Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
“Was she on his list?”
Dr. Hemway steps back like my question is loaded with more than anger. He looks set to dodge bullets. “What? I’d—”
I cut him off with a roar the most unhinged man in the world would be proud of. “Was she on the approved list you gave your last client of the day yesterday?”
His eyes widen in shock. “He told you about that… assignment?”
“No. He didn’t need to.” I step closer to him. “The guilt on your face tells me everything I need to know.” I speak slower, breathing through every punctuated word that grows louder with each one delivered. “Was. My. Baby. Sister. On. His. List?” I almost say Aleena’s name. The only reason I don’t is because I don’t trust either of these men standing across from me. They trade women. That makes them no better than the scum I was forced to endure when I was kicked out of my home when I was still a child.
“No,” Dr. Hemway answers, weakening my frustration by a smidge. “As I told you yesterday, I haven’t seen her in years. Not since she…”
“Got your seal of approval?” I ask when his words trail off.
When silence is the only answer given, I’m seconds from discovering if he, like Andrik, also gets horny when struck.
His brief headshake saves his face from additional bruises by the skin of his teeth.
“I’ve kept her off their lists the same way I have you for years.”
I stare at him in shock, unmoving and unspeaking.
He can’t be saying what I think he is. I suffer through horrific cramps and nonstop pain a minimum of three weeks a month. Sex hurts. I bleed, for crying out loud.
Although my last two points could solely correspond with having sex with someone as well-endowed as Andrik, my prior two can’t be as easily excused.
I’m an endometriosis sufferer.
Shock pummels into me when something Dr. Hemway said yesterday smacks back into me.
The severity of the diagnosis doesn’t often correspond with the pain allotment. Even someone with minor scarring can face immense pain.
“You—”
“Kept your sister safe the only way I knew how,” Dr. Hemway interrupts. “I logged your results into her file.”
Disappointment shouldn’t be the first emotion I express.
Regretfully it is.
I’m reminded that Mikhail is in the room with us when he stops Dr. Hemway from approaching me by coughing in silent warning. He fans out his jacket to announce he’s carrying. He doesn’t trust him. I understand why. I’m having a hard time believing him, and I’ve known him for over a decade.
My pain is real, so there’s no judging that, but if he diagnosed Aleena as infertile to remove her name from a list we were placed on when we were born, why hasn’t our mother discarded Aleena like she did me? Why is she still blaming the smudge against our family name solely on me?
I’m happy to take the heat off Aleena. That doesn’t mean I’m not also curious.
My eyes float up from the floor when Dr. Hemway whispers, “I want to give you answers, Zoya, but I can’t do that right now.” I’m reminded he is bruised and battered when the shudder of his words announces how hard his body is trembling. “Kiara”—he chokes on his next two words—“my daughter.” His face is the picture of petrified. “I can’t lose my family.”
I nod in full understanding. I’m here for that exact reason. There’s just one thing that is unclear. Why is he here, then? If he’s worried about his family, why leave them for something of little importance?
When I ask him that, he moves toward a filing cabinet I was hours from searching before he ruffles through the middle stack. In seconds, he removes three thick files. One I recognize from yesterday. The other two are nowhere near as thick.
After storing one under his arm, he places my patient record on top of the remaining file before he hands them to me. “Now you will never be on a list. Neither of you.”
A brick lodges in my throat when the shake of my hands rattles my file enough to expose the name of the secondary record.
It belongs to Aleena.
“Thank you,” I whisper, still wary but alert enough to know he risked a lot to come here and remove mine, Aleena’s, and I assume his wife’s files from a stack of thousands that will no longer be monitored by him.
Dr. Hemway cringes like he doesn’t deserve my praise before he dips his chin in farewell and hotfoots it to the closest exit—the same exit being blocked by Mikhail.
“Mikhail.” My mutter of his name gains me his attention. My reminder of his marshmallow heart frees Dr. Hemway from his wrath. “If you lose that, you’ll be no better than them.”
After a beat, he steps to the side, giving Dr. Hemway enough space to skirt past, before he joins me in the middle of the storage room.