fractured a rib, damaged muscle, carried debris into the wound, or did anything else you can’t see while standing on a tarmac pretending you are indestructible.”

“It didn’t.”

“Wonderful. Then a doctor can confirm that.”

“I have doctors.”

“Are any of them standing here?”

“No.”

“Then get in the car.”

He looks at me for a very long moment. I expect another argument. Instead, something almost resigned enters his expression.

“Fine.”

Marek makes a choking sound.

Vadim looks at him. “Say nothing.”

“I said nothing.”