Page 207 of Sexting His Assistant

I keep my fingers at Nina’s neck because I need the pulse under them. Each beat keeps me from becoming something I won’t be able to undo.

Sergei has the car waiting at the entrance when we reach the lobby. The night guard is standing behind his desk, pale and useless, his mouth open as if he wants to ask whether he should call someone.

“Building footage,” I say to him. “Now. Preserve everything from the last four hours. If one second disappears, you will answer for it.”

The guard nods, gulping.

Sergei opens the back door.

I get in with Nina still in my arms.

Sergei says, “Hospital?”

I give him the name of the closest private hospital, the one Mirov uses when something needs to be handled quickly and quietly, then I say, “Call Mirov. Head injury. Unconscious. Breathing. Tell him I’m five minutes out.”

Sergei says, “Done.”

He drives.

I keep Nina against me the entire way.

Her breathing stays shallow but regular. I count it. I count her pulse. I count the seconds between traffic lights and the distance to the hospital and the number of things I should have done differently.

I should have walked her upstairs.

I should have checked the apartment myself.

I should not have let one smile, one wave, one attempt to respect her wishes send me back into the car while she walked alone into a dark apartment with the door already open.

I know what she would say if she were awake.

She would tell me not to make this about control. She would tell me I’m blaming myself because it is easier than admitting bad things happen without permission. She would probably call me arrogant for thinking my presence could stop every harm in the world.

She might even be right.

But it changes nothing.

At the hospital entrance, the emergency team is already waiting.

Mirov arrives thirty seconds later in a wrinkled shirt, his face grim and awake in a way that tells me Sergei said enough. He takes one look at Nina in my arms and starts giving orders before I have fully stepped out of the car.

A nurse says, “Sir, we need to take her.”

I don’t release her.

Mirov steps directly in front of me. “Luka, give her to them.”

I look at him.

Mirov says, “If you want to help her, let them work.”

That gets through. Barely.

I lay Nina on the gurney myself. Her hand slips from my jacket, and the loss of that small weight feels like a wound of its own.

They wheel her through the doors. I follow.

A nurse tries to stop me. Mirov says something sharp in a language she doesn’t understand but obeys anyway, and she steps aside long enough for me to stay close until they take Nina for scans.