The Devil's Beauty (Crime Lord Interconnected Standalone Book 2) (41 page)

The doctor checked her again and a janitor was brought in to mop up her mess. It was all done thoroughly and with a lot of placating smiles.

God, they all thought she was some poor, traumatized child who needed to be assured everything would be okay. They didn’t seem to realize nothing would ever be okay again. They didn’t realize that those people were never coming back and Ava would have to live with that for the rest of her life. It was just another notch in her rapidly growing list of sins she would need to account for in the afterlife.

“Ava.” The cot dipped as John Paul lowered himself gingerly down next to her hip. “Darling, it’s okay not to be all right. You’ve had a bad couple of weeks.”

Dorothy came up behind him with a clear, plastic cup of water and another of pills. She passed both to John Paul.

“No … please.” Ava turned her head away at the sight of the liquid, already knowing it had come from the same place as the last cup. “I can’t drink that.” Already her stomach was beginning to rebuff the idea.

“Is there a vending machine nearby?” Frank said, speaking for the first time.

Dorothy nodded and directed him to some place down the hall.

Frank left.

“Could we have a moment, please?” John Paul asked the doctor and nurse.

Both nodded and walked out without a word.

John Paul faced Ava. He smoothed her clammy face and peered into her eyes.

“What happened, love?”

She couldn’t meet his eye when she told him. “It smelled like rust,” she whispered, feeling ashamed for reasons she couldn’t fathom. “It reminded me of…”

John Paul took her hand gently in his. “You’re not there anymore, Ava. I know it’s too soon to get past it, but you will. One day at a time.”

She could think of nothing to say to that, so she sat quiet, studying the crisscross pattern on the itchy blanket.

Frank arrived with a bottle of water. He passed it to John Paul, who unscrewed the top and passed it to Ava. She took it gingerly and sniffed.

It smelled like nothing, just like water is supposed to smell like. She guzzled half of it down, chasing away the rawness in her throat and taste of vomit on her tongue. She was panting when she finally stopped.

“Thank you.”

Frank inclined his head, and said nothing.

“Get some rest,” John Paul suggested. “And when the doctor okay’s it, I’ll take you home.”

He took the bottle from her and set it next to the plastic cup of pills he hadn’t made her take.

Ava didn’t argue. She felt exhausted. Her very soul felt weary. All she wanted was to wake up and it be a month ago, back when her biggest concern was getting an article read and edited before Melanie threw a fit. All that seemed so inconsequential now. Melanie. Chaud. Who cared what the spring colors were or what popstar wore what best. It didn’t matter when there were girls being carted across whole countries like cattle, when they were being ripped away from their families and sold. Everything she loved in the past seemed utterly frivolous and ridiculous. She was mortified she ever allowed herself to be so incredibly shallow.

“It’ll be all right,” John Paul soothed, stroking her head as she curled onto her side.

She didn’t have the heart to tell him nothing would ever be all right again. How could it?

“How do you do it?” she asked instead. “How do you do what you do and sleep at night?”

His hand stilled. She didn’t look at him. There was a fine, jagged scar along the side of the end table. She stared at that.

“I don’t hurt people,” he said quietly, a little hurt.

“Then what do you do?”

She’d never asked before. Not him. Not Dimitri. She’d gone on in her little fantasy haze with the illusion that just because they were her entire world, that they weren’t criminals, people who did bad things.

“I do many things, and yes, sometimes people get hurt,” he said.

“How do you sleep?” she asked again, her voice oddly hollow even to her own ears.

He was quiet a long time. She was beginning to think he wouldn’t answer, when he shifted.

“The world isn’t black and white, Ava. There is no all right or all wrong, all good or all evil. A powerful man could be cruel and just. A good man could kill without mercy. A child could steal—”

“But he’s not hurting anyone,” she protested.

“Isn’t he?” he answered in that same calm tone. “What about the shop owner who has to cover the cost of that stolen item? That’s money he could be using to buy food for his family. Without it, his own children could starve.”

Cause and effect. He’d been drumming it into her head since she was a little girl.

“I killed those people,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have left the manor. I should have realized … I should have been smarter. They would all be home with their families right now.”

“No, love.” He touched her shoulder. “This is on Elena. The blood is on her hands.”

“I should have stayed home.”

Her voice broke. Her face crumpled as hot tears flooded down her cheeks to dampen her pillow. John Paul comforted her until there was nothing left but to shut her eyes and will herself to rest.

It must have worked, because when she was thrown out of her moment of temporary peace by a scene of her trapped in a metal coffin, the room was dark and filled by the jagged gulps of her own breaths. Everything was still, that sort of silence that came from being surrounded by sick people. Occasionally, it was broken by a scuffle of feet or the low drone of someone being paged over the speakers, but it was all muffled in her room. Someone had shut the door and snapped down the blinds. Her room was a murky black softened only by a few slivers of light that had found their way through the gaps in the pleated shades over the window. But despite the darkness, she felt him, felt his warm presence. She didn’t even need to turn her head and he was already there, putting a dent in the flimsy mattress as he leaned in to pull her into his arms.

They circled her without so much as a murmur. Their strength enveloped her, enclosing her like a blanket on a winter’s night. His body settled into the curve of her back, fitting perfectly so there wasn’t even a centimeter of space between them. Then he was settled, taking up most of the space, but he was there, anchoring her to reality, which was that she was here with him, not there in that box with its smell and echoing sounds. His warm breath rolled and receded over the shell of her ear and along the side of her face. His chest rose and fell with it along her spine. His heart pattered, strong and consistent against her shoulder blade.

“I’m here,
myshka
.”

It was all she needed. Three little words and the demons gnawing on her soul dissipated. The world around her calmed. Her muscles relaxed, and when she shut her eyes again, there was nothing waiting for her behind her eyelids.

He was gone when she opened her eyes again. The space behind her was void of his warmth. The weight of his arm was missing from around her middle. She could no longer hear the whisper of his breath. And she lay there, trying to drag it all back around her, to imagine him there again, but it didn’t happen. Instead, she turned onto her back, not at all surprised to find Frank in his seat once more, a new magazine in hand.

“They brought you breakfast again,” he said without glancing up. “They suggest you eat since you didn’t yesterday.”

Ava glanced at the tray on the table at the foot of the bed. “I’m not really hungry for boiled eggs, to be honest.”

A page was flipped. “You might like it.”

Not sure what there was to like about cold toast and even colder coffee, but she crawled to the foot of the bed, careful not to pull out her IV, and peeled off the lid. She stared at the bowl of mixed fruit, the plastic fork, croissant and still warm coffee next to a note that read,
I think they’re trying to poison you into staying longer. Also, you owe me. I almost lost an arm. -D

“What happened?” she asked the stoic man behind her.

Frank peered at her over the edge of the magazine. “Mr. Tasarov was very insistent they not try to feed you anymore.”

She tried to work that out in her head, but couldn’t. She made a mental note to ask Dimitri herself later.

“Where is he?”

Dark eyes went back to the pages. “He’s been momentarily called away, but asked me to assure you that he will be back before lunch.”

She was finishing off her fruit bowl when the doctor came in, clipboard in hand. It wasn’t Doctor Allen or the doctor from the previous day. This one was younger with a floppy mop of blond hair and bright, happy eyes behind gold wired glasses. He had the bounce of someone fresh out of medical school, someone who hadn’t yet been worn down by the grimness of the job.

Ava liked him. All the doctors had been nice, but it was nice to see a real smile for a change.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Wright. How are you feeling?” He caught sight of her breakfast and his grin broadened. “I see you managed to avoid the oatmeal.”

Ava laughed. “Is that what it was?”

Dimitri hated oatmeal. It was the one thing she could never get him to try, not even a spoonful. His note almost made sense now.

“Believe me, you dodged a bullet,” Doctor Wright murmured, rolling his eyes. “So, what do you say we do a quick checkup and see about getting you on your way?”

Ava was all for that. She nudged aside her half eaten breakfast and waited patiently for him to begin.

He talked while he checked her over. It was all routine, but he asked if she wanted Frank in the room. One glance at Frank told her very clearly he wasn’t leaving, even if she did need to strip naked, which thankfully, she didn’t.

“Well, you seem fine,” Doctor Wright went on when it was over. “I have most of your test results from yesterday here and they all seem to be in order. Your blood pressure’s a bit high, your iron a bit down, but those are things we can work on. I’ll write you a prescription for folic acid and I have a pamphlet on how to lower your blood pressure. It’s mostly about keeping active, eating properly, and not stressing too much.”

It was a challenge not to bark a laugh at the latter, but she maintained her amusement, mostly anxious to get going.

“Am I okay to leave?” Ava asked, unable to keep the hope from her voice.

Doctor Wright chuckled. “I don’t see why not. I’ll have the release forms ready in a bit here…” He scribbled something quickly on his clipboard. He set it aside and reached for the hand with the IV needle. “Let’s get this out, then you can be on your way.”

Ava thanked him five or six times once the rod and fluid pouch were detached from her body. Then she sprinted to the chair with her clothes the moment he was gone and snatched them up to her chest. She turned and grinned broadly at the giant looming in the corner.

“Would it be all right if we go to my apartment real quick? Real quick,” she insisted. “I just really need to get a few things and … I haven’t been there in so long, I just … I need to smell my own things, does that make sense? Please?”

Frank seemed to hesitate. He peered at her like he was trying to determine if this was a trick of some kind.

“Please,” she said again, lowering her voice. “I will be so fast, it won’t even feel like we went.”

He sighed. “I will have to confirm with Mr. Tasarov.”

It was her turn to hesitate, but if that was the only way … she nodded. “Thank you.”

She washed up and dressed in the bathroom. No one had thought to bring her a toothbrush, but she rinsed her mouth the best she could and returned just as the nurse on duty arrived with her release form.

The world outside the stifled, recycled air of the hospital was incredible. Everything was brighter than it had seemed inside. The sun was warmer. She stood a moment, basking in it, allowing the warm breeze sweep along her skin and back into hair that needed a washing. She made a list and put that at the top: shower, followed by, fresh, clean clothes. It was amazing how much she’d taken such simple things for granted until she was begging a complete stranger to let her have them.

She pushed the depressing thought aside and focused on getting the day started. It was already late afternoon and John Paul expected her back at the manor the moment she was out of the hospital and she couldn’t argue it. She wanted to be back as well. Honestly, she never wanted to leave again, not until Elena had been captured and put away or dead, whichever came first. She didn’t even feel bad about thinking it. John Paul was right the night before, this wasn’t on Ava. All those deaths were on the person who hired those men to open fire at a group of people enjoying their afternoon. Ava wouldn’t burden that guilt. She already had too many of her own, legitimate ones that required deeper thought once she had a moment to sit and think properly.