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“You need both, but you only respect one.”
His fingers move toward the files on the bedside table. “A traitor is operating inside Volkov territory.”
I slap his hand away. “Your fever is operating inside your bloodstream.”
Alexei catches my wrist before I reach for the line. “No.”
I look at his fingers around me. “Let go.”
He studies my face for a moment, then releases me. “Use something lighter.”
I check his medication chart, swap the sedative for the prescribed rescue analgesic Dr. Yelena approved, and show him the label before drawing the dose. “You’re six days out from multiple gunshot wounds, two operations, and a cardiac arrest.”
Alexei taps two fingers against the mattress. “Eighty-six seconds.”
I scrub the access port, push the medication slowly into his IV line, and flush it with saline. “That detail doesn’t make you less dead.”
“It makes the event brief.”
“Your chest and abdomen were opened, and you keep walking around as if blood loss is a daily affair.”
Alexei looks at the IV line and grimaces like a child. “Can’t this go?”
“Yes, if you promise to behave.”
I clamp the tubing, disconnect it from the extension port, and cap the line, leaving the cannula secured beneath the dressing on his forearm. Then I move the IV pole away from the bed.
I clean my hands and pull on a fresh pair of gloves before reaching for the blood-soaked abdominal dressing. The chest-drain dressing remains clean and dry, so I leave it alone. Alexei watches my hands as I lift the edge of the dressing. “You’re brave for a woman I technically own on paper.”
Leaning closer, I press fresh gauze against the reopened section. “Fold the contract into a sharp point before you choke on it.”
His mouth almost curves. “Very specific.”
I toss the wrapper onto the tray. “I’m a surgeon.”
The old dressing comes away damp with blood. The lower edge of the incision has pulled apart enough to ooze, and the skin around it feels hot.
I clean the area and press around the edges.
His hand flexes around my wrist. “I’ve had worse nights.”
I reach for fresh gauze. “That isn’t a standard of care.”
His gaze stays on my face while I work. “Do you insult every patient you undress, or only the ones you’ve seen naked before?”
My hand stops against his ribs.
Alexei doesn’t smile, but interest sharpens his eyes. He has been poking at me since the hospital because he likes what my temper does to the distance between us, and now he sits waiting to see how close anger will bring me.
I set the gauze down. “You don’t get to joke about a night you forgot.”
The change in him is small. His shoulders settle, and his attention stops drifting toward the files.
He rests one hand beside him. “What do you think I forgot?”
I laugh once and pick up fresh gauze. “That’s still a dangerous question.”
Alexei gestures for me to continue. “Answer it.”
