If The Seas Catch Fire(71)

Dom’s eyebrow rose. “Shit…”

“I’ll be okay.” I am so f*cked. So, so f*cked.

Then Dom cupped Sergei’s face and looked him in the eye. “Do you trust me?”

I shouldn’t trust you and you shouldn’t trust me.

Dom raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah.” Sergei swallowed. “Yeah. I do.”

“Then let me make this call.”

Sergei held his gaze. What else could he do? This wasn’t like the night they’d met when Dom had turned down medical attention because he was banged up and could get away with it. This was the kind of f*cked-up that could get a lot worse in not a lot of time, and without a trained medical professional…

Swallowing, he nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Dom helped him back onto the pillows. Sergei closed his eyes. The world was still rocking and rolling. It was impossible to tell if it was from being out on boats for so long today, or if it was the decompression sickness f*cking with his head, but it wasn’t helping the nausea either way.

Dom was nearby, but his voice sounded a million miles away: “Hey, it’s Dom. I need your help. Fast.”





Chapter 20


“You’re sure it’s the bends?” Rojas grabbed a backpack and a small oxygen tank from his trunk.

“He says he was out diving. I wasn’t sure what else it could be.”

The doctor slammed his trunk. “Even if it’s something else, better safe than sorry.” They hurried toward the room, and Rojas asked, “What are his symptoms?”

“He’s dizzy as hell. Can’t hardly stand.”

“Any pain?”

“Says his shoulders hurt. He says everything hurts, but it seems to be his shoulders more than anything.”

“Yeah, that’s the bends.” Rojas walked faster. “Nausea? Any loss of feeling? Paralysis?”

“He’s been sick a few times. Don’t think he’s lost any feeling, though. None that I know of. And he can move, he’s just off-balance.”

Rojas nodded, but didn’t say more.

Dom opened the door to the room. Rojas brushed past him and went right to the bed where Sergei was lying.

“Sergei,” Dom said as he closed and locked the door. “This is Dr. Rojas. He’s a friend. You can trust him.”

Rojas shot Dom a look, as if to ask why there should be any concern, but he’d been around La Cosa Nostra long enough not to actually bring the question to life. Instead, he sat down beside Sergei. “How long have you been out of the water?”

Sergei picked up his phone with a shaky hand and looked at the screen. “A few hours.” He swallowed as he set the phone down again. “Did some pure oxygen after I got out, but…”

“Well, that’s good. You’d be in worse shape if you hadn’t done that.”

Sergei muttered something in Russian.

“You an experienced diver?” Rojas asked as he attached a mask and tube to the oxygen tank.

“Yeah. But this time, I—” Sergei paused, glancing at Dom. “I was cold, and I came up too fast.”

“Define too fast.”

Sergei rubbed his eyes. “Too fast.”

Rojas scowled. He and Dom exchanged a look, and the doctor shrugged before facing Sergei again. “I’m going to have you breathe some more O2.” He put the tank beside Sergei’s chest and started to slip the mask on him, but Sergei winced. “You all right?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Rojas hesitated, and then put the mask over Sergei’s nose and mouth. As he brought the tank closer, said, “Breathe normally, all right?”

Eyes closed, Sergei nodded. The tank hissed as Rojas turned on the valve, and the inside of the mask fogged up, cleared, fogged up again. Dom shifted his weight. He hated this helpless, useless feeling. There was nothing he could do for Sergei now except wait and hope to God Rojas could help.

Rojas set his backpack on the edge of the bed and unzipped it. “I’m going to start an IV and give you some isotonic fluid to keep you hydrated. It should also help dissolve the bubbles in your system.” He pulled a plastic, water-filled bag and a long tube from the pack.

“What the f*ck is all that?” Sergei asked. “You Mary Poppins’ kid or something?”

“Not quite.” Rojas uncapped a needle. “Just things you gotta keep handy when you’re constantly putting people back together in this town.”

Sergei’s eyes flicked toward Dom.

Rojas pressed the needle into Sergei’s arm, and Sergei’s lips pulled tight behind the mask. He winced again, but Rojas was quick—he could probably set up an IV in his sleep. In seconds, everything was in place, and he tethered the bag to the top of the bedside lamp.

“How do you feel?” Rojas asked.

Sergei scowled behind the mask. “Like I could use a drink.”

“Well, be that as it may”—Rojas shrugged—“alcohol consumption won’t help. No booze for the next forty-eight hours.”

Sergei muttered something, but the mask muffled it.

The doc checked him over, listening to his chest and taking his blood pressure. Dom stayed out of the way, watching silently as his heart pounded and his stomach tried to flip over. He’d come here needing relief after a traumatic morning, but all of that seemed a distant memory now. Was Sergei all right? Jesus, he looked terrible, and no matter how much Dom tried, he couldn’t will any color to bloom in Sergei’s sickly pale face.