The grate proved impossible to move though, and all she managed to do was knock a pile of dust from the sill into her face. She coughed and stepped away from the wall, waving at the dust in the air. She ran to the other window and tried again. She pulled as hard as she could, hard enough that her fingers ached with the effort, but nothing moved. She stepped back, shaking her head in despair. She had to get out; her life depended on it.
A groan drew her attention and she turned around to see her patient stirring. He moaned pitiably and moved his unbroken arm. Shaun went to his side and sank down on the floor next to him.
“I’m a doctor,” she said clearly, trying to keep the tremor of fear from her voice. “I’m going to help you.”
He made another sound but didn’t turn his head at her voice. She couldn’t tell how alert he was. “Can you tell me where it hurts the most?” she asked, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
She wasn’t sure if or how he would answer, but after a moment he raised his good arm off the floor and slid it into the front of his torn suit jacket, placing it over his chest. She slid her hand on top of his and felt around his ribcage. Broken ribs. Those would hurt like a bitch and make each breath he took feel like he was swallowing fire.
“Okay, I think you have a few broken ribs, but they don’t seem to have punctured your lungs. Which is good news, even if it hurts like a son-of-a-bitch.” He blinked one eye open and tried to focus on her face. The other was swollen shut. “It’s a good sign that you can hear me,” she assured him.
She examined him slowly, one section of his body at a time, cataloguing injuries. What she came up with was a horrifying map of vicious intent. He had a broken arm, several contusions to the head, abrasions to his face and most of his body. A broken nose, four broken fingers, a few broken ribs. Nothing life threatening unless he had an internal injury. It must be his heart. Probably couldn’t take the sustained beating it looked like he was given.
The blue tint to his face and lips, along with his shallow, pained breaths worried her. If he didn’t get immediate help, he was going to die. Given the extent of injuries, she was surprised he’d lived this long. There was no bleeding outside the body, which was helping him stay alive. The people who had done this to him knew exactly what they were doing, where to hit him without killing him. Too bad they hadn’t counted on a weak heart.
A bucket hit the ground next to her, making her jump. Water sloshed out the side, splashing her. There was a big foot in a leather boot next to the bucket. She followed it up, past denim-clad legs, to a belt, and a leather coat. His hands were hanging down, one close enough to her face that she could see the detailed tattoos covering the back of it. There were words on each finger, but she didn’t know what they said, and a web with a spider on the back of his hand, a dagger and a rose with blood drops on his wrist. Through the ink she could see the veins popping out on his skin and winding up his wrist. She shivered and looked away. Those were the hands of a killer.
She forced her gaze up to his face and pleaded with him, “This man will not survive if he doesn’t get to a surgery in the next hour.”
He dropped what he was holding in his other hand: some cloths, a bottle of aspirin, a spoon and what looked like a bottle of peroxide. He snatched her by the back of the head, digging his fingers into her hair and shaking her. Shaun let out a pained yelp and reached up to clasp his wrist, trying to lessen the pressure on her scalp. It felt like he was about to rip her hair out at the roots. He let her go so suddenly that she fell back on her ass.
He crouched next to her, signing, if he dies, you die.
She looked at him in despair, searching for an ounce of mercy in his cold gaze. There was none. “Then I guess I die, because I can’t fix this man down here, with only these supplies. He needs a hospital, period.”
He glared at her; his frustration evident. Wake him up, now.
She narrowed her eyes at him and shuffled slightly closer to the man on the floor. “Did you do this to him?”
He made a growling sound under his breath, and signed, make him able to talk.
She gave him a penetrating stare and thought hard about her fragile position. The gun was just under his arm. It would only take one quick move and he could shoot her. She had a five percent chance of surviving a shot to the head. She took a deep breath, thought about the consequences of what she was doing, and decided five percent was better than breaking her oath to her profession.
Shaun shook her head. “I won’t wake him up just so you can torture him some more.”
He growled and grabbed hold of her head again, shaking her. Her teeth rattled and it felt like he was about to twist her head off. She shoved him, but it was like trying to move a boulder.
“Stop it!” she yelled.
Chapter Four
“I won’t fix him!” she shouted as clearly as she could through the thundering in her head, caused by his tight grip on her head and the crazy pattering of her heart.
He threw her away from him in frustration. Shaun fell sideways, but quickly crawled back to the man on the floor. Every instinct in her body was screaming at her to do something, to start working on him. To find a way to get him to the hospital where he could get the medical attention he needed. Instead, she was forced to watch him die a slow and painful death because she refused to help him if her captor was just going to question him and kill him.
She eyed the tattoos on her pacing kidnapper’s hands and neck and wondered how deep in the mafia he was. The part of Ukraine that she worked in had become lawless due to the removal of most forms of authority except military, who were concentrated on fighting the rebellion. For the most part, the hospital and its occupants were left alone.
Unless someone needed a doctor, a person who couldn’t use normal channels. Reality hit her like a punch to the gut, bringing with it a good dose of nausea. They needed her to fix the guy, so the guy could talk, then both she and the guy would become disposable.
The lack of law enforcement in the area would ensure that no one was available to actively look for Shaun. Or, to look for her body, if it came to that.
He pulled the gun from his holster and, kneeling next to her, pressed the muzzle against the side of her head. She stared up at him, her dark gaze clashing with his blue eyes. She couldn’t find anything in that empty gaze, nothing to help her out of this situation. She summoned as much bravery as she could manage.
“I will not help you.”
He cocked the pistol, the clicking sound loud in her ear.
She continued to stare at him, desperately trying to keep a straight face, to keep the fear out of her expression. If she was going to die right here, right now, in this dirty little basement, then she was going to do it with whatever dignity she had. She would do it with professional pride, knowing that she was doing the right thing.
“No,” she said simply.
He pulled the gun back, and her eyes drifted automatically closed as she felt death rush toward her. An explosion burst through her head, followed by bright flashes behind her eyelids, and for a split second she thought she was dead. As pain razed through her skull, she realized he hadn’t actually shot her, but hit her instead.
Anger rushed through her and she balled up her fists. She opened her eyes and glared up at him. “Next time you hit me, you may as well kill me, because I will kick your fucking ass.”