Leverage (24 page)

Greg’s minion was a mountain of a man, much closer to seven feet than six, his shoulders nearly as wide as he was tall, and his chest so immense, I don’t know how he kept from bursting through the buttons on his dress shirt. The sight of his arms as they bulged into three distinct masses beneath his suit jacket was intimidating. His face, though, was pleasant, younger than mine, but not by much, early thirties perhaps, with caramel-colored eyes, a square jaw, and an aquiline nose. If he wasn’t so threatening, he’d be beautiful. But he was threatening, positively frightening, in fact, and I cringed as he bent down to scoop me up.

I batted at his hands. “No, please, leave me be!” I begged as I squirmed in my seat, resisting his efforts as much as I could.

He released a frustrated sigh then sat down along the edge of the cocktail table, an empathetic smile stretched across his face. He leaned forward with one elbow on his knee and offered me his other hand.

“I’m very sorry, miss,” he said in the twangiest English accent I’d ever heard, like Eliza Doolittle in
My Fair Lady
. “My name is Danill, but ev’ryone ‘round ‘ere calls me Danny. I s’pose you can, too, if you’d like. Go on, then, take it. I won’t ‘urt you none,” he urged, and I accepted his handshake. “An’ what shall I be callin’ you, now, miss?” he asked, and I couldn’t help but soften as his warm eyes sparkled with genuine cordiality.

“Um…Hannah. You can call me Hannah.”

“Oh, right, I ‘eard Dmitriev call you that earlier. Very pretty, as are you.”

I forced a weak smile and mumbled, “Thank you,” before a question rose in my head. “Um…Danny…why do you call him Dmitriev? I thought Greg was a Chernov.”

“Yeah, ‘e is, but…’e took that name back in London to protect himself from bein’ recognized, an’ as a way to honor his da. ‘E’s kind oov a complicated fella, Grig is, an’ a bit scary, too, which is why I need to get you up to your bedroom straight away,” he said and tried to pick me up again.

“No, stop! It’s not
my
room and you know it,” I complained and looked him in the eye. “Danny, you seem so…nice. How can you do Greg’s bidding? Don’t you have a conscience?”

The man returned a fathomless gaze and sighed, his shoulders seemingly deflating to half their original size. “Miss ‘annah, I’m only tellin’ ya this ‘cause I’ve ‘eard a bit oov your story. See, I’m from a neighborhood called North Tottenham, on the northern side oov London. I lived there with me parents and l’il sister. Our folks, like most people there, were immigrants, from a tiny mining town in Russia. They came to London with noothin’. The neighborhood’s poor, no jobs, lots oov gangs—Caribes, Russians, Turks—not to mention the police.

“When I a boy, there were skirmishes with the police after a woman died durin’ a police search. An officer died in the rioting, an’ the police reacted. Me da was ‘urt in the ruckus an’ died a slow, painful death from infection ‘cause ‘e couldn’t afford to go to ‘ospital. Me mum was left ta take care of me an’ me l’il sister, Dariya, just a wee babe. She worked long hours for a lotta years, an’ wasn’t really ‘ome much to watch after us.

“I ended up up with a gang, did some things I’m none too proud oov, an’ was facin’ more than a few years in jail. Mum called a friend of Da’s an’ asked for a favor. Next thing I knew, I was in the States, working for Dmitri Chernov, then later for Grig. I ‘ated leavin’ Mum an’ Dariya, but I made enoof money ta send back ‘ome.

“Then Mum got sick and died, an’ Dariya was left all alone. She fell in with a bloke ‘oo stole all ‘er money, an’ she ended up on the streets an’ got caught in the riotin’ in Wood Green. Got picked up for lootin’ an’ arson. They were goin’ ta make an example oov ‘er.

“I knew she’d never survive prison, so I made a deal with Grigory, an ‘e got ‘er out, but ‘e won’t give ‘er back. ‘E’s got ‘er ‘oled up somewhere. I’m under ‘is thumb, ‘annah. I do what ‘e says an’ I’ll get Dariya back. If not, well…I can’t even think about that. So, as you can imagine, I’m stuck.”

Danny’s story didn’t surprise me. That was Greg’s MO, leveraging control to make others do whatever he asked. Slavery of the spirit, a tactic I’m sure he’d learned from his father. It had worked on Tyler once, and there was no doubt it would work on him again. Even the doctor was under Greg’s control. I couldn’t expect Danny’s situation to be any different.

“I know you said you wouldn’t…but Danny…you’d hurt me if Greg asked you to. You’d have to, wouldn’t you?” I asked, terrified of his answer.

He tipped his chin down. “No, as long as you do what ‘e wants, you’ll be fine. But Grigory is a cruel man, Miss ‘annah, especially when pressed. Don’t ever forget that.”

And then, as if to punctuate the enormity of Danny’s words, my body was again seized by another contraction, stronger and more painful than ever. I coiled my arms around my belly and squeezed my eyes tight as I involuntarily held my breath, which only made it feel worse.

“Blow through the pain, ‘annah,” Danny advised as he scooped me up like I was but a feather and not some beached whale. “That’s it,” he added when I did as commanded.

He panted with me as he swept me up the stairs, though not out of exertion, but rather to help keep me focused and on task. He pushed wide the door to my prison cell and laid me gently down onto the bed. Then he hustled to clean up the pieces of the broken vase and scattered flowers, depositing everything into a waste can before heading for the door. But Katy walked through just as Danny was about to leave. With the waste can in one hand, he reached out and grabbed Katy’s arm.

“You be nice, or else,” he warned.

Katy jerked free and said, “Or else what? You’re just another dog jumping through Greg’s hoops.”

Danny held firm for a moment, but let go with a finger pointed at Katy’s face. Then he turned away and walked back out into the hall, closing and locking the door behind him.

Katy moved from the door and approached my bedside, her mouth pursed in impatience. “Greg wants to know how you’re doing,” she asked.

“How the hell do you think I’m doing?” I lashed out, ready to go further, but another spasm struck me, and I screamed as I clutched my belly. I waited for it to ease then looked back up at her. “Please, Katy, you obviously have a relationship with Greg. Make him see reason. I need to go to the hospital. I could lose my baby. Don’t you care? Don’t you think he’d turn on you if it benefitted him in some way?”

She stroked her baby bump. “No, he would never do anything to hurt me
or
his child.”

“But you don’t know for sure whether your child is Greg’s or Conner’s.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I do know, and it’s Greg’s.”

“That’s funny. Greg doesn’t seem too convinced.”

Her face twisted in anger, but before she could spit out her venomous reply, the door swung open, and Danny motioned for Dr. Jelavich to enter. He was followed by another man who was carrying a large bundle in one hand and rolling an IV stand in the other. Danny remained stationed just inside the door, his hands clasped in front of him.

“Drop that right there and bring me the stand,” the doc directed, and the man released his bundle into the small upholstered chair in the opposite corner then rolled the tall stand up next to the bed. Dr. Jelavich pulled a myriad of tubes, clips, and liquid-filled bags from the bundle and got to work hooking up the IV. “How are doing, Hannah?” he inquired, his hands now working over me. “Where are we with the contractions?”

“They’re getting stronger and more regular, like every four minutes or so.”

The doctor turned and swept his arms toward the door. “Everyone out.”

“Sorry, Doc,” Katy said as Danny and his comrade left. “I stay. Greg’s orders.”

“Fine, but you’ll do
as
I say
when
I say it, understood?” he ordered, and she nodded. With everything hooked up, Dr. Jelavich opened the valves on two separate IV bags. “Okay, Hannah, I’m administering Terbutaline. It’s a tocolytic medication that should slow your contractions and hopefully prevent cervical dilation. But we can only use it for a maximum of forty-eight hours, so let’s pray this works.” He adjusted the drip-rate then sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at it as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped it across his brow. He turned to capture my gaze. “Now, we wait,” he announced.

And we did, for three hours, but even though Dr. Jelavich increased the dosage and injected a second drug, the contractions didn’t slow or ease up. In fact, they got stronger and came quicker. Dr. Jelavich informed me he needed to check my cervix. I reluctantly agreed, and to my horror, and Doc J’s, I was already six centimeters dilated and bleeding.

Doc J’s face turned a paler shade of white, and he started ordering Katy around. Together, they dressed me in a plain cotton hospital gown, laid thick pads beneath me on the bed, and hooked me up to both a baby monitor and an automatic blood pressure machine, all of which told me I was in serious trouble and would likely be forced to deliver my baby right here, and damn soon, too.

It took all of five seconds for panic to set in and for me to start hyperventilating, both of which were made worse when another contraction engulfed me. Or maybe it was the other way around. Not that it mattered. I quickly became overwhelmed with pain and hysteria and screamed with each seizure of my muscles. Katy tried to calm me down, but her nerves were stretched taut in fear of what was to come. And Doc J., who was nearly as panicked as I, started yelling for Greg to get me to the hospital. If it wasn’t my own personal nightmare, I likely would have laughed, because the scene was so comically dysfunctional. But it
was
my nightmare, and I had completely lost confidence it would turn out well.

Until Danny entered…

He sat down on the bed next to me and took my hand in his as he smiled. He spoke softly, calmly, slowly, telling me inconsequential details of his childhood and friends, of his sister and parents, all good stories, good times. It helped relieve the panic and get my mind off the direness of my situation. And in between, he would pant along with me to help keep me focused and work through each contraction.

It wasn’t a quick labor, even though the contractions seemed to come one right on top the other, but Danny remained. He took his suit jacket off, removed his tie, and rolled up the sleeves over his massive forearms. I found it remarkable how gentle this giant of a man could be. He could have crushed me with little effort, but his touch was tender and compassionate, his voice soothing, and his demeanor calm. He quickly became my savior, my lifeline, as I struggled through physical misery and emotional terror.

Doc J., concerned about my bleeding, administered an antibiotic, which made me queasy and eventually throw-up. Katy—who, up to that point, did as she was bid, but otherwise remained seated in the chair in the corner—gagged and covered her face then shot up and ran from the room. I was left with only Dr. Jelavich and Danny as I faded in and out of weary consciousness and the contractions came and went. I was exhausted and weak when the doctor, after yet another check of my cervix, announced the inevitable.

“It’s time to push, Hannah,” he said.

But I refused, even as the urge overwhelmed me. I simply didn’t have the strength or the will. “I can’t do it, not here, not now. Please.”

“We have no choice. Only you can do this. I can’t deliver your child without your help. You must push when I say, understand?”

I rolled my head from side to side. “No, please, please, I can’t, I can’t…”

But Danny wouldn’t hear of it. He knelt down with his elbows on the bed, my hand tucked into his as he leaned his forehead against my temple. He whispered encouragement into my ear, told me I was strong, like
his
mother, demanded I find the strength to see the deed through so I could finally hold my child in my arms.

So I pushed with each contraction, one after the other, endlessly, exactly as the doctor ordered, and I rested in between as he shoved his hand inside me to turn the baby around and remove the cord from her neck. Finally, he said, “This is it, Hannah, one, maybe two more times, but I need you to push very hard, harder than ever.”

I turned my face toward Danny’s.

He smiled and nodded. “You can do this, ‘annah.”

And I did. I pushed with everything I had left in me, until my head felt ready to explode and my lungs ready to burst. I pushed until I felt her slip from my body in one swift gush.

Dr. Jelavich whooped when he caught her. “A girl!” he exclaimed, but that was the only sound I heard. There was no crying, no whining, nothing.

With Danny’s help, I sat up and peered between my raised knees to see what the doctor was doing, to catch my first glimpse of my baby girl. But what I saw nearly stopped my heart cold. As Doc J. wiped the milky white film covering her skin, I saw she wasn’t pink underneath, but rather a pale bluish-gray, and she was limp and silent.

I held my breath while he cleared her mouth and nose with a bulb syringe. And then, as if by magic, I heard the most blessedly wonderful sound a person could ever hear.

She cried—no, she wailed. Screamed like a banshee, madder than a hornet. Dr. Jelavich smiled with a loud whoosh of relief whistling through his lips. I relaxed back into Danny’s arms, my tears of fear turning to tears of joy. The doctor swaddled her tightly and placed her in my arms. As weak as I was, I didn’t trust myself and asked Danny to keep his arms wrapped around me, just in case.

The most intense wave of happiness and love overwhelmed me as I stared into the squished little pink face of my newborn baby girl. I loosened the blanket and examined her, counting her fingers and toes, running my hand along the thin wisp of downy auburn hair covering her head. I nuzzled my cheek against her wrinkled forehead.

“We made it,” I murmured. “You’re such a good girl, so brave and strong. Your daddy will be so proud. We’ve named you Nicole after your uncle. He was brave, too, and fought hard, just like you did.” I tucked her under my chin and rocked back and forth, cooing gentle words about her father and brother.

Until another spasm seized control.