Thief (Boston Underworld #5)(18)

“I don’t know.” It’s a lie, and she knows it.

Her phone chimes, and she checks it discreetly before turning her attention back to me. “If you aren’t ready to be honest, then I have no reason to reconsider my treatment.”

I swallow, and it feels like there’s a clump of flour lodged in my throat. I don’t want to live another day strapped to the bed and subjected to feedings like a child. It’s inhumane and humiliating. Over the course of a week, I have lost every ounce of dignity I possessed.

“I can’t remember when it started,” I admit. “But I was very young when I learned to choose foods that had the fewest calories. I filled my diet with those and little else. It was what my mother did.”

“So this is a learned behavior,” she observes.

I don’t answer because I don’t want her to think badly of my mother. My mother was a good person. She did the best she could to raise me in her circumstances.

“Have you ever been treated by a doctor before for this condition?” she asks.

“No.”

“So you are not aware of the damage you have done to your body?”

I try to swallow again, but I can’t. My throat is too dry, and I’m afraid of her cruel words. It can’t be that bad. I feel fine.

“You are just trying to scare me.”

“Do you know what osteopenia is?” she returns.

I shake my head, and I want to tell her to stop because it doesn’t matter what it is. I don’t have it.

“You have not provided your bones with adequate calcium for a very long time,” she says. “The progression of damage is a very simple one, with osteoporosis being the next award for your starvation. At which stage, it would be highly unlikely you would ever dance again.”

“That isn’t true.” At least, I don’t want it to be true, but she takes no mercy on me.

“You are an athlete who does not provide your body the necessary fuel to maintain the muscles required for your sport. In essence, your body is eating itself alive. Your heart is under extreme duress, and the only possible result of such continued behavior is heart disease and inevitable death. Do you understand that without treatment, it’s very possible you could be dead before you ever see your thirtieth birthday?”

Moisture fills my eyes, but I don’t want to believe it. It isn’t true. It can’t be. Only to prove her point, the doctor takes the discussion a step further by showing me the results of the many tests she has run and explaining them as if she’s speaking to a child.

“Mr. Kozlov will not allow this behavior to continue while you are under his care. Without your cooperation, I can provide the nourishment you need, but it will only last as long as the treatments. In the end, it’s up to you. You must make the decision whether you want to live or die.”

“It can’t be that simple,” I maintain. “I feel fine.”

“You feel fine because your body has only known starvation. Inside, you are not fine. You have been undernourished for so long that you do not know what healthy feels like.”

If there was an argument to be found for that statement, I would supply it. But I can’t seem to convince her, or even myself, that I am still right.

The doctor abandons her chair and collects her things. “When you are ready to participate in your recovery, then we can move forward. Until then, I suggest you get used to the bed.”





On the tenth day of my incarceration, Nikolai finally makes an appearance. His face is drawn, and the shadows under his eyes darker than I remember, but even so, his presence has a way of commanding my attention, regardless of how much I hate him. When I look at him the way he is right now, quiet and pensive, he does not look like the monster who did this to me. He does not look like the man who commandeered my life and trussed me up with puppet strings.

Today, he is just a man with tousled hair and enough stubble on his jaw to appear edgy. If I saw him on the street, I might even—for a fleeting moment—think he was recklessly handsome. He doesn’t seem to have any trouble in that department, so I suppose women do consider him handsome. But I shouldn’t.

I’ve had over a week to prepare my case against him. Shouting and carrying on like a child will get me nowhere. My emotions controlled me before, but now it is time to utilize the knowledge I have learned over the years. I’m a skilled manipulator. An even better liar. And maybe I’m overconfident, but I believe this hardened criminal can be convinced of my good intentions if he gives me the chance.

“Nakya.” He nods in my direction. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better.”

The words taste like acid, even if they are true. The things that the doctor told me only a few short days ago have been rolling around my mind like a wrecking ball, destroying everything I thought I knew.

Perhaps, I was slightly undernourished. It’s hard to argue otherwise when the changes in my body become apparent with each passing day. The fog has lifted, and my energy levels have too, which is not ideal considering my current position. What is the point of being healthy if I’m unable to move?

I look up at Nikolai. My captor and my savior, depending on the day. Today, I need him to be my savior. His ocean eyes wash over me, and a rush of warmth floods my veins. His eyes are loud, electric, and undeniably captivating. Always evolving like the clouds in the sky, they never look the same from one moment to the next.