Page 139 of Bleed with Me

“He’ll wake up,” I claimed with certainty. “You know he will.”

“I do.” Zyon nodded without hesitation. “But the recovery process will be long. I need help now.”

I plopped on the bench opposite him, the familiar excitement poisoning my bloodstream. Only I and the demon knew how much I missed working with my brothers. Tedious meetings, late-night emergency phone calls, and even disposing of bodies were better than the paperwork in the hospital. I loved my job. I adored every second of being the surgeon again, but the files and endless bureaucracy were killing me.

“Help with what?” I asked carefully because the last thing I wanted was to schedule security shifts.

“With Malin,” Zyon started, checking the notifications on his phone, “we decided to open an off-books medical facility. He already signed the contract and wired money through the shell companies to buy equipment and whatever else was necessary.”

“What?” My brows shot up so high they almost met my hairline. “I’m the doctor who owns the biggest hospital in fucking New York City. What else do you want?”

“You can’t be in two places at once,” he said, handing me a T-shirt from the hanger. “And we need a place where our people can hide. In your hospital, they are reported to the authorities. We talked about this years ago.”

“Yes,” I confirmed, recalling a huge argument with our father, who refused to fund the idea because it was too dangerous and would attract unwanted attention. “And Dad was right. It can cause tremendous trouble. You don’t have the personnel, enough equipment, and, more importantly, a license. Also, do you have any idea how much medical care costs? Mom’s fundraiser barely provides money for my patients.”

“Money isn’t the problem,” Zyon claimed confidently. “Only the people who have it will be treated. And also, our boys who balance the lines between right and wrong daily. We have a plan.”

“Oh, do you?” I lifted a challenging brow. “So, when a woman who doesn’t have money for the treatment in a regular hospital comes with a sick kid, and the child will die without help, you will personally send them away?”

Zyon’s teeth clashed together as he flashed me a glare.

“Or imagine a pregnant woman,” I continued, knowing exactly which buttons to push. “Homeless immigrant. She doesn’t even have clean clothes. Will you push her outside into the cold weather after her water broke?”

“Dorian,” Zyon snarled, but I was like a speeding train. His warning couldn’t stop me.

“You have no idea what it is to serve among the poor,” I said, grasping his shoulder and turning him to face me because he turned away. “I spent months in Africa, without proper food, clean water, or shelter. I slept under a tent with holes bigger than my fists. You have no idea about that world, Zyon.” I gulped the memories down because they were too painful to talk about. “You can’t build a facility for the mafia in Manhattan. You need a dirty neighborhood, streets full of low-key criminals, drug dealers, and hookers who will cover for you, and in return, you will have to treat them, too.” I shrugged, letting go of him. “I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but it is what it is. And don’t forget that no sane doctor will work there.”

“They will be royally paid,” he objected, but I just shook my head.

“In exchange for risking their careers, reputation, or families?” I smiled sadly. “I don’t think so.”

Zyon stared at me for a long moment, as if he refused to understand the reality. The idea was good because, yes, I couldn’t treat anyone. When a doctor was needed, it would be great to have someone on call who would help. But for a secret mafia facility, they would need a whole team.

“We can make it work,” Zyon cut the thin thread of my thoughts, erasing the distance between us. “Imagine having a place like that when I was shot. Wouldn’t it have helped the situation?”

“I’m not saying it won’t help,” I sighed exasperatedly. “But it’s too risky.”

“Riskier than dying?” he countered. “Or getting investigated because you’re shooting with unregistered guns in the middle of the street?”

“You’re mixing two different things,” I opposed, trying to make him understand my point. Still, when Zyon wanted something, and he clearly wanted this, he stopped at nothing to get it.

“Just give it a second thought.” He shrugged, taking his backpack. “You can still walk away if you don’t like it.”

“Yeah, because it’s that easy,” I mumbled, following him outside the gym. “Is that all you need help with?” I asked, hoping he had some chase on hold. I’d kill for a good hunt.

“For now,” he replied, throwing his stuff onto the passenger seat of his precious Maserati. “I’ll keep you updated. See you at the hospital?”

“Yes,” I confirmed. “I’ll take a shower and switch with Mom. Say hi to Valeria for me.”

“Will do.” He waved at me and sat behind the steering wheel.

I stared at the back of his car until the lights disappeared in the distance, the idea of the secret medical facility eating at my brain.

Imagine the adrenaline, the demon said, grinning at me. We love the pressure.

“Yeah, until someone dies, right?” I snapped at him as another memory resurfaced. Glassy green eyes glanced at me hopefully before the anesthesia put them down. And they never opened again.

The demon shut his idiotic mouth. This topic was traumatic for him, too. Because it wasn’t a mistake, lack of equipment, or personnel. There was nothing more to do than what we’d already done. We couldn’t save anyone, and that night hurt so fucking much.