Cruel Paradise (Oryolov Bratva Book 1)

The drive to the hospital is a blur of traffic and frantic phone calls. I bark orders on the phone without ever letting go of Emma. She doesn’t so much as stir through any of it. The gash I found on her forehead keeps weeping blood.

“They’re checking security footage now,” Kirill informs me when I call him.

“Comb through every inch of the club. I want the motherfucker who did this so I can kill him with my bare hands.”

The paramedic gives me a startled look but I don’t give a shit what she thinks. The only thing I’m concerned about right now is Emma. I take comfort in the fact that she’s still breathing. But every time I notice a new bruise on her skin, I want to fucking tear the whole of New York City apart until I find the asshole responsible.

This kind of rage is new to me. Boxing has taught me discipline, especially where my emotions are concerned. My anger has always been restrained. But right now, it feels out of control. It feels wild. Even I’m not sure what I’m capable of doing.

“Sir…” The paramedic has deep blue eyes that are a similar shade as Emma’s. “You’re holding her a little too tightly.”

She reaches out to adjust my grip, but I pull Emma out of her grasp. “Don’t even think about it.”

The woman freezes, then lets out a soft sigh.

“You found your wife like this?” she asks.

Wife. That word makes me shudder. Not necessarily in a bad way, either. “Yes.”

The paramedic’s eyes slide down Emma’s body. Assessing. Observing. When they pass over her waist, something twinges.

I don’t like that shit at all.

“What?”

Her gaze jerks to me. “Nothing.”

“Say it.”

Another sigh. This one more labored. “Will she need a rape kit at the hospital?”

I go cold. Rape kit. This is a fucking nightmare. I’ll kill the man who did this. I swear to God I’ll kill him—as slowly and painfully as any man has ever been put to death before.

When we get to the hospital, the nurses have to pry her out of my arms. The only way they manage to get me to let go is when the blue-eyed paramedic puts her hand on my arm and whispers, “They’re just trying to help her. Let them. For her sake.”

So I let go, though nothing has ever been harder. As I watch them transfer her onto a stretcher, for the second time in my life, I feel utterly and completely helpless.

“It’s never easy to see someone you love hurt,” the paramedic advises in more of that same soft whisper. “Have faith.”

Faith? Fuck that. Faith has never been a part of my life. Neither has love. And for good cause—because the way I’m feeling right now is the exact reason why getting too close to Emma was a bad idea.

Love destroys you.

Faith ruins you.

I follow the gurney up to the second floor. A nurse tells me they’re going to run some tests, but I barely hear any of what she’s saying until the very end. “ … you her husband?”

I swallow and focus on her. “No.”

The nurse raises her eyebrows. “Boyfriend?”

“Something like that.”

She accepts that and nods. “Does she have any medical conditions we should know about?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Is she allergic to anything?”

I’m coming up blank. “Not that I know of.”

“Is she pregnant?”

I feel my heartbeat slow for a second. “I don’t know… She might be. We’ve been… trying.”

“Very well.” She scribbles something on a clipboard. “We’ll run a blood test.”

“I want to be with her when you do it.”

I turn and march toward Emma’s door while the nurse still has her nose buried in her clipboard. Emma’s gash has been stitched up, but her bruises have only darkened. Her forehead is a mottled collage of black and blue and there’s a nasty purple gleam on her thighs.

They’re prepping her hand for an IV when she stirs. The vein in her forehead starts pulsing erratically as she moans.

But all I feel is relief. At least she’s awake.

I grab her free hand. “Emma? Can you hear me?”

She blinks her eyes open, squinting against the fluorescent light searing down on her. “W-where am I?” she asks hoarsely.

“You’re in the hospital. You’re safe.”

She doesn’t seem convinced. Her blinking is fast, her breath hitching up every few seconds. The nurse on the opposite side of the bed grabs her shoulder and pins her down.

“Miss, you’re going to be disoriented for a while. I need you to calm down.”

Emma turns to me, wracked with fear. “R-Ruslan?”

“I’m here.” She doesn’t look disoriented so much as scared. Why the fuck did I let her walk away from me? This is my fault. This is all my fucking fault. “I’m right here.”

I sit at her side, practically without breathing, while they take blood samples and check her for signs of internal bleeding. The whole time, she clings to my hand tightly and refuses to let go. That’s fine by me—I’m not letting go of her, either.

“Ruslan…” she whispers when the nurse excuses herself to go get the ultrasound machine. “What happened?”

I’ve been biting my tongue this whole time but her question finally gives me permission to ask. “I was hoping you’d tell me.”

She frowns. The vein in her forehead comes back with a vengeance. “I remember the… club. We… we were dancing. I went to the b-bathroom. I thought you were right behind me.”

My jaw clenches. “Did someone attack you?”

She cringes as though someone’s just shone a bright light in her eyes. “I… I can’t remember. Someone was behind me. I just remember… falling.”

Someone’s gonna fucking die for this.

The nurse reenters the room, pushing a large machine on wheels. “Excuse me. I’m going to perform the ultrasound now.”

Emma turns to me with alarm. “Ruslan…?”

“Don’t worry. It’s just to rule out any internal damage.”

But her frown doesn’t ease. “I… What if I’m pregnant…? I fell so far…”

The nurse chimes in, “If you are, the ultrasound will help us determine if the baby is alright. If there’s even a baby in the first place.” She steps forward holding a thin metallic probe. “Ma’am, the best way to get the clearest view of your uterus at this stage would be transvaginally. With your permission, I’ll insert this and begin scanning.” She holds up the probe. “You’ll feel mild discomfort at first.”

Emma just nods but her forehead vein is throbbing hard.

“Don’t worry,” I whisper, drawing her eyes to me. “It’ll be over soon.”

She keeps her eyes on me, flinching and sucking in a sharp breath when the nurse inserts the probe. I hold my breath as the nurse squints at the monitor with an eagle eye. A part of me wonders if this is how Emma and I learn we’re going to be parents. It’s the first time my thoughts on fatherhood haven’t centered around the Oryolov Bratva, around heirs and successors and doing my duty.

It’s the first time I’ve thought simply, I want this for this. For her. For us.

“Hmm.”

Emma’s breath catches in her chest. “Was that a good ‘hmm’ or a bad ‘hmm’?”

The nurse flushes and she clears her throat self-consciously. “There seems to be an anomaly on the ultrasound. This will need a doctor’s expertise. I’ll be right back.”

She looks at me helplessly. “She didn’t say if it was a good ‘hmm’ or a bad ‘hmm.’”

“We’ll deal with it—whatever it was—together.”

I want to be her rock now, because God knows she needs that. But my words fall on deaf ears. She’s already chewing on the inside of her cheek and, no matter how hard I grip her hand, the vein in her forehead doesn’t stop thudding.

When the doctor walks in a few minutes later, Emma uses my arm to tow herself upright.

“How are we doing today?” the gray-haired doctor asks with the kind of false cheery tone that inspires nothing but doubt.

When no one answers him, he turns his attention to the ultrasound. Emma doesn’t give him long. “W-was I pregnant, doctor?” she stammers. “Did I lose the baby?”

The doctor turns to her with pursed lips and a carefully constructed mask of professional sympathy. “Ms. Carson, I’m… I’m afraid there was no baby to lose.”

“Oh.” Her face drops instantly.

“I understand you’ve been trying. The thing is… it might be difficult for you to get pregnant at all.”

This time, it’s my face that drops. “What do you mean?” I bark. “Explain.”

“The ultrasound shows a blocked fallopian tube.”

Emma sucks in a breath. “You mean… I can’t get pregnant?”

“No, no,” he answers quickly, fidgeting with the stethoscope around his neck. “It’s not impossible. It’s just… not going to be easy. The odds are not in your favor.”

I notice the tear running down her cheek. I understand her sadness; I understand her disappointment.

What I don’t understand is mine.

Up until a few months ago, fatherhood was a curse I did my damndest to avoid. Until just a few nights ago, it was a duty I wanted to run from.

When did it become something I actually want?