Kian (Undercover Billionaire, #1)

Kian (Undercover Billionaire, #1)

Melody Anne

Chapter One

“Dr. Forbes to ER STAT.”

The voice boomed over the hospital speaker system at the same time his pager buzzed. It was a Friday night in Edmonds, Washington, and there was no time for rest, with traumas pouring in through the double doors.

Kian was a trauma surgeon, and he loved the knowledge that he was capable of saving a life other doctors couldn’t. And when it came to the kids, he had an extrawide soft spot. Yes, he’d seen enough trauma to last a lifetime, but the hope that he could save one more child kept him moving forward.

Kian swept through the corridors of the hospital as he thought about the fact that he was grateful to only work the night shift once a month. He’d paid his dues on nights and now enjoyed only being called in for special cases, but there was nothing that got his blood pumping more than a code-three ambulance coming through the doors. It wasn’t uncommon for the ER physician to consult with the surgeons, especially in cases of trauma.

Kian screeched to a halt in the entrance to the busy ER as he glanced at the heavy commotion of hospital staff scurrying to and fro as patients rushed through the hospital doors. For a weekend night in suburban Seattle, this was nothing new. When he scanned the trauma bay, his heart lodged in his throat. Kian found a very pregnant woman lying on a stretcher covered in red as a highly capable staff did all they could to help her. Her clothes had been cut off, and it was difficult to see any area of her body that wasn’t blood soaked, making it impossible to identify her.

A crime scene would have been less gory than what was before Kian. He quickly assessed the room. Detectives? Check. Gore? Check. Cries of pain? Double check.

On a stretcher next to the pregnant woman was a young girl—three, maybe four. Her eyes were wide with fear, and her frail body was covered in blood. Nurses worked efficiently to place her on the monitors and assess her for life-threatening wounds.

“We have a twenty-eight-year-old female, seven months pregnant, with approximately fifteen to eighteen stab wounds in the chest, neck, and abdomen. Blood pressure is 76/52, heart rate is 133, oxygen saturation is 82 percent, and we are bagging her while we prepare for intubation,” a nurse called out. Kian nodded.

“Also, her three-year-old daughter, multiple stab wounds in the arm, back, and head, bleeding is controlled and her vitals are stable.” The last part of her words came out slightly choked, and she had to clear her throat before she continued.

“The baby’s heartbeat is one hundred and dropping, and we’re having a hard time controlling mom’s bleeding. We are transfusing blood now, but it may not be enough. We need to get her into the OR ASAP.”

Without conscious thought, Kian was already getting to work, grabbing gloves and continuing to assess the progress the team was making. He noticed the new ER physician trying to maintain a grasp on the situation, but the man seemed overwhelmed. It was understandable.

“We need the NICU team and the neonatologist in the OR now in case this baby is viable,” Kian said with sharpened focus.

“We did a fast scan that shows significant internal bleeding including lacerated liver, right hemothorax, and possible cardiac tamponade. We’re also putting pressure on her left carotid artery, which has been lacerated. She has two sixteen-gauge IVs and an IO in place. We have two units of blood infusing now, and she’s on her third liter of fluid,” the ER doctor said, sounding exhausted as he prepared for intubation.

“It’s not enough, we need to get her into the OR and open her up,” Kian replied. The ER doctor nodded as Kian turned toward the OR to prep for surgery.

Just then, the woman gasped, and he felt her fingers gripping his arm. He stopped, tuning out all the sounds around him as he looked into the woman’s face. She was staring at him, and there was something so familiar about her eyes. He was trying to put it all together, but it was just on the edges of his memory.

“Kian . . .” The word came from her mouth in a gurgle of blood, a mere whisper that might as well have been a shout.

He leaned down. His brows furrowed as he tried to recognize this battered woman. Why did it feel as if he were suddenly in a tunnel? The world felt as if it was slowly shrinking in on him, and he didn’t know why.

“Kian,” she said again, and he leaned in even farther as a nurse tried to stop him. He wasn’t wearing enough protective gear, and she was openly bleeding. He didn’t care. For some reason he didn’t understand, he needed to hear whatever it was she needed to say.

As he drew nearer, he realized he recognized this woman. Pamela. She was Roxie’s sister, and he’d foolishly spent one night with her when he was at an all-time low in his life. He’d regretted it instantly and had avoided her ever since. But now that she was on his table, guilt filled him at his behavior.

“I’m here,” he told her, coming out of his own head to focus on her instead.

“She’s your daughter, Kian. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I messed up in a real bad way this time,” she said, her words so quiet no one else in the room could have possibly heard her.

Kian felt as if his heart had lodged in his throat as her stilted, pained words processed in his brain.

“My child?” he questioned as he looked down at her stomach. They’d been together four years ago. A pregnancy certainly didn’t last that long.

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